From the moment you're born to the moment your grown you are constantly put into boxes that shape the definition you have of yourself. Usually we think these are bad, but there are many boxes I wouldn't want to escape from. I'm a Woman, a feminist, a daughter, a teacher, a photographer, an artist, and a million other things. The beauty is that YOU get to determine what boxes you want to expand, which ones you want to crawl out from, which ones you'll snuggle into, and ultimately how you organize it all into one beautiful life adventure.
I had my boxes neatly stacked. I had a vision of what my life would hold. I had happiness in each corner. Love is there. Soul is there. Music is there. Family is there. Friends are there. Laughter is there. It's all there. Just there. And it's so so so good. And you just don't think it can get any better. Right.
But guess what. It can.
As a little girl I ALWAYS knew that life was going to be a big deal for me. I believed I was special. I don't think that's a unique thought at 5 or 7 or 9 or 12 or 15...but then again, maybe it is. I've had big dreams that I've chased that have brought me here and I realize the absolute biggest dreams are just starting. That's the most exciting adventure of all. Things my brain couldn't even create out of incredulousness are now all seeming like regular life expectations. Effortlessly they just keep coming.
I haven't felt a lot of emotions lately for obvious reasons. I've been pretty numb...dealing with a lot of pain...more than should be dealt with at one time for any of us humans. And yet, for the first time this weekend, I finally felt that welling up of undeniable excitement and the possibility that dreaming big and watching those dreams come to fruition has started to catch fire within me. It's a flame. It's starting to burn. I see it all. No one is in my way. A world of support around me. A new world waiting to be discovered. A new person to fall in love with. A new language to learn. A new map to navigate. And lots and lots of new people to love and help and learn from.
Last weekend my life was changed. For good. In one thirty second moment. It had been building up all weekend over a number of amazing moments. I posted on facebook. I was going to share. And yet, as I told the story a few times, it started to lose some of it's magic...and, well, I don't really want it to.
So, I'm a gonna keep it just for me. But know that this Super Nova is changed!
I write to process things. I write when the thoughts in my brain swirl around too much and need a release. I write because maybe, just like many people have told me, I simply think too much. I write. Sometimes my thoughts simply compose themselves in the form of stories. I rearrange them just so.
As many of you know, my oldest half-sister, Heather, was shot by her husband on Thursday night.
All day yesterday the thoughts wouldn't stop. All day as I sat in the ICU waiting room thinking of my sister and how all our lives how now been changed forever, it was just me and just my thoughts. I saw things in images and I tried to compose a logical story. But logic just can't exist in such an irrational world can it?
I saw my sister with a swollen face, with her entire body covered with bandages, with the only recognizable feature being her soft, long brown hair spread over the pillow in a fashion that was poetically beautiful, graceful and fragile. That first moment seeing her stopped my heart. How could that be someone I know? How could that be someone I love?
I sat in the ICU hallway because I didn't want to hear the television in the waiting room, clutching my bag with too tight fingers and an old lady in a wheelchair next to me. She looked sad and her body was frail and small and she was an age that I don't even know if I want to live to. To every hospital worker that walked by she screamed at the top of her lungs "Excuse me! You have my husband! I want my husband!" She couldn't go beyond the double doors because she was sick. They wouldn't let her. Her words just kept echoing in my mind. They had her husband, the ICU had her husband and they had my sister and they were calling the shots and they had other people in there. They had them.
My thoughts turned to my brother in law. They turned to the big hug he gave me before I left on my mission and how he told me he was proud. They turned to his height and strength and his smile and how he always made the perfect hamburgers at the family barbeques. They thought of how he held each of their three children with love and tenderness in the hospital after they were born. They thought of the day he married Heather. The day he stood by the priest and watched her walk towards him. Heather, in that white dress, married in a mountain grove of turning leaves in a beautiful Autumn flow of colors much like there are now.
My thoughts tried to put this story together, tried to compose how someone went through all of that and ended up in the driveway. She saying that she was leaving him. Him pulling out a gun and saying she would die first. Little Megan watching. Him shooting her four times, in the face, in each arm, in the knee. My brain can't make that into part of their story. They had a beautiful home, always good with money and always successful. They were always happy. They were to be envied, so how did this happen?
How can anyone do this to someone else? Any two strangers, how could they do this. What is humanity? Is the definition of that word lacking some malicious part that we pretend isn't there?
But how could two people who have shared so much have such a different story going on underneath the surface than the one my brain had been composing for them?
Yesterday, in that waiting room, I had a thought I haven't really ever entertained.
"I don't know if I believe in God anymore."
I don't know if God is apart of my story anymore.
At least not this weekend.
After an afternoon in the ICU I took a break. Then we went back in the evening.
We were in the waiting room. My dad and my mom were holding hands and leaning close together. My sister and her husband had their arms around each other and he was comforting her. My other sister had her boyfriend (almost fiance) and he was slowly rubbing her back and neck and being there. And my youngest sister had her fiance there, going to buy her some coffee, asking what he could do. And for just a few moments I cried selfishly. It was nice not to have anyone asking my why I was crying, we had all been crying. But for the first time that day I cried because I felt really, really alone. I cried because I didn't have that person to depend on. I cried because as we all sat quietly in the waiting room I just sat there and held my purse in my lap. I watched all my sweet sisters with the loves of their lives and I felt nothing but skeptical. I felt nothing but the fact that I was alone and maybe life is better when you don't depend on that one other person. Around me, in that waiting room, there was so much love. And yet, why was my sister bleeding and wounded behind those doors as a result of some twisted version of love? How could I be in the presence of such sweet and tender emotions as these four beautiful couples were showing last night? All the while sitting and waiting to hear if Heather would live because of what own husband had done to her. How is such a dichotomy of the same emotion even possible?
Last night the ironies of love were simply too much for me to handle.
I'm a traveling super nova...living, working, loving, and breathing. I love the way a good Scottish accent sounds, I love singing in the kitchen while I cook, I dream in iambic pentameter (a side effect of all the Shakespeare plays I have directed), my favorite book shops are in Paris and Boston. I am trying to learn the art of feng shui. I like gratitude.