Maybe he was hit by a bus....

"We're all lonely for something we don't know we're lonely for. How else to explain the curious feeling that goes around feeling like missing somebody we've never even met?" --David Foster Wallace

I've had the strangest, most random feeling of loneliness the past few days. Why it started, who knows. Maybe it's because I look around and see the world moving forward while I feel trapped, shackled in my emotional prison. Maybe it's because I realized that this time last year, I was sitting in an empty house waiting for a husband who was never coming home...not because of some noble cause, but because he was too weak to fight for our family or because he just didn't love me anymore or because he didn't like what I made for dinner. Who knows why he decided I was no longer worth coming home to.

Part of this feeling probably has to do with my obsession with Christmas. Let me explain. I looked at the calendar and realized that there are less than 100 days til Christmas....87, to be exact. This means I am racing the clock to get everything done. We take Christmas very seriously where I'm from. It requires much planning and preparation. When I realized this, my next thought was, "Oh crap, I'm gonna be 31 the day after Christmas!" Believe it or not, I did not really struggle with my 30th birthday. I think I was so glad to be alive and to be surviving what I was going through that my age was the least of my concerns. This year, it's just another reminder that I'm alone. I'll spend the holidays with my family that are traveling here. We'll laugh and reminisce and make some great memories. Then I will get in my truck and go home, alone.

Never in a million years did I ever imagine that I would be divorced at the age of 30. Somehow I always thought that I'd be married and have a wonderful job that I love, a beautiful home, 2.5 perfect children, and a golden retriever in the white-picket-fenced yard. Every girl's dream, right? Instead, I'm living with my dad waiting for my house to sell so I can afford an apartment

Even as I'm writing this, I realize that this loneliness is not the kind that comes merely from being alone. I've been alone before. I was 26 when I got married, for goodness sake. I'm ok with not being in a relationship. My time is not spent pining away like a princess in a tower waiting to be rescued. This loneliness is the kind that stems from rejection and abandonment, the kind that makes you question if you will always be alone because you aren't good enough or smart enough or pretty enough or....well, ANYTHING enough. This loneliness comes from questioning if this is a permanent state of affairs.

Maybe my prince charming doesn't have GPS and won't ask for directions. I read that on a bumper sticker and laughed hysterically, until I really thought about it. What if it's true? What if my ex really was my one and only and he decided I wasn't worth it and now I'm destined to live my the rest of my life alone? My mind reels at the repercussions of not having a husband, a family. It means that one day I will be old and there will be no one to come visit me at the nursing home. I'll die alone and have to depend on my brother to take care of my funeral. My only hope is that Jason outlives me so that he can step in and make sure that my send off is the fabulous affair that it should be. Most of all, I'm afraid that when I die, I won't be missed because I have no one to love me.

Don't get me wrong, I am loved. I have my family and my friends. But I don't have that one person in the world to whom I am the whole world; the person who would question if he could go on without me.

I had that once. I may never have that again.

Why can't I trust God as much as I trust my GPS?

I'd like to introduce you to my wonderful friend Karen. She has a beautiful Australian accent and travels with me everywhere I go. Karen is always there ready to direct me when I take a wrong turn or when I need to find the nearest Wal-Mart. She never leads me astray...when I follow her directions. Karen is my GPS.

I know what you're thinking.....who is crazy enough to name their GPS? First of all, that's the name of the voice that I have programmed on it. Secondly, nearly everyone I know that has a GPS, has a name for it.

Now that my sanity has been defended, here's the story....

I left the house this morning, running late, as usual. This was no normal day, however. Today I was headed to one of the most important meetings of my life. Today was my volunteer driver training for the Road to Recovery program. If you're not familiar with it, please check it out at http://www.cancer.org/ - and, yes, that was a shameless plug for an amazing community resource. I had been looking forward to this since I got the e mail last week. I've always been involved in community service, but in the last year, I have been more driven than ever. When I first began putting my life back together after my divorce, volunteering was one of the only ways I felt like I had something to contribute to the world.

Even though I was going to be tardy, I was determined to not miss this training. I had every confidence that Karen would find the most efficient route to my destination. Typically, I program the address and only follow directions once I am near the end of my journey. I can get myself in the general vicinity. But today was no ordinary day, so I followed Karen's directions to the letter.

Things started out well enough. Karen was following the standard route I always take. But about halfway there, she told me to turn right. What?? I've never been on this road....are you sure this is the right way? But I did as I was told, assuming that this was a short cut to the other main road that I knew went the direction I was going. We all know what assuming does. This was no exception.

The next part of my trip became a series of twists and turns and changing roads. Normally, I have a great sense of direction. But I had never been on these roads and after a few turns, I had no idea which direction I was supposed to be going....which I meant I had to rely on Karen even more. Dreadful thought.

So I kept following the course Karen had graciously planned for me. When I turned on Back Road, I had a smidge of doubt, but quickly reminded myself that Karen had brought me this far and obviously knew the way. The doubts grew as the road narrowed and there was no center line. My misgivings seemed justified as the landscape changed to cows and barns and corn, but still I marched on. When I saw another main road up ahead, I silently asked Karen to forgive me for thinking she would lead me awry.

The smooth, wide, well-maintained road that I saw was not what she had in mind for me, however. Yet another side road was my pathway. I had resigned myself to a journey through the country, which I would have enjoyed had I not been in such a hurry. I let my mind drift as I watched the rain fall all around me. That's when disaster reared it's ugly head. Somehow in my daydreaming, I had missed the sign warning me about the sharp turn up ahead. I found myself trying to brake without skidding on the wet pavement, struggling to negotiate this sudden twist in the road.

I would love to blame Karen for this near mishap. After all, she was the one who led me down that dangerous and unfamiliar road in bad weather. It was her brilliant idea to avoid all main roads in favor of country lanes. But was it her fault that I failed to see the signs of what was ahead? Could I blame her for the fact that I was so blase about my driving that I ignored the obvious warnings? No, it was not her fault; so again, I apologized and continued on, trusting that she would help me complete the journey.

That's when it hit me that I have exponentially more faith in Karen - who is, after all, only as good as the people who programmed her - than I do in God, my Lord and Saviour, Creator of the universe. How hard that was to admit, even to myself! I never blindly follow God. The conversation sounds something like this....

God: Sarah, I want you to turn right on the next road.

Sarah: God, I've never been on that road, but the one after that comes out near where I'm going, so why don't I just take that one instead?

God: No, it doesn't take you where you think it does....and that's not where you're going, anyway. You have a few stops to make on the way.

Sarah: Stops? What stops? We did not discuss making stops before I got there. I haven't planned for that or allowed enough time. That's going to make me really late getting to where I'm going. Are you sure this is the right way?

God: Yes, I'm sure. I've had this planned for a while. Just trust me.

Sarah: I know...you're God and I'm not...you're the Boss...but I really think this isn't going to work.

Get the idea? I would love to tell you that this is only an occasional lapse of faith on my part. Unfortunately, God has come to accept that this is the conversation we have every time He gives me direction. Sometimes I have to wonder if He didn't help scientists develop things like Xanax due to His frustration over His conversations with me. If I could frustrate Him that much, there's no way people were going to be able to tolerate me without some sort of help.

As my lack of faith really began to sink in, I felt the wave of shame wash over me. God, do I really question you that much? Do I really believe that You would take me down an unsafe road and cause me harm? My heart cried out a thousand apologies and I meant every one of them. How could I think that a kind and loving Saviour that would give up His life for me would then lead me down and unfamiliar path only to abandon me?

So my resolution for tomorrow is to put my GPS faith in the One who creates not only the map, but also the road, for every journey.

All holidays are cancelled until further notice....

"To many people holidays are not voyages of discovery, but a ritual of reassurance." -Philip Andrew


Anyone who knows me already knows that I have an abnormal obsession with holidays, especially Christmas. I love the traditions that go with each and every one. As a child, my little OCD mind loved knowing what was coming.

For New Years' Day, Grandma Hettie always had pork and cabbage (which I did not eat). She said it was for good luck. I still haven't figured out how that is good luck food, but she made it every year, without fail.

When Easter came, there was always the duck family that migrated to my basket. I don't know when my mother started making them for me. I don't remember an Easter without them. Each year she would make the trip to the candy making supply store to buy the provisions to make my chocolate ducks. There was the papa duck with his top hat; the mama duck with her Easter bonnet; and the baby duck with his beanie. Every year they looked the same, without variation. The first Easter after she died, I woke up still expecting to find my duck family. But there were no happy little ducks. There was no basket. That's when I knew that things would never be the same. We could go through the motions of Christmas and Thanksgiving and all the others, but that was a tradition completely unique to my mother and it died with her.

When the snow began to fall, we would begin the search for a Christmas tree. Inevitably, I would find the tree that was perfectly shaped only to be outvoted. My mother was always devoted to the misfits of the world and this extended to the realm of the pines as well. We were destined to every year have a tree with some major fault - too fat but only on one side, huge holes where branches were missing, leaning a little to the left, two tops....you name a fault in a Christmas tree, I'm sure we brought it home. Then came the fight about the decorations. I, of course, wanted all white lights and matching ornaments. My father liked the old fashioned large, multi-colored lights; my mother liked the small multi-colored twinkle lights. They both got their lights; I got told I could have what I wanted when I had my own house. On went the lights. Next, the angel on top. After that, the first ornaments to go on the tree, without exception, were always the ones my parents had on their first tree. And somehow the flaws that I had seen when I looked at the tree on the lot disappeared as the magic of Christmas filled the room.

As the years passed and I was making the holidays special for my own family, I tried to forget all the things that I missed about holidays with my mom. I tried not to remember how we had to cram every ornament we owned onto the biggest Christmas tree in the civilized world. I did my best to forget that the Thanksgiving lasagna started the year she had her first heart surgery and I was responsible for making Thanksgiving dinner, but had no clue how to make a turkey. But the more I tried to forget, the more my heart ached for all the things I missed. To make matters worse, I had married a man who dictated that we spend every holiday with his family, never with mine. So I found myself hundreds of miles from home with no family and none of my traditions for the holidays.

Now I'm facing my first holidays officially back on my own. In a weird way, I had been looking forward to it because not being tied to him meant that I was free to be with my family. I was going to get to go home to Grandma's house, home to West Virginia for Christmas and we would bake together and decorate the tree and life would be just like it used to be....well, almost. But now that's been stolen, too. Is it possible to have Thanksgiving dinner with no grandma's house to go to? Can a person celebrate Christmas with no mother to shop for? No husband to drop hints to about what I'd like him to buy for me? No daughter's face to light up brighter than the tree as she opens the gifts Santa brought her?

Those traditions were my security blanket. No matter how horrible the world seemed, everything was ok as long as I had those holiday rituals. But an era has ended. I have no mother, I have no daughter, I have no grandmothers.

So for now, I've decided to cancel all holidays. For now it just doesn't seem possible to celebrate anything.

A Real Love Story

Over the past few weeks, I have seen the truest love anyone will ever witness. I saw a glimpse of it 6 years ago, but I was drowning in guilt and grief and couldn't see it clearly. This time, I have had the awesome privilege of drinking in the picture of true love.

Their story started over 50 years ago in a little West Virginia town. She told me that his younger brother used to walk her home from school, but he was the one she thought of. She told me that he used to sit on the steps of the general store and smoke his cigarettes, but he gave them up when she told him she didn't like that. She told me about when he asked her to be his bride and they went to the preacher's house to be married. I can just imagine the look on her face as she said, "I do". I can imagine it because I've seen the way she still looks at him. It's not at all difficult for me to picture him as the preacher said, "You may kiss your bride." I see it clearly because he still blots her lipstick for her.

The next years were spent working and raising children and caring for aging parents. Four children they sent out into the world. My mother used to tell me stories about growing up. She would tell me that their house was where all of her friends wanted to gather. Even children can feel when a house is filled to the brim with love. My own friends all called her Grandma...and she really was everyone's Grandma. But she was mine first.

I have watched them as they have grown older and slowed down, as their health has declined. He washed her hair when she couldn't do it herself. He took over the grocery shopping when she was too tired to walk through the store. Never once did I hear him complain. I don't think it would have occurred to him to not want to take care of her.

Now, I watch him watching her as she struggles to breathe. He has not left her side for days. The chair he occupies is not a comfortable one. He doesn't say a word. At night, he turns the chair so that he can better see her face. I watch him gently stroke her hair and kiss her face and I can't help but think how lost he will be when she's gone. She's been the rock of our family, the one we all lean on. She's been the glue that holds us together. Nothing will ever be the same again.

Young couples think they have the monopoly on love and romance, but they have no idea what love is really about. Love is staying together through 50 years of babies and fights and jobs and deaths and joys. Love is slowing your steps when the one you love can no longer walk quickly. Love is sitting constantly by her bedside knowing that the minutes you share with her are numbered. I have been so incredibly blessed to have been a part of their love story and would give anything if only I could change the ending that must come.

numbness

Today, my head is craziness and numbness. I wish for the release that tears would bring, but they don't come. I should feel something. There's only emptiness. It's as if I'm watching the world pass by in slow motion. Life is going on around me, though I hear no sound. For once, I wish for the reality of pain.


As I sat today at her bedside, I was struck by how much she looks like her mother. I never noticed it before. It was as shocking as the first time I realized how much I look like my mother. The same blood that runs through her veins ran through my mother's veins, runs through mine still. Then I realize the blood running through her veins belongs to someone else; several people actually. She's been running on borrowed blood for weeks now. I would gladly give her all of mine if it would change the outcome.


I try not to compare this to the last time I sat in a hospital room, but my mind inevitably drifts back to that day. If things had gone differently that day, my mother would be in this room today tending to her mother, hovering over her as we are all apt to do. It's a trait that's been handed down through the generations; we are caretakers, the women of my family. If things had gone differently that day, she would be here to tell me what to do and how to handle this. But she isn't here. She's been gone nearly six years, but I can look around and know exactly what she would be doing, what she would be saying.


She's the missing link of the chain that anchors me to this hospital room. I'm a generation unto myself...I'm no longer a mother and I no longer have a mother. Fathers are wonderful to have, but sometimes a girl just needs her mother. Today is one of those days. But if she were here, she would be feeling the same way.