Discombobulated

For those who don't know, when Andreana was little, her favorite word was discombobulated. I don't think I have ever heard Stephen say it until this morning so it made me smile.

As for the WADD, when my little sister, Andreana was little she stole a WWJD bracelet from a Christian book store. Oh the irony of that one.
Anyway, when speaking to someone last night I got off the phone upset and remembered that moment. And then I though, it isn't only what would Andreana do, but What Andreana Did Do that matters most now.

Snickers Bars and Bullshit

Who the fuck is going to eat all the chocolate off my Snickers bars or fight over recipes or swap laundry photos? One minute she was sunshine, the next she was being an asshole, but always, always she loved me. When I was the most broken in my life, when I was so devestated I lost 50 lbs in a month, she was there. She took care of my kids. She went out every morning and got me a sweet tea and would give me 1 cheddar round. Just one, it was all I could eat and not get sick.
We would get drunk and do the Cupid shuffle with my parrot (he could dance his ass off). We would bar hop and come home and terrorize my kids by pretending to be monsters outside their windows. She accidentally made the best chicken and dumplings in the history of ever when she mistook a shaker of sugar for salt. She held my secrets and my hand. She made me madder than anyone but managed to make me laugh no matter how much I wanted to choke her. She loved me and hated me and loved me again and sometimes in the same day.

Grieving

It's 10:49 pm, August 27, 2019.
A year ago tonight my Andreana died.
I've spent the day in my room, mostly sleeping, my heart too heavy to even talk.
I've gone though a great many things, and experienced so much loss, but this, this has broken me.
For all my grasping and pulling, I can't fucking pull it together. It's too much.
I'm constantly exhausted. Everything feels loud and heavy and intrusive.
I go days or sometimes weeks where I'm busy enough or distracted enough to hold back what's coming, though I feel it always coming to swallow me. Always coming in the replay of laying in my floor screaming my sister is dead over and over. I need to scream it and never think it and let everyone and no one know it all at the same time. There is nothing good that has come of this, nothing. Nothing to make sense of. Nothing to rise up from. It's just a big fucking void continuously consuming me.

Birthdays and Brokenness

Birthdays are supposed to be full of joy, celebration, cake, balloons, gifts, family, excitement and pride.
Caring for someone with severe mental illness, with a history of trauma, those are very different birthdays.
Today is someone I love's birthday.
For the first time in 14 years, I am choosing to stay home. I can't do it. Not one moment more.
I've spent most of the last 14 years going to one lock down facility or another.
Security screenings
Small decrepit rooms that smell like a weird mix of urine and sanitizer.
Damaged walls from whoever was mad last that they won't bother to fix.
Strangers paid minimum wage sitting nearby.
Awkwardness
Pain
Gifts that meet hospital criteria, no strings, nothing sharp, nothing liquid or that could otherwise be cleverly used in the most awful of ways.
The birthday girl excited about things, never the people that come with them.
Aching goodbyes.
Long drives home full of tears.
Curling up in a ball and crying for hours because this is never what I imagined life would be like when I chose to be a mom.
So I'm choosing to stay home today.
She will still have all the birthday things, just not me, not that I would be missed. The things are what matter.
There will still be tears, but I get to skip all the in-between awfulness, all the pretending. I simply cannot do it anymore.

The God of Miracles

I'm tired.
I have a lot of people reminding me of who God is. And I guess I know what they are saying is true.
A God of Miracles. A God who can work wonders. A God who brings all things together for my good.
Ok.
But I'm tired.
Is the miracle that I'm physically present? What kind of miracle is that? Is surviving and living in almost constant aching miraculous? It doesn't feel that way. It feels like torture. I've always been able to swing things back around, find the good. But lately I can't.

Broken or Just Bent

So I got this tree a couple of years ago. It was discounted because it was badly curved in the middle. As most things in my world, it was broken, discarded. I took it home and built a frame around the bottom. From those I attached 2 support straps, one to the middle, and another pulling in the opposite direction a couple feet up. It looked straight but as soon as the supports were removed, it went back to bent and nothing worthy of being called a tree. A few weeks ago I decided to take them off again, and the tree stood tall and straight, leaves reaching to the sky. A couple days later, a series of storms came, and I was worried. I was certain I'd find the tree bent over, but as I opened the door, there it stood, tall and beautiful. The tree healed, it proved artificial supports unnecessary. The tree is just fine on its own, it only needed time.

Rigoletto

I've recently become a criminal and unlocked my firestick and have access to all the movies.

While most people are looking for the newest not yet released block user, today I searched for a yesterday.

Rigoletto, my sister Andreana's favorite movie. Right there. A click away. And here I sit balling and watching it alone as my kiddos are gone and my Stephen is sleeping.

My favorite quotes from the movie:

There is nothing more mean and ugly in this world than to have a beautiful gift, a loving spirit, and a desire to give and share these things, when there is nobody to share them with.