A Poem

See...here is a Poem I wrote: 

So, here's the deal. I'm not a poet, In fact, I typically avoid writing poetry, but I woke up with these words in my head and I had to write them down. That was a couple weeks ago, and I've hesitated to post it because I was afraid how it would be seen. 

Not because I'm afraid people won't like it, I don't really care what people think regarding my poetry skills; I'm amateur at best. But I was afraid to post it because it gives the impression of sadness and while there is a sadness in grief, over the past year I've also learned the beauty in grief. 

I miss my parents, and that's a good thing. I want to be missed when I'm gone as well. But the emotion of grief has also taught me so much this past year. It's so much more complex than I ever thought it was before. I used to think that grief was just being sad, but I have learned that it's not just that. I'm not even sure that they are sort of the same thing. 

I think that grief is the bridge that helps us cross over from sadness to moving on.  

In my psychology classes over the years, I learned about the stages of grief, and we can categorize them if you want, but it doesn't really work like that for every person. If I had to define my grief, I would say that it is memories. Little memories and big ones too. When they come, especially through everyday little things, I've started to record them because I want to always be able to remember those things. 

For example, at a fireside Sunday the speaker talked about the old church primary song, "Little Purple Pansies" and I realized that the song I thought my mom had made up (She had a knack for making up silly songs) was real. Whenever she saw Pansies - and most especially in the fall and winter time- she would sing that pansie song. I wrote that down to remember her and the pansie faces she loved.

I have a knack for getting paper cuts, the hazards of a lot of filing at work, and for some reason, I seem to get paper cuts in groups and usually just on one hand at a time. This last week, my right hand was all bandaged up with cuts when I got another cut. I shook my head at my own clumsiness and in that moment I thought of my dad, who when I was little would tease me about always injuring one side of me. One time when I stepped on a upturned nail, he pulled it out of my foot and while I cried, he comforted me by saying, "well, at least it wasn't on the side with all your other injuries!" Which made me giggle and forget some of the pain I was in. 

I think those memories are grief. They are at times tinged with sadness, but most often than not, they bring a peace that lets me know that everything is okay. 

But as my poem says, there are days that the grief comes hard and fast and not in slow and trickling memories.I've learned to appreciate those days as well because they are human days that we have to have in order to get stronger. 

Grief doesn't go away in just those well defined stages-grief stays with you and turns you into something more. It turns you into the person that those lost loved ones know you truly are-who they see you as. And that is why it is so important. And so, as you read this poem, remember, it's not in sadness that it was written, but in growth and in grief. 

And don't forget:

A Grief Observed

I saw this on pinterest and it struck my heart. In my 28 years, I admit I haven't had a lot of grief, for which I am grateful. But this past few months losing my mom and dad was just really, really hard. And in those moments, I realized the truth behind the words C.S. Lewis wrote.

I'm sure that there are different feelings of grief for anyone, but for me, this hit it right on the head and I'm going to come back to it. But first, let me set this up.

I made it my goal to take care of my parents, it just felt like what I was supposed to do. When I decided that, I didn't know what the future held for my parents or for myself. I remember there were times when my dad told me not to worry about them, and I know he worried that I was giving things up to be with them.

But on the days when it felt hard, I remembered a quote that I heard on my once favorite TV Show Smallville. I'll be honest, I cried when I heard it. In the particular episode, the young Clark Kent has decided not to go away to school, but to go to a local school and live at home to help his father on the farm in Smallville. His father is pretty upset with him for decision and says, "Clark, I just don't want you sacrificing your potential because of me." and Clark looks at his father and says, "Dad, it's not a sacrifice, it's a choice." I can recall mirror conversations just like this held with my dad. And I'm not saying this because I want praise for my choice, but simply I want to put out there, it was a choice. And when you make a choice, you should always be able to go back and ask yourself why you made that choice, if the reasons are still there, your choice should still stand. And my reasons were always there, and that is why I stayed.

The amount of help I gave to my parents varied on any given day, I still had a mostly full time job, I still had a social life, and I had a great apartment in my parents basement. That all changed in a matter of a few months this year. I don't think many people realize the amount of changes I've had this year, it's easy to forget when you aren't the one experiencing those changes. Besides losing my parents, the smaller and yet still life changing things have included a move in my job location and a move to a new place to live. It's safe to say, the ground has felt a little shaky under my feet for several months now, especially with the big, "What's Next?" question looming overhead.

That question leads me back to that fear. And the grief.

I was talking to a friend who said to me, "You can do anything you want now!" And she's right. I have a freedom now to do the things I always thought about doing but never felt I could fit in before. But there is that fear. Because as I thought about her words, I said to her, "I know you're right. But the hardest part to overcome is the feeling that if I try and fail, I won't have that security of coming home again. I won't have those two people who never really let me fail before. Because if I fell, they were there to pick me up."

To me, that is the fear in grief. I know with all my heart that my mom and dad are far better off where they are now then where they were just a few months ago. I know that I will see them again. But I have realized that all in all, grief is a selfish emotion because you miss that person in your life so much. Grief is wanting them back to fill that hole in your heart that won't ever really go away. And fear is that you don't know where you belong anymore, your world is altered and shaken up as to be unrecognizable and it's hard to want to pick up the pieces."

I think I have started too though. Try to piece back together what my parents always wanted for me to be.

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing. And other times it feels like being midly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take in what anyone says. It is so uninteresting." C.S. Lewis 

June 2013-Strawberry Days Parade

Reality...

I think the world we live in today is so interesting. Here I am, writing a blog (which is essentially a Journal entry) and putting it out there for the world to read. I'm not sure many people read my blog, but regardless, it's silly isn't it? 

There is this need that I have to see my words reach other people. I think it's silly when my mom gets sucked into the Reality Shows like the Bachelor or Dancing With the Stars, but I'm easily swayed into the hype when Britney Spears becomes a judge on the X-factor. There are people who make you roll your eyes when you see them on those kinds of shows, there are blogs, possibly mine, that make you roll your eyes because I'm just that girl who wants someone to read my words and react. 

Why is that, do you think? 

When did we get so sucked up in 'reality' and putting on a 'reality' for others. 

You wanna know me? I'm just a girl who's trying to figure things out. 

I've never been in love, I've never been that important to someone else, but that doesn't mean that I don't want to be. 

In my Anthropology class one time, someone brought up that the culture of Reality TV and Blogging and such has turned us into Narcissists. We think that people really care who we are and what is on our minds. I'll admit, I love it when my facebook status' are liked, and people comment that I'm so funny, or witty or whatever. But I didn't used to be that way, at least it wasn't my main focus. Now it seems as though if a facebook status goes unliked, it means that I myself am unliked. 

I guess I sound like a hypocrite as I'm typing this all on a blog...but I want to know, why is that that it feels so validating when someone comments on my blog?  

Quote of the Day: Shyness has a strange element of narcissism, a belief that how we look, how we perform, is truly important to other people. -Andre Dubus

Quote of the Day:

I guess I've always loved quotes, well, maybe not always, but since I was about 14, which feels like always. I remember my parents had taken me and my nephew Jari and my niece Shalyn to one of those little Utah town my mom loves. It was the year of the bi-centinal I think and my mom had a Utah Passport book where you were supposed to get a stamp from each county you visited in Utah.

Anyway, while we were waiting for them to check into the hotel, we were of course scoping out the gift shop and there was a magnet that said, "Some come into our lives and leave quietly, others leave footprints in our hearts and we are never the same" It struck me because at the time, I was going though those Jr. High friendship challenges where you really learn that. There are the friends who come and go, and there are the friends that make a difference in your life forever.

Well, after that quote, I just started collecting them. From anywhere, anyone. Friends laugh at the quotes that I write down from movies and tv shows. Then they regret it when I've shown them the quotes I've written down from them. I'm quite well known for that! :)

Anyway, my quotes define me. Maybe there are a few people who get that, but I'd be willing to bet that there are alot of people that don't.

Recently I found one that said, "I wish that someone would read my favoite book, just to understand me." And since I send out a "Quote of the Day" to my friends and post it on facebook, I have hesitated at sending this one out. I want people to know that I'm not accusing anyone, but it's so profound at the same time. When was the last time you asked your friend what their favorite book was? Favorite song or tv show? You don't have to love it too, but think how it would make you feel if someone were to ask you what your favorite book was, go home and read it and come back and talk to you about it. I think it would mean a lot to you because it's something that simply is you.

So...this ended up being a really random post, but just thoughts on my mind.