mindful

I started reading Crow Lake Sunday night and found myself grateful I had picked it up while I was alone--Adam was out of town--to devour the words. Mary Lawson, the author, captured so perfectly the moments you go through when someone you love passes away. The way your life slows down and you remember all the pieces of the moment & the moments leading up to it as if burned in your memory. I finally had to put the book down as I found myself reflecting with the author about my own experience and how they compared.


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The day before my brother died, Sunday, I remember like it was yesterday, the way he stood up after church, gave my sister and I a hug at the same time and said, "i love you guys". I remember how we both randomly ended up at my cousins that evening. I didn't know he was going to be there and vice versa, it just happened that he showed up with friends and we were all hanging out. It doesn't seem that random, except it was, that had never happened before. I don't recall the specifics of what was said or even if we hung out that much, but I do remember being in my aunt's bedroom and he was there and I think maybe he was making fun of me about the boy I liked. There was some lively banter, though like I said, it is vague. Then I was at the door leaving, he was there too, I swear he was teasing, he said something to the boy, but the memory is faint, and then I left and that was the last time I saw him.

When I roll these images around in my head of those final moments I am disturbed by the large chunks of time left missing. I don't remember what happened after church to the time we saw each other at our cousins. I don't remember if we had dinner as a family or what we talked about, I hope we did, but I don't know, that time is blurry--and so is our goodbye. I think maybe if I spoke with some of the people there that night I may be able to piece it all together, get a better picture, in fact I'm almost sure I could, but it bugs me that some moments are held tight while others drift away.

I never really made a connection until I was reading Sunday and it got me thinking about my final goodbye with my brother that goodbyes are not something I take lightly anymore. Death changes you. It just does. If you've been through it, you know exactly what I mean and while we all mourn differently and at our own pace, at the other end we come out of it completely different--changed. It's impossible not to, tragedy does not leave one unscathed. And in this one thing, parting, I am completely different than I once was. Goodbyes hold a lot more meaning to me now, and I know this is going to sound completely insane and morbid, but you never do know when it will be your last. In all our years of marriage there have only been a few times where I've let Adam leave on bad terms and let me just tell you, I can't go a few hours without calling and making things right with him. Mostly I end up at the last minute, just in the nick of time, running down the stairs and seeing him get into his car, me waving from the door and telling him I love him--you just never know.

And it's not so much the saying goodbye as much as it's remembering that moment. When the girls leave for school I love them up, send them on their way, and watch them disappear up the hill. It's not really something I do consciously, I'm not standing there wondering if it's the last time I will see them, but deep down I think I'm trying to burn the memory of that moment into my brain. And not even in the case of death, more so, I do it so that I'm present right then and I'll have it to recall on later. I guess you could say remembering has become vitally important to me and don't doubt it has something to do with why I document my life. I don't want to forget where we are or where we've come from.

I guess you could say my experience with death taught me that I want to live a mindful life. I'd like to say that I'm awesome at living mindfully, that I've been living that way since that fateful day in 1992, and even though I don't think I do such a bad job of it, it's still something that I'm continually perusing and working towards. I want to be present in the moment, to be aware of who's around me and what they need, to be mindful of the time given, to be grateful for what I have when I have it now--not when it's gone.

I wish that was a lesson I could have learned another way, but I am grateful, today, that I learned it nevertheless.

xxox