In Memory

I haven’t been to a funeral in eleven years.

I realized this when I was rummaging through my closet to find a black dress. I wondered aloud, Well, what did I wear to the last funeral I went to? I couldn’t remember. It took me a minute to realize it was John’s funeral. My high school classmate who died in a freak car accident on the first day of our senior year.

Eleven years ago.

Eleven is quite a long stretch of time during which I did not lose a single person. Not in death anyway.

The funeral I was headed to this time wasn’t for someone close to me. It was for someone I had never met. I was going to my best friend’s sister’s funeral. She had taken her own life and I was flying to Pennsylvania to offer the only thing I possibly could—myself.

There’s nothing you can say to someone that has just lost a friend, a daughter, a mother, a sister. There’s nothing you can say to take away the pain, or even to quell it at all. There’s nothing you can do to convince them one day they really will feel okay again. One day they really will laugh again.

When I arrived in Lewisburg and saw Fern I embraced her, and immediately felt sick to my stomach. We were surrounded by her family. She is one of ten children and all of her siblings, in-laws, nieces and nephews were present. I cannot begin to express to you the sickening, overwhelming feelings of loss, regret, guilt—pain that permeated the air from that moment through the following days.

I cannot comprehend such a loss. I tried to imagine my own sister in the coffin and I simply could not. Even still as I sit here and write it seems like a bad dream, just as Fern said.  It is unreal.

I told Fern I did not know what to say. I told her I did not know what to do. I told her I was not going to pretend to understand because I simply don’t. I told her I could offer an embrace, an ear, my presence. I told her between sobs that I’m sorry I cannot fix her. I told her that I’m sorry I can’t take away the pain.

Being in such an environment felt so foreign to me. Not because I was at a funeral, but because I was amidst broken people. I realized something quite eye-opening during that few days. I realized that I could not remember the last time I took on someone else’s pain.

I could not remember the last time I looked outside myself.

The last few months have been painful. I lost someone I cared deeply for and though not in death, it sure felt that way. It has been a crazy ride. At times I have grieved and at times I have been numb. I have been sorry and I have been pissed. I have felt anger and finally, I have felt Joy. But more than anything, I have thought only of myself. I have wallowed in my own pain and loss and misery for so long that I have been entirely unaware of anyone but myself.

And so, for Miriam. . .

Miriam. I did not know you and I will not pretend to. I do not know much about you at all because regrettably, I never got to meet you. But I did spend four days with your family as they mourned over you. So I can tell you what I saw.

I saw your mother, father, sisters and brothers sit on the front lawn for hours at a time talking about you. They talked about who you used to be. They talked about how you used to laugh. They talked about how at one time you were such a lover of life. They talked about how deeply you loved your daughters and what a good mother you were. They talked about how your daughters were your world, and it tore you apart that you could not be more a part of their lives. They talked about how they were sorry. For not trying harder. For giving up. They talked about how badly they wish you could come back. They talked about how they were all better people for having known you. They talked about your COURAGE.

Miriam. The world is a better place because of you. I know this as I said, not because I ever got the privilege of knowing you personally, but because I witnessed the legacy you left behind. Your daughters will be treasured, and everyone in your family will live a fuller, truer, braver life from knowing you.

Thank you for teaching my sweet Fern to be brave. And thank you for teaching Me how to look outside myself.

Please see link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0LNhIaGAUw

"Comes And Goes (In Waves)"

-Greg Laswell-

This one's for the lonely, the one's that seek and find

Only to be let down time after time

This one's for the torn down, the experts at the fall

Come on friends get up now you're not alone at all

Oh oh oh, oh oh oh

Oh, oh oh oh, oh oh oh

And this part was for her

And this part was for her

This part was for her

Does she remember?

It comes and goes in waves

This one's for the faithless, the ones that are surprised

They're only where they are now regardless of their fight

This one's for believing if only for it's sake

Come on friends get up now love is to be made

Oh oh oh, oh oh oh

Oh, oh oh oh, oh oh oh

And this part was for her

And this part was for her

This part was for her

Does she remember?

It comes and goes in waves, I

Am only led to wonder why

It comes in goes in waves, I

Am only led to wonder why

Why I, why I try

This is for the ones who stand

For the ones who try again

For the ones who need a hand

For the ones who think they can

It comes and goes in waves, I

Am only led to wonder why

It comes and goes in waves, I

Am only led to wonder why

Why I, why, why I fly

I'm Judging You

I’m judging you, Blonde. Double Zero. 5’ 2”. With your chic outfit. Your tiny shorts. Your sea-blue eyes. Your $200 camera around your neck. Daddy’s money.

I’m judging you, Barbie.

I’m judging you, V-neck hipster. Tall and sure. In your skinny jeans. Your cocky air. Your pretentious talk of music. You bare your chest every day. Who do you think you are?

I’m judging you, Pretty Boy.

I’m judging you, Meat-head. Eating your protein bars. Your shaved arms. Your muscles protruding from your polo shirt. Cocky. Heartless.

I’m judging you, Player.

I’m judging you, Drunk. Racist. Bum. You are sober rarely. I have heard stories of your past. Prick. . . is what I’ve heard. You have everything. Yet you choose nothing.

I’m judging you, Pothead.

I’m judging Me, Reckless. Discontent. Confused. You can’t make up your mind. Flake. You cannot have the world, though you think you can. Settle down. Be still. Spaz. Affirmation-craving attention whore.

I’m judging me, always.

I’m loving you.

I’m loving you, Barbie. Beautiful girl. Sharing your broken story with a near-stranger. Your broken dreams. You are kind. You are searching. You are real. More real than I knew. Your soul is as radiant as your face.

I’m loving you, Beauty.

I’m loving you.

I’m loving you, Pretty Boy. Not as sure of yourself as I perceived. Cocky=insecure. Unsure. Thank you for your musical flare. For the drive and Great Lakes sunrise. Thank you for your embrace. Your gracious care. Your understanding.

I’m loving you, Kindess.

I’m loving you.

I’m loving you, Meathead. Indeed different than I thought. Guarded. Courageous. Damaged. You once had Hope. You will again, I am sure. Keep going. Keep laughing. Time will heal us both.

I’m loving you, Hero.

I’m loving you.

I’m loving you, Pothead. I did not know I would. I did not think I could. You are more gracious than I at first perceived. Your words heal my broken soul. Intelligent. Encouraging. You are my friend.

I’m loving you, Brother.

I’m loving you.

I’m loving you, Reckless. You are more than what you lost. Ambitious. Unconditional lover of people—of Life. There is no need to ‘settle’ if you wish to wander all your days. So long as you continue to love along the way.

I’m loving you, Hope.

I’m loving you.

Suitcase

I just unpacked my suitcase
I thought that you should know
It means that I am staying--
It means I will not go

At least not for a while
At least not far away
I'm telling you i'm here now
At least for today

You know I could go anywhere
You know the world's my home
I don't have a single care
And welcome the unknown

But I unpacked my suitcase
I put it away
I am here to stay, you see. . .


At least for today

Elephants & Ham

The other day my dear mother called to wake me up at 7AM with great news:

“Rosie! I have great news. I met a guy who can get you a job selling ham! $11/hr plus commission. Here’s the website. . .” I hung up the phone, grinned ear to ear, and said aloud, to myself,

“Why not.”

This is where I am in life. Ham sales? Why not.

I have an interview with Honey Baked Ham tomorrow. What I’m saying is. . . that I will be attending an interview, to attempt to acquire a job—selling HAM.

Currently, I wait tables at The Little Hills Winery & Restaurant. Before that? Before that, my life looked like this:

·      Nanny

·      Hostess

·      Fire technician/disaster relief

·       News and Editorial Writer

·      Copy Editor

·      Help Desk Assistant

·      Day Camp Counselor

·      Waitress

·      Summer Intern/Disaster Relief Team Leader

·      Bartender

·      Live-in Youth Care Specialist

·      Volunteer Humanitarian

·      Fundraiser- clean water wells

·      Freelance Photographer

·      Mental Health Para Professional

·      Psych Tech

·      ESL Teacher

·      Volunteer demo/roofer- Oklahoma Rebuild

·      Waitress

·      Production Assistant-#Killing Poe

 This does not make for a very fabulous resume. Lots of experience? Yes. But experience in 37 different career fields doesn’t help much when on the job hunt. Employers want to see consistency, which is obviously something I lack.

This list also proves a problem when I am asked (as I often am, as of late):

“So, what do you do?”

I do not know what I do. Do I say I am a server? A photographer? A writer? A humanitarian? A ham sales rep? All of the above?

Since returning to the States, it has been my goal to secure a career in Fundraising and Development with a nonprofit organization. I thought this would be easy, given my experience in national and international fundraising and my natural flair for convincing people/employers I am exactly what they are looking for.

It is not.

But I have learned something of great value in the 4 months I have been stateside. And that is this:

I don’t need a career.

At least not right now. Not this moment.

Not yet.

I just thought I did. I thought I needed one and more than that, I thought I wanted one. Turns out I don’t. The last four months have been a crazy mix of love and loss and heartache and depression and highs and lows and inspiration and lack thereof. But more than anything, it has been 4 months that I have felt more alive than I ever have.

And it is because I am free.

It is because I am seeking Truth and going crazy and living intentionally—and  learning to bake, damnit.

I learned how to shingle a roof in Moore, Oklahoma. I roofed from 6am-9am with a group of total strangers I had met the night before. I roofed while watching the sunrise over the train tracks and the debris of a tornado ravaged city.

I drove to Chicago—twice—to work as a Production Assistant for a feature film (#Killing Poe). I worked alongside SAG actors and actresses. I worked 12- 18 hour days. I was eaten alive by mosquitoes. I watched the sunrise over Lake Michigan and then swam nude in the oceanic freshwater with not a soul in sight but a new dear friend.

I kayaked the Buffalo. And Creve Couer Lake. And the Sac River. And the Meramac. And I’m about to hit up a The Big Caney in Nashville.

I received a 115% tip. I made friends with my other ‘customers’ who may not have tipped incredibly generously, but whom left me with phone numbers, e-mails, job offers, words of encouragement—and mailed me a book.

I came up with 29 things I CAN DO.

I saw the Redbirds play twice—both times in box seats—both times for FREE.

I used my photography from India to advocate for the slum children I met and loved. I found someone to help complete my Uganda sustainable farm project funding video.

And most recently? Most recently I fed the entire ER waiting room at Barnes Jewish hospital in St. Louis. There were 50+ people. All waiting. All hungry. After sharing peanuts, grapes and beef jerky with 5 year-old Reejanda sitting next to me, I realized everyone present was eyeing our feast.

So I went to the cafeteria. And I came back with $37 in fritos, dorritos and funions.

If I had a 9 to 5 job in development, I would have done none of the above. I would have been working. I would not have been able to go to Oklahoma for a week here and there. To Chicago for a week here and there. I would not have had the time for random advocacy projects and spending 13 hours in the ER with a friend. I would not be able to get up and go almost whenever I please.

My dear old dad told me a story about a time when he was 5 years old and on set of a famous Charleton Heston movie. He was an extra, and one of the producers asked his mother if my dad could get on an elephant (The Greatest Show on Earth). She willingly volunteered my dad, but he was too terrified and began screaming at the top of his lungs.

“I could have been the boy on the elephant,” my dad said to me, oozing with regret.

While chatting over ice cream a few days later, talking about my recent part in movie production, my dad y jokingly—yet somehow very seriously—turned to me and said,

“Just remember, if you ever get the chance to get on the elephant, make sure you do.”

I smiled and said I would.

Later, while driving to the city and pondering my father’s sage advice, I realized something.

I realized that I have.

I got on the elephant.

In the jungles of Northern Thailand, I got on the elephant. And I rode it bareback for hours. And I gave it a mud bath. And I swam with it in the river. And I fed it bananas and sugar cane. It was expensive, and in a hard to get to place, but I specifically remember turning to my boyfriend while discussing the elephant opportunity and saying, “When will you ever get the chance to ride an elephant through a jungle again? No matter what, we have to ride the elephants.”

I think my dad was referring more to a metaphorical elephant—but still. The point is that I suddenly felt so hopeful, upon realizing that I had. I had got on the elephant. Not only in Thailand, but in traveling India. In teaching in Korea. In snorkeling in Malaysia. In drilling a well in Africa. In serving in New Orleans. In writing and editing in college. In building homes in Oklahoma. In producing a movie in Chicago. In playing ultimate frisbee and joining the couchsurfing(.org) community in order to meet people in any way I can. In instituting ‘baked good Saturdays’ at Little Hills. In feeding the entire ER waiting room.

So what if I don’t have a career. Or an accurate job title, for that matter. So what if my response to “What do you do?” consists of , “Ummm. . . Korea . . .teacher . . .photography . . . . some humanitarian aid . . . wait tables . . . ham sales? Not sure . . .”

I got on the elephant.

If you ever get the chance—get on the elephant.