The Christmas Spirit

'Twas the day before Christmas [Eve], and all through the house, creatures were definitely stirring, because all of their belongings were covered in a questionable liquid.

I'll start this post by reminding you Christmas is NOT my favorite holiday. It takes a LOT for me to 'get into the Christmas spirit', if you can even say I do that. The season seems so busy to me that I don't really get to celebrate it for the reason I'm supposed to, and I don't like that.

Friday night I went to a Christmas concert with some friends and that helped. Last night I volunteered at Winter Wonderland, and that was fun. Today my mom and I were going to bake, and I was excited about that. This week we are traveling and eating sweets and spending lots of time with all sides of our family, and that will be fun.

This morning my alarm went off and I stumbled into the bathroom when my sister walked by and said "Hey, don't flush the toilet. The sewer backed up in the night so we can't put any water down the drain... and we need to get everything out of the basement because the floor is soaked."

So, quick break here, my parents are some pretty organized people, but they are currently housing all the stuff that doesn't fit in my sister's apartment, AND an entire two bedroom apartment (we're talking EVERYTHING) from Omaha because I'm on rotation and have been living with them for the past six months. So like, a normally unfortunate and treacherous situation of sewage water in your basement just became 10x worse because everything your daughter owns is down there. In May, when that apartment came home from Omaha, our guest bedroom became a life size game of Tetris with lamp shades, couch cushions, tables and chairs, bedroom furniture, and all the odds and ends we could fit in the gaps. Which meant that this morning, we spent about three or four hours un-Tetrising the basement, with our feet squishing every step in the carpet, hoping and praying that that water was like, moderately clean.

So instead of taking a shower, I put on a sweatshirt and found some old shoes and traipsed to the basement. Everything that was wet, boxes, furniture, other random things, had to be carried outside. All the furniture was spread out and tilted on it's side so it could dry. About half an hour in my mom commented that we should probably be wearing gloves, so we went and found some, and some hand sanitizer, and just kept right on trucking. My sister works in a research lab that tests/cleans/does something with swine waste so she is like, in her prime during this extravaganza. I am wondering how long until I suffer some sort of bacteria related illness. My mom is wondering why she doesn't have 3 more cases of lysol on hand.

A little while later my sister had to make a Wal-Mart run for some furniture sliders to prepare for when we actually have to move all this furniture back. (Moment of silence for my sister going to Walmart on December 23) She stopped at McDonald's on the way home so we could have breakfast. I have not had coffee yet because I'm well aware that coffee gets the intestines moving, and you know, we can't flush our toilets. We all sat at the kitchen table, smelling like questionable water, sweat, and LOOKING like we hadn't showered, and ate sausage biscuits, laughing about how this was a weird way for the Lord to get us to spend time together. It was possibly the least extravagant family meal we've ever had, but somehow one of the most delicious.

We weren't completely done until around 2:00, my parents moving boxes around to ensure we found all the water, reorganizing things, using the shop-vac to dry the carpet, and setting up box fans and a humidifier. I used the Shop-Vac in the bedroom and had put a towel down to kneel on so I didnt have to sit in the water, but soon realized that it only took 30 seconds or so for the towel to become saturated.

Now, we're just starting our baking for the next few days. No one has taken a shower still, but it's sure making me appreciate peppermint bark more after spending all morning wondering what kind of water was all over my dishes. *Not the same dishes we are doing Christmas baking in.* Isn't it weird what gets you in the Christmas spirit?

Merry Christmas, y'all. May your holidays be happy, your family time be joyful, and your shitter never be full.

In the Moment

Two years ago in February, my family lost our dear Aunt Bobbie.

She never had any children of her own, and she was the 'cool aunt' for three different generations. She treated all her nieces like treasure, and I hold those memories near and dear to my heart. Although we lost her two years ago, the battle of losing her started many years before that - she began developing dementia when I was 15 years old, around the time her last living sister died. She lived with dementia for the last 7-8 years of her life. Our losses began with the short term memory - "Oh, did they come to visit me last week? Gosh, I can't remember." and eventually progressing to nearly no memory at all. She lost the ability to take care of herself entirely, and for the last few months, she rarely was awake during our visits. I saw a side of my mom during that time that I admired so much. My mom is very close with all her family, and I watched her help my aunt dress herself when she was needing a change of clothes after an accident, doing it in a way that allowed my aunt to maintain her dignity and feel loved and cared for. My mom would talk to her in her last months even if we weren't sure she could hear us or listen to us. She wiped her face when she was messy, changed her clothes, and talked to nurses about her concerns. My mom showed the kind of care that I never was brave enough to show.

Ever since I was little, I've known I wanted to work with kids. I've had changes in what that career looks like, but it's always been with kids. My sister loved visiting my aunt and hearing her stories. I had a really hard time. I hated the assisted living facility. I hated all the people just sitting there asleep in chairs, staring out the window, or asking questions that made no sense or merited no answers. It made me feel hopeless. I never want to work with older people, I would say. This is so sad. If kids are sick, they have hope to get better and live a long life. Older people... not as much. I would make excuses to not have to sit there on Sundays. It made me so sad, I was uncomfortable. I felt like I was watching my once lively and ornery aunt deteriorate before my eyes, and it tore my heart apart. More than that, it tore me apart that I wanted to badly to leave her because I was so uncomfortable. I would be filled with guilt and dread fighting each other for most of our visit.

Last week, I was assigned an evaluation for an older woman. I'm leaving out/changing a few details about her and her story, including her name and diagnosis, to protect her confidentiality. The physical therapist stopped me in the hallway prior to going in the room just to let me know about how she was doing, as she normally does. She reported that the woman wasn't able to do much. She would say "okay" and then not follow through with the commands. She told me she has Alzheimer's. I was a little nervous.

When I walked into the room, I was transported back three years when I would walk into Aldersgate to see my aunt. I greeted her by name and asked about her pain, and she mumbled something incomprehensible in response. I told her I was here to work with her. The way she spoke, her facial features, her body language, and even the way she was positioned in bed actually had me taking a few deep breaths to gather myself. I was SURE this wasn't my aunt, right? I asked her a few questions, and she was either unable to answer or gave me an answer that didn't match the question I asked. I felt stuck. I remembered doing this with my aunt. I hated it.

The woman (we'll call her Jean) eventually perked up a bit. I told her it snowed last night, she thought that was lovely. I told Jean we would sit at the side of the bed and look at the snow, and she thought this was a fine idea. I carefully adjusted a brace that needed to be on before we sat up, talking to her about what I was doing. I hated it when people touched or moved my aunt without talking to her about what they were doing. I noticed how many things came naturally to me with this woman that would have made me fear for my life when working with Bobbie, thanks to talking about Alzheimer's in OT school. I started a lot of sentence with "You were mentioning.... how is that going?" To try to get her to answer questions she otherwise wouldn't come up with on her own.

After we went to the bathroom, I asked Jean to brush her teeth for me, as I ask all clients on evaluation. She looked in the mirror at herself and commented about her messy hair. I asked her if she would like for me to brush it for her. "No", she replied "my mom did it for me this morning. I think it's okay." She would continue to make references throughout the session about how tonight she would have dinner at her grandparents house because it was Sunday. When I asked about her hobbies, she told me about her sewing, her cooking, her cleaning - she makes all her children's clothing. I watched how difficult it was for her to move her hands and fingers and wondered how many years ago it had to have been since that was true.

Jean and I spent the rest of our time together conversing and looking at the snow out the window. She gave me information that would have likely been accurate from her teens all the way to her 50's. As we were finishing up, I told her that I would take her down to the dining room for lunch, knowing that nursing was wanting to eat with her. She looked at me with a moderate amount of concern and said "I think I should be going soon. I really need to get home and make dinner for my kids."

Time froze for a moment as I remembered Bobbie telling me so many things about life that didn't make any sense. There's a certain point with Alzheimer's where they no longer know they have Alzheimer's. Once you hit that point, it does little good to correct someone's mistake - it deters conversation and it makes them feel bad about themselves. It is best, I'm learning, to be in whatever moment that they are. I learned that in school and with working with kids for so long, and it mostly pertained to pediatric patients. A 13 year old child with developmental delays may not be appropriate for his peer's activities - you need to meet him where he is. A child with sensory modulation disorder will be unable to function in a crowded therapy gym - he needs therapy that can meet him where he is. An adolescent who has suffered a below knee amputation on both legs two weeks ago may not be ready for my long list of ideas about the best ways to get in and out of the bathtub - I may need to sit with her and mourn the perceived loss of her freedom, independence, and ability to play sports as she once knew them. Many times with Bobbie, well into my 20's, I would answer questions that were no longer relevant - yes, I DID just get my driver's license and I am loving it. I kept a photo of myself from prom on my phone for several years after my high school graduation, because her brain was stuck there - I wanted to acknowledge her curiosity about whether I had a good time. Was my date cute? Please let her see a photo of my dress. Thanks to my aunt, I knew that the best response with Jean was not to tell her that she probably wouldn't be leaving today.

"I bet that will be delicious." I responded. "But it's only 11:30. You have plenty of time. We have really good food here, and lots of fun people to talk to. You should join us for lunch. We'd love to have you." She thought for a minute about my offer, looked at the clock, relaxed in her chair. "Well, I suppose that will be alright." We went to the dining room together and I got her a warm blanket for the draft. She was still looking outside at the snow when I turned to see a lady standing at the table. "Hi mom." The woman said. Suddenly, all was right in the world again. I saw Jean's eyes be overcome with familiarity for the first time during our session. They seemed to light up at the only thing that was familiar all day.

Aunt Bobbie, I know there are no memory deficits, no illnesses, and no confusion in heaven. Thank you so much for teaching me to be everything I am now that I wasn't able to be before you.

"Swing your arms when you walk, my love. That will make sure that your coconuts are always higher than your grass skirt." - Aunt Bobbie to me, when I was 9, wondering what kind of coconuts she was talking about.

On Difficult Losses

Over the past month I've been following the story of Mollie Tibbetts, a University of Iowa student who went missing at the end of July. The first time I saw her picture, I noticed how contagious her smile was, and she caught my eye. After scanning the article, when it said she was last seen jogging, I was hooked. There was no way I could let this story go now - I know that sentence all too well. I prayed often for her safe return. As the days passed by, I felt less and less sure that her safe return would happen. This morning, I read that her body had been found in a field in rural Iowa.

Ding Ding Ding. That sentence tugged at a string deep in my heart that I had not felt in several years.

Now, I'm not from Iowa, but going to OT school at Creighton has blessed me with several friends who are. I have gained a new appreciation for this state and often see similarities in my friends from Iowa and my friends from Kansas. Most of them are small town kids, who really love ranch dressing, and are used to the world being a safe and happy place (and yes, I realize this is actually most of the midwest). Also, check out the University of Iowa's Stead Family Children's Hospital and their relationship with U of I every Saturday during football season. Dare you not to cry.

One of the things that I felt the most blessed by after the day that Brenna died was the people that surrounded me that had gone through the loss of a friend, a difficulty tragedy, or a traumatic experience that were willing to be with me, talk to me,  hug me, and basically, let me know they survived. I wish I could just go to Iowa and talk to this girls' friends. I want to hug them and promise them it's going to be okay. I want to promise them this pain won't last forever. I want to promise them that right now, it seems like the bad in the world outweighs the good, and even though that's not true, it's okay if you want to be really, really, pissed off about it for awhile. I know I was.

If we haven't met,  and you're a person grappling with the unexpected and unfair death of your friend, Hi, my name is Emily, and I lost a friend to murder when I was 17. I'm now 24 and working on my doctorate. I have great family and friends, hobbies, strengths, and weaknesses. Best of all, I've got an extra spark to finish out the calling of someone I loved who will no longer be able to. Life did go on. Some days, reluctantly, but it did. And I'm not trudging through it anymore like when Mario and Luigi get stuck in that mud. It got so much easier. Our situations have some major similarities but also some differences. Regardless, both very painful. Here's a few things I want you to know, sweet friend.

1. This really sucks, doesn't it? It blows. It's horrifying. It's terrifying. It's painful. It's all of the awful words that I shouldn't even type because my mom reads these. Sit in it. Let it suck. That's okay. It's probably one of the most awful, most terrible thing you have ever been through. I dare you to feel all the feelings. The worst thing you can do is try to not feel the things you absolutely need to feel.

2. Please understand it's okay for it to hurt. It's okay to be so, so, so unbelievably angry you can't function. (I vividly remember a shoe flying at my parents glass door the night Brenna died) It's okay if you aren't angry at all yet. It's okay if you're numb right now. It's okay if you feel so overwhelmed by your own emotions you can barely remember your own name. It's okay to want to do every memorial activity possible and also do nothing but lay in bed forever at the same time.

3. It's okay if you feel like the world started spinning again after this was all over and you weren't totally ready for it. I remember going back to work the afternoon after Brenna's funeral. She died on a Friday and I went back to work Wednesday afternoon. Luckily, I didn't have the type of job where I actually went back to work, I had the type of job where I went back to the physical building of work and my coworkers ensured I was in the infant room and that there were plenty of infants who needed held and I didn't actually do much work for several weeks. I was at a loss for the first few weeks that people just kept going to work. Time just kept passing. People kept peopleing. It's like the universe is oblivious that your little corner of the world is shattered.

4. Very normal things are going to be very difficult. That's okay, too. I remember walking in to work and the baby they handed me through my tears was about six months old.  I had been taking care of him since he was six weeks old. Every day. I knew this kid so well. I went to get his blanket and his binky to rock him to sleep, and I could not for the life of me remember which blanket and binky were his. I have been doing this job every day for five months and suddenly something that I used to be able to do with my eyes closed took all the mental energy I had. It was like that for awhile. That's okay.

5. It's okay to grieve differently than your friends. Sometimes you will grieve the same, and sometimes you will not. You will likely not grieve on the same timeline. You need to do the things that are good for YOU. I still go to the cemetery every single time I come home and there are some of my friends who have never been. I have kept the majority of the things I got from her as gifts or that were her belongings. In high school, Brenna went on a class trip to Europe. She asked me what I wanted her to bring me. I told her she had enough to worry about and I just wanted to see her pictures. She insisted, so I jokingly asked for a rock. Something easy, right? Well she followed through. That rock sat on my shelf for probably 3-4 years. You have to do things on your OWN timeline. I need that kind of attachment so that I can give it up on my terms, when I am ready. Blogging has been the hobby I take up when I am feeling grief. On days like today, I need to write, because even if no one reads it, I feel better.

6. Ask for help when you need it. It's okay to need a lot of help right now and in the months and years to come. I just finished almost two years with a counselor where we talked a LOT about losing Brenna. It seemed odd for so much of it to come so long after, but I know that was when I really needed it. It was just the way things panned out. She was phenomenal, and I think that's part of why it waited so long - because I needed her.

7. It was close to two years after Brenna died before I realized for the first time how unusual it was that I had something like this happen before I turned 18. That seems really dumb, I just had been so engulfed in it since the day it happened that I hadn't had a chance to be like, wow. This has been really hard. A lot of my friends haven't had to do this. Please don't take for granted how tough you are. You are tough the day you get the phone call she was found, and you are tough five, ten, and twenty years later. I am hugging you for your toughness.

8. Brenna's dad said in an interview the year after she died that one of the most important things they had to do in those first few days was just to 'do the next thing'. Taking on the challenges of daily life can seem like an impossible task when you are waist deep in anger, news articles, and court dates. Don't think about the week. Think about the next thing. Brush your teeth, eat a snack, or just be.

9. You have to look for the good things. THAT IS SO HARD if it's very soon. So hard. I challenge you to find one thing each day that is good. Looking back, I see an immense amount of people, situations, and opportunities God blessed me with to ease my pain when I thought it was at it's very worst. It didn't feel easier at the time, but I see it now. The Sunday after Brenna died (basically 48 hours after our search was over) I went to Dairy Queen with some friends and our parents after a jam packed weekend of watching the news, attending memorial services, trying to force myself to sleep and eat, and doing the next thing. My mom sat my ice cream down and said 'this is dinner'. And you know what? Best chocolate shake I've ever had.

10. The last and most important... This will affect you for the rest of your life. For the first little while, that's mostly a bad thing. After that, it's mostly good. You'll see over time the slow changes. For the first little while, it affects you every single day because it's all you can think about. You're from a small town in Iowa. Things like this don't happen in small towns. Trust me, I know. I'm not from a small town, but I'm from a happy, tight knit community in Kansas that was very close. This was a shock. At the beginning, it affected me more than daily. I was an angry 17 year old trying to wrap my head around what just happened and prepare to move to college for the first time - AND think about how my friend would never get to do that. Some of the negatives still haven't left - I still can't stand being home alone, especially at night. I still don't really like to sit in public places where my back is to the door, and I'm jumpy at loud noises. I can't stand the sound of helicopters because it reminds me of a search helicopter, and I almost always tear up when I see white daisies. But that affects me relatively minimally - and each time I face it, it gets easier. I can't tell you in how many ways and parts of life losing Brenna has made me a stronger person and how many times along the way I just know she's helped me. It has made me love the people around me so much harder, and be the first phone call for so many of my friends experiencing loss - and that's really what I want. If I can't have my way and have Brenna back, I want the best POSSIBLE outcome otherwise. (I know that if you are reading this and you've lost your friend recently, you're mentally/literally giving me the middle finger because that's what I would have done to someone telling me this at that time. That's fine. Put this away and read it again in a few years.) I want to help others who are going through immense pain that I have previously felt. Which is why, dear friend, my heart is hurting for you today enough to write this blog, even though I don't even know you.

Some of the comments I've seen on Facebook or news articles today have lots of people making back and forth comments like 'why wasn't she carrying pepper spray' and then someone replies with 'she shouldn't have to' and then the other person is like 'yes but she still should have been'. And I bet that if you just lost someone like Mollie, that makes you angry, because I remember it making me angry.It doesn't matter what should have happened on her part or anyone else's. Court dates are stupid because who cares what the sentencing is if my friend is gone. The news stations picking up the story like they knew her is stupid, because they don't. What matters is that she's gone. People are telling you to hang in there, and you're like, yes, that's exactly what I'm doing. I am hanging on to normal functioning with the skin on my pinky toe, right now. If the wind blows, I'm toast.

More than once people have asked myself or my friends how on earth we can keep believing in God after this has happened. My answer is simple: I can't not believe in Him, because I can't live in a world thinking that this is it. I have to believe there is something better waiting for me - a world where girls can go running with no worry that they won't come home. A world where people don't kill each other, a world where people look out for each other and protect each other. It is my greatest hope that all of Mollie's friends will see her again one day, as that assurance has brought me so much peace with Brenna's death and others as well. I can't wait to hear those sweet words 'Welcome home my child, well done.' only to be attacked by the hug I waited so long for.

Hang in there, dear friend. I believe in you. I am praying for you. I am confident in what is to come.

Because I am Weak

Something important to know about me is that I'm a negotiator.

I think a lot of this comes from working with little kids for as long as I have (and loving every minute of it.) It comes from hours of M&M's for peeing on the potty, stickers for following directions, and my own inherent belief that people, especially children, do things they are motivated to do, and you cannot expect children to suddenly want to behave really well.

I am a negotiator as a therapist. I negotiate free time, favorite games, use of the trampoline, and gummy bears for trying new things, working really hard, or any other skill that is particularly difficult for a child. I want my patients to understand that I value their opinions and preferences, but I want to prepare them for the world that surrounds them. I understand that life is hard and I value their hard work. I want them to know I see them. If you do it long enough, this usually works with kids. The depths of your relationship, trust, and love can help kids to want to be the best they can be because they want to do what makes you happy. In turn, your desires are what really makes them the happiest too, and everyone wins.

This negotiating strategy, however, that works so well in one of the most important parts of my life, is one of my biggest struggles with God. And it isn't a new struggle.

I remember standing in a Wal-Mart alone two months after Brenna died. I was sobbing because I was having a party for all my friends before going off to college, and while I was shopping the thought crossed my mind that I needed to get water because Brenna didn't drink pop. And I stood there and marveled at (what felt like then) my stupidity. How could my subconscious just do that? Like, hey, internal self, aren't you paying attention? She's been gone for two months. She isn't coming to the party. I stood in Wal-Mart and cried. I told God I would buy all the bottled water if he would just give her back to me. If he would take all this pain away from my friends and me. I would buy it all. But He didn't listen.

I often find myself negotiating with other, more fleeting, situations in life. I will never do X again if I can ace this test. I will pay X amount of money to not be sick tomorrow. I will take up X hobbies if you can promise me, God, that I can get married someday.  A more recent one... If I pray X amount of minutes or hours a day, this should be the outcome.

And my most recent one.. God I will give up everything I've ever wanted, all the money in the world, and spend the rest of my life being sick if you will just take it away from my sweet Emma. If you will let her be a normal first grader, run and play with her friends, attend her dance recitals, and never make her miss a day of school again for anything other than a runny nose, you can have everything I own and have ever wanted. I want to love her hard enough that I can take it all away. As someone who has barely known her two years, I can't imagine what it must feel like to have the kind of love that her family and close friends have for her. I love that little girl more than life itself and I have negotiated everything I possibly can with God, but I'm starting to sense a pattern.

I'll give you a hint: the pattern is that there is no pattern. There is no recipe, instruction booklet, or informational pamphlet on how to dictate what God will do. Your prayers, your sacrifices, your love, and your anger will not give a clear reasoning and path on the outcome that God gives. For people who are nonbelievers, this is a tough one to understand. Why should I pray if my God isn't going to fix my problems? Processing my own negotiation strategy throughout these cycles of waiting to hear how Emma's scans go has taught me a few things.

1. If believing in God, praying enough, loving enough, or giving enough, assured that I would never have problems in life, what sense of security would the simple presence of Jesus bring me?
If I was able to pray ten times a day and take away the chronic pain that hinders my mom, to give all my money to pediatric cancer research and heal Emma, or love those around me enough that God would have woken me up and Brenna's death would have just been a nightmare, I would need an instruction manual, not a living, breathing, lifesaving Christ. And what's more, that living, breathing, lifesaving Christ could not bring me peace. He would not be as extraordinary if all he did was solve the problems I thought I had. Most of all, how could I ever know the depths of how much I love that little girl if I never had the opportunity to see her go through trial?

2. The complications of this world don't turn me away from Jesus, they point me to Him. 
It's common and sometimes very simple for people to say that they just can't believe in God after a certain event happens to them. Everyone views things differently and makes peace with things in their own way. For me, the complications of this world are what drives me to need Jesus. I cannot spend the rest of my life living in a world where I have to wonder why someone wanted to kill my friend. I can't spend the rest of my life living in a world wondering what Brenna and Luke would have done with their lives. I can't spend the rest of my life wondering why my precious girl and her amazing family go through so much. I can't wonder why there are school shootings, drug overdoses, and amazing 'good guys' in all parts of the world who don't always win their personal battle. I don't believe in Christ because I'm strong, I believe in Him because I'm weak.

3. I don't actually want to know it all. 
During Emma's January trip to Boston I was texting her mom because they had some sad news on that trip too (if my memory serves me correctly). We got to talking about what a special little girl Emma is and how she impacts those around her. Part of their blog update at that time was the difficulty it is as Emma gets older to see her do less 'normal' things - things as simple and running on the playground with her friends. I reminded her that if Emma had never been diagnosed with a brain tumor, and that if their family hadn't gone through the worst thing any family should ever go through, Emma and I would never have met, because she wouldn't be in a special needs dance class. I know I'm qualifying, negotiating, and doing all the things here I said I wouldn't do - but I would absolutely give up knowing Emma if it meant her being healthy. But I know that just isn't how it works. As much as I can tell God over and over that her health is more important to me than any other negotiation I can give him, I'm starting to realize it brings me the most peace to continue to pray for what I want, but to also look for the ways that a bad circumstance has dropped blessings. If I was in control of every situation or decision that impacted my life, I sure would be missing out. There are so many times when I get to say "I'm so glad God didn't give me everything I ever wanted."

The picture at the bottom of this blog is a photo taken in Hong Kong on our trip in 2015. Being in a traditional temple was definitely an experience. I remember feeling overwhelmed at the 'darkness' that somehow surrounded me. I wanted to keep Chloe and Izzy close to me and protect them from something I couldn't see, only sense. It was heartbreaking and exhausting to walk through the temple and realize that people truly purchased and offered these sacrifices for their peace, their health, their finances, and the food on their table. I'm so thankful I serve a God who does not negotiate.

One of my current favorite songs is called Dream Small, by Josh Wilson. It's been a favorite for a few months and I think I've written about it before, but ironically, I got hooked on it when I heard it on the drive home from Omaha one weekend. I caught the song in the middle and one of the lines is 'dancing on a Friday with your friend with special needs'. I smiled to myself as I heard the line and I fell in love with the song over the next 90 seconds. True to it's name, the song stresses the importance of dreaming small and enjoying the little things in life.

Over time I hope that my small dreams become prayers. There's an importance and a necessity in asking for big things from God, but that's really a separate blog post. Praying for Emma's healing, my mom's chronic pain, my friends in Hong Kong who do not know Christ - takes courage because I know those things are completely out of my control. But praying for it in addition to other things is harder. I would never want God to say 'she's stopped asking for this big thing, that must mean she doesn't want it anymore'. I'm learning to trust that isn't the case. God knows I want Emma's health more than anything, but I also want things for her that involve her being sick. I want her family to lead those around them to Christ through their circumstance, which I know they do. I want her to have the opportunity to meet life changing therapists, doctors, and nurses because of her diagnosis, and I know she does. (Anisa, I know you're out there. I know nothing about you except your name and that Emma thinks you're perfect and you make coming to the hospital a much better experience.) I want her brothers to be more empathetic, kind, and compassionate because of their sister, and I know they already are.

I'll never stop believing and praying that a totally and completely clean scan is the best thing that could ever happen to Emma, because she deserves the entire world after all she's been through. But I'm getting the vibe that God isn't going to take my negotiations for her, so I need to change my viewpoint. I am realizing that for me, negotiations are a lack of my trust that God is all knowing, all powerful, and inherently Good. 

God allows us to have trials so that someday, He can see us again and be able to say "Well done, good and faithful servant." - one of the most comforting passages for me at the end of Luke and Brenna's time on earth. I'll leave you with a quote I read last night that has stuck with me. I'm not sure of it's author, but just know it wasn't me. 😊

"I asked God to take away my habit. God said, No. It is not for me to take away, but for you to give up.
I asked God to make my handicap child whole. God said, no. His Spirit is whole, his body is only temporary.
I asked God to grant me patience. God said, No. Patience is a byproduct of tribulations; it isn't granted, it is learned. 
I asked God to give me happiness. God said, No. I give you blessings. Happiness is up to you. 
I asked God to spare me pain. God said, No. Suffering draws you apart from worldly cares and closer to me. 
I asked God to make my spirit grow. God said, No. You must grow on your own, but I will prune you to make you fruitful. 
I asked God for things I might enjoy in life. God said, No. I give you life so that you may enjoy all things. 
I asked God to help me love others as much as He loves me. God said Ah, finally, you have the idea." 

Grounded

Every year around this time, I start to ponder what I should write about this year. The first few years after Brenna died, I was more intentional about writing on this day, but the last 3-4 years it seems as though God decides what he is going to have me write about for this day. I just wait it out, and if He does not want me to write, He will ensure that I have writer's block. A few years ago I realized this when I put a lot of pressure on myself to write SOMETHING because my friends had told me how helpful it was. Seconds before I was going to publish, it crashed and the entire thing was gone, despite having it saved. I managed to crank out a completely new post and topic in under ten minutes. This blog is not mine to write.

Sure enough, I pondered all week without coming to much conclusion. It's currently close to midnight on Wednesday as I start this. God loves to give me blog ideas at this time of night, and that's how I know they are His - nothing productive for me happens after about 9:30 p.m.

Looking at my timehop and Facebook memories around this time of year is very strange for me. Right after Brenna died, I realized that my memory between the last party on the night of my high school graduation (Sunday, May 20 around midnight) and the first phone call I got that Brenna was missing (Friday, May 25, around 2 p.m) is completely wiped. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And the things between 2 and 11 p.m. are in a very strange order and in an uncomfortably vivid detail. Now, six years later, that seems very normal - why would I remember mundane and unimportant days working at a daycare six years ago? Of course I would remember such an awful day in great detail. But On Sunday the 27th of 2012, it seemed very strange to have that much memory just gone. Looking at my Facebook and Timehop memories is a very strange experience because for a solid week, I remember none of it, even now. I sat down with my neuro professor at Creighton and talked with her about this - sometimes that is a protective instinct of your brain to block things out, it seems like my brain just blocked the wrong stuff.

What I do remember, however, is the events that took place on the evening of the 25th (so well, they're probably engrained in my brain forever) and that Memorial weekend - a Memorial weekend that no one in my friend group will probably ever view the same way. This year is especially strange because, for the first time, the days of the week align with the 2012 calendar. All the events will pop up on the memories and on timehop on the same day that they actually happened.

Now that it has been six years, and even some before this, I have come to a closure, for the most part, with the events associated with that weekend (I think I say this every year, but it's a good feeling, and I have to remind myself of that sometimes. We've come a LONG WAY.)- the panicked phone calls, looking for my friend in shrubbery and woods and knowing whatever I found wasn't going to be good, and watching so many people I loved go through that much pain. I have made peace with the details and watched my friends become engineers, teachers, and doctors, study abroad, get married, have kids, and so many other things they dreamed of doing. I know that Brenna watches out for us and she's unbelievably proud of what we've become. Those details no longer matter - it's almost like watching my friends become so successful with college, careers, and families has made up for all the hurt in that day, and it's made them twice as good at whatever they set out to do.

The number one thing that has never faded from my mind has been the support. Starting with my family, stretching to the far corners of my community. I didn't grow up in a small town, but the Seaman community kind of feels like one. Since Brenna, my high school has probably had (I'm not counting, just estimating) around 10 student deaths. Every time it happens I flash back to the day during my junior year that I went to school after three girls in my class had been in a serious accident the night before, and one of them died. The school was eerily quiet all day and all we did was watch movies and color. I watch time and time again as my high school handles these situations with grace and love and makes going to school after a tragedy even safer and more comfortable than before. There seems to be an unspoken bond in our community - kids who deal with the death of their friends now know that those of us who graduated six or seven years ago are all too familiar - we may not ever meet, but we just seem to know.

The night that Brenna died, I remember support. I remember people bringing cases of water and food for those who had spent hours searching. I remember my school counselors coming on a Friday night to stand in a field and love on hundreds of broken kids. I remember someone opening a church (that most of us didn't make it into) for us to have a place to just be. The weekend that Brenna died, I remember support. My parents will never know how much it meant to me that they opened our home for two solid days to anyone and everyone who wanted to be there. I grew up in a house very close to the high school, so it was easy for people to be there. Hundreds of people flowed in and out of the house throughout that Memorial weekend. A lot of them were people I didn't even know. We rotated from working on a scrapbook about Brenna, to laughing and crying at our memories. We would gather in the living room when the news came on, breath sucked in waiting to learn anything new, and scared of whatever it was. My parents made sure the house had a ton of pizza and snacks, and asked us regularly if we would please eat and drink water. Despite the heartbreak, one of my fondest memories of my friends is that weekend and how we supported each other. I remember almost 1400 people attending her funeral, the line for her visitation lasting almost five hours after it ended, a balloon release at my high school, staff members allowing us time to sit in the auditorium and talk and laugh together, and lots and lots of hugs. I remember the Westboro Baptist Church protesting her funeral. I will always brag about that. I have a friend who lived a life so incredible by the age of 18 that the Westboro Baptist Church protested her funeral. I remember the Patriot Guard showing up to support us. I remember feeling somehow so empty and so loved at the same time. The summer that Brenna died, I remember support. I was working at a daycare that I had fallen in love with at 14 and was not ready to leave. My coworkers spent my first six weeks back from Brenna's funeral handing me baby after baby and knowing that snuggles were what I really needed. They offered a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on as they helped me sift through so much adult information as a seventeen year old. My parents supported what had to be the most angry 17 year old that summer they ever thought could live under their roof. In the last six years, the support has never faded.

Right after Brenna died, people often asked me how I could possibly live the rest of my life knowing that my friend was killed intentionally by another human being, and have no idea why this person wanted to do that to her. I used to tell people that I always pray that someday I won't wonder why he did it, I'll wonder why He did it. I finally feel at peace with that. I don't even necessarily wonder why God allowed it to happen anymore - I kind of just count my blessings that have come from the situation and take that as my answer. Even six years later, He doesn't seem to be done working with it yet.

Although I know that Brenna looks down at those of us 'doing our thing' now - I know that the one thing she would be brokenhearted about is the violence in this world. I'm not sure if her death just opened me up to it all as an adult, or if things really are getting worse, but I don't think I ever was made aware of a school shooting until I graduated high school, and they seem to keep multiplying. She wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, and I know it would crush her to know how many kids are put in danger just by going to school. Just last week, ten students were killed at a high school in Texas because of one person. It took years for me to mend losing one friend to an intentional act - I can't fathom ten.

While this world seems to be becoming more violent, more sad, and more broken, I've found that the bonds that were created on that warm May evening are what keeps me grounded. I can thank my friends for teaching me about supporting each other in tough times. I can't control what happens in the larger world, but in the small community around me, I can at least take some part in it - knowing how much a hug, kind words, a shoulder to cry on, good food, or a sonic drink on my roughest day made things just a little bit easier. I'm never going to know the reasons why anyone would want to do something like kill another human being - no one will. But there is never a wrong time for kindness.

I wrote in a previous blog about letting go of the promises you make to yourself after someone dies. You know, the ones about never replacing them, keeping the superficial items of theirs, or similar things. Although we never said it, I think my friend group has an unspoken promise to look out for each other. The death of someone you love at such a young age makes each reunion a little bit sweeter. My friends are of different religions, political beliefs, career paths, and a variety of other things- but we have a blast getting together for a wedding or a night of cards and drinks on Christmas break.

I'm writing this blog from my new favorite spot in this tiny town in Louisiana - a coffee shop that sits right on Lake Ponchartrain. I'm enjoying coffee with whipped cream in Brenna's honor and I took a stroll by the lake earlier. I've got treatment plans to write, sessions to plan, and documents to write up. I've got diagnoses to learn, theories to study, and a lot of kids waiting to challenge me. But I'm thinking about how far we've come. My friends from high school and I don't talk much anymore, but I know they're doing incredible things, changing the world in their own ways, with a sturdy foundation of strength built from this very weekend six years ago. This morning I was on a home visit for my rotation working with a little girl and I realized I was able to get her hip braces on (despite her stubbornness about them being on) and get her up, walking, and fed, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. I am finally, finally doing what I've always wanted to do. But it comes with a little bittersweet today, because although I am, someone else I love is not.

These last two weeks have been a big transition for me that helped inspire some of the thoughts in this blog. I moved to Louisiana two weeks ago, and although it's only for 12 weeks, it's an adjustment. I've never lived alone or this far away from home, and I've never moved to a brand new city without knowing anyone. Each transition in life seems to come with a slight relapse of grief, and I've been feeling it this week. Nothing major - but instead of appreciating her song on the radio, the daisy I walk by, or laughing at the whiffle ball that suddenly seems to have jumped off the shelf at the therapy clinic, it takes me a minute to get through it. It's never a big deal, but it is noticeable.

My hope is that even if we forget the superficial promises and feelings we had that weekend six years ago, we'll never forget the most important ones. My friend Tyler said in an interview the day after she died that they had both wanted to be teachers, (and teach in classrooms next to each other) and now he would have to do twice as good of a job because she wouldn't be around to do it. I hope the members of my community who were present on that awful, awful day are still promising to do big things in the world.  Many people let go of their high school by the time they are six years out and I think most of us have. I don't visit, I don't think about it much, I just keep up with my favorite teachers on Facebook. But there's always going to be a part of me who is thankful that the Seaman community is bound together by tragic circumstances that hold together like glue. More than that, we're empowered with the knowledge and desire of wanting to live out the wishes and dreams of our classmates who will never have the chance. Every year, this day makes me proud to be where I'm from. We may not be able to change a lot, but we will ensure the pain we went through never goes to waste.

Good Scary

I just got back to Omaha from my very last ever Sunday drive back still facing a week of classes. How that drive has changed...

My first entire semester and a half at Creighton, I cried so hard when I had to leave home on Sunday afternoons. My parents would send me off with tears in their own eyes, always reminding me this was my calling and they believed I could get through another week. "A smile on your face and a song in your heart" is my mom's famous line, and many weeks, the smile took everything I had and the song was very faint. It wasn't that I disliked being in Omaha or at Creighton, but it was merely that I was so unbelievably overwhelmed with all the new in my life that home was the one place when things are familiar. And every Sunday, I HAD to leave. And I hated it. Change has always been hard for me, and this seemed magnified.

Slowly, though, things changed. I wrote last year about my relationship with Emma making my Sundays so much easier. Soon, instead of the dread that filled me upon waking up on Sunday morning, it was excitement. I knew there was the cutest four year old in the world coming to dance class that day, and it was with my help that she was able to participate and do the thing that every four year old girl deserves to do - go to dance class. Although some tears were still shed on the drive back, slowly, I would get it together. I would sit down Sunday and look at the week ahead, and week by week, it got easier to figure out how all the homework was going to get done, when I could squeeze in time to develop friendships, and how I might even work in some time for myself - or even time to ponder what 'time for myself' even was. The drive back used to take forever, because it was filled with anxiety.

Today, my drive back took forever because I was so excited. Emma and I have a dance recital today. Her mom said that she is SO excited, and she's been talking about it at dance for at least six weeks, and when you're five, that's forever. I'm excited because this week I get to spend a lot of time with my friends here for that last time until I see them again one year from now, for a few days at graduation. When I truly think about it, there has probably been less than an hour each day (except for when I'm sleeping) for the last two years that I have spent NOT with someone in my class at Creighton. When you spend that much time together, dealing with something so stressful, and all working towards the same goal and passion, you have to like each other.

Many people have asked me over the last six weeks or so about my 'next steps'. It's difficult to describe the rotation process to someone who isn't in school/doesn't work in healthcare, so I've had to think of a lot of different ways of explaining it. In case that's you, I've lived in Omaha for two years, going to school and taking four separate weeks 'off' to go on a small fieldwork experience. This week, my class makes the big transition to our 'level 2' fieldworks and we will essentially be students at hospitals, clinics, or schools for the next twelve months. Those twelve months are split between three sites (summer, fall, and spring) and they are located all over the United States, with a few of my classmates even spending time overseas. As you can imagine, this adds a lot of chaos. Although Creighton organizes this beautifully for us, and it prepares us well for our future, finding housing, moving our belongings, and site-specific requirements are still on us. So, not only are we preparing to take on our own caseloads for the first time next week, many of us are moving to new cities, living with new people, and saying goodbye to great friends. People always ask if I'm nervous, and I usually say that I am scared - but it's a good scared.

This week is going to be filled with a lot of laughs, probably some tears, and basically zero studying. (sorry to any of my professors if you happen to find and read this). I have a peds test tomorrow, and I should be studying, but I'm not. I can't waste time studying or packing when I have to enjoy this time. As my friend Natalie told me this morning - 'it's going to be bittersweet. immerse yourself in the sweet now, and cry about the bitter after you leave'

Coming to Omaha has blessed me beyond measure. I remember the night before I left to come here, we had some friends over, and I stood in the driveway and cried because I didn't want to come. I had spent the entire summer 'nannying' for one of my favorite families in the whole world, and I wasn't ready to leave (I offered to stay but Ray and Steph politely told me that they loved me, and they were firing me and sending me to OT school). I stood in my driveway and cried because I was so scared about what was to come - however, next week my parents, aunt and uncle, and Ray and Steph are coming back to help move my belongings home. I have a feeling that there will be some tears, both because I'm nervous to go on fieldwork in new places, but also because I'm so sad to leave everything Omaha has given me.

Omaha blessed me with an incredible roommate, who, if you know us independently, you would wonder how on earth we get along. More than that, Leah has become one of my best friends and taught me so much with her positive outlook on life and the way she just finds so much JOY in everything she does. Omaha blessed me with an incredible counselor, who has now become a dear friend, who gave me more confidence in myself than I ever thought possible, and helped me work through past losses and grief that finally, finally, finally, I can feel at peace with. Omaha blessed me with the Gehring family, who have taken me in, let me come sit on their couch, and feed me dinner when I come over. They have set an incredible example of hospitality, love, and opening your home to others. They will never know how many nights I came to them at my wit's end with school or personal situations, and them allowing me to feel productive by changing diapers, helping with dinner, or just being a part of their family got me through. Omaha has blessed me with a class of 62 incredible people who I know are about to go change the world and the face of healthcare in a variety of settings, locations, and ways - people who, one day, I will get to say proudly "I went to OT school with them". Omaha has blessed me with Katie, Christin, and Megan, three of my best friends who I would not have survived the last two years without, and I will probably be calling a lot over the next year as I deal with complex patients, difficult situations, and exciting milestones with my clients. Although this list isn't even close to being all inclusive, you can guess why this week might be a little emotional.

When I think back in my life, there has been lots of tough situations, but not a single season of life has God called me to and then not blessed me with things I never knew I needed or wanted - and I know moving to Louisiana next week will be no exception. This transition is going to be sad, and without a doubt it will be scary - but I know that there is some serious joy and blessing that awaits. To everyone who has made Omaha my home for the last two years, thank you so much. I am so looking forward to the next chapter - and in the words of my friend Brenna, I am very excited to take lots of pictures, but always remembering - the best is yet to come.

The Dancer

Anyone who knows anything about me knows how much I love to dance. I started dancing in a studio when I was four years old and quit when I was a senior in high school - I miss it every. single. day. I am always the one nagging my friends to dance at weddings, and I think it drives them nuts. Swing and two stepping was one of my favorite Friday night activities in college (and I'm still the one that makes everyone go whenever we're all together). Dance has provided one of the best stress relievers for me - nothing made a bad day at school better than six hours of rehearsals. Dance taught me a LOT of lessons about life. I learned how important it is to have something like dance to relieve stress when life gets a little rocky.

In case we haven't been friends on Facebook for very long, or you REALLY don't pay attention, you may not know about Emma - the new friend I made in Omaha last fall. Emma is in kindergarten and has been undergoing chemotherapy treatments on and off since she was diagnosed with a brain tumor at seven months old.  We met as buddies in a special needs dance class last fall. 45 minutes of dance can be really exhausting for someone who doesn't stand on her own, let alone walk. I think I spend 50% of class CONVINCING Emma to do what I want her to do (I'm pretty good with kids, but she figured out how to get whatever she wants out of me on week one. We do a lot of bartering. Sometimes it involves coffee.)

One of my favorite moments with Emma over the last year happened during the second 'season' we had together. There was a move in the dance where the kids were supposed to start with their arms above their heads and basically 'roll' their arms all the way down to their toes (Think like what you would do with your arms in a Conga line). This required them to bend in half to touch their toes. This was EXTREMELY challenging for her, because, truthfully, she didn't trust me. I usually hold on to her at the waist/tummy and support both her balance and her body weight. This move essentially required her to put ALL of her trust in me that I wouldn't let her fall flat on her face. Each week I would cue her to do this and she refused. The other teachers noticed and tried to get her to do it and she absolutely would not budge. She would cry and scream but she would not try. Eventually, I would cue her, compliment her for her efforts when I felt the slightest muscle tension, and decided that eventually she might give it a shot, but it wasn't worth the fight. Sure enough, about a week or so before her recital, she went all the way to the ground. I don't think she realized what she did until she got down there, because it took her a minute to remember how to get back up. But she popped back up quickly and kind of turned around and looked at me and giggled. I wanted to jump up and down at how excited I was, but I knew better - I simply brushed it off, and, after that, I never had to ask her to do it again.

Truthfully, that little dance move is kind of how my relationship with Christ feels right now. Life. Is. A. Nuthouse. After living in Omaha for two years, I'm getting ready to pack my life up again and move to Louisiana for the summer, home for the following six months, and then Dallas for the five months following that. I'm trying to divide up which of my belongings go to which state, plus trying to finish up projects, finals, and hanging out with my OT school friends, probably for the last time, because who knows what the week of graduation will bring. Additionally, the spring has always (for the last six years) been tough for me because of Brenna. Working with a counselor has helped me understand that this is because I have high levels of empathy - I literally just tend of absorb all the feelings going on around me. I am sad, excited, nervous, overwhelmed, thankful.. and just about every other emotion that you can imagine right now.

Thursday night I got to go see MercyMe in concert with three of my best friends from Creighton. I have always loved MercyMe, their song I Can Only Imagine was one of the first Christian songs I ever heard, and I spent many nights in tears after Brenna died listening to their music and wrestling with how this possibly could have happened, and, essentially 'feeling all the feelings'. They have a song for pretty much every thing you'll ever experience in life, and I fan girl over them SUPER hard. Greater, Dear Younger Me, Even If, and Best News Ever have been at the top of my list, if you're not familiar and want to give them a listen. Even If is especially my favorite for people who are grieving or struggling with something long term. One of the most irritating things as a Christian can be when you know God CAN fix something, and you're praying so hard, but He just hasn't done it. It's hard to worship God during those times. Thursday night was hard to worship - how am I supposed to be thankful and honor God when I have a dear friend who would have been 24 today, but will never celebrate another birthday? When one of my favorite little girls on this planet battles a brain tumor and has to undergo more than most adults ever will? When I feel like I JUST got settled in Omaha and I have to up and move again, and it took so long to settle here in the first place?

I think that one of the hardest things after losing someone you love, after all the initial pain and shock goes away, is transitions. Moving to Omaha was really hard for me because grad school was the first big season of life Brenna never got any part of. The empathy in me feels immense guilt getting to move on in life without her. It feels strange that this summer, I start rotations for something I've always wanted to do, and it's one step closer to having a job and a career. I just got settled in Omaha - how am I supposed to leave? I think that life is mostly made up of that - you get used to one way of living and something new comes along. You're never comfortable for too long. Life is that way and grief just kind of adds to it. I have several friends who have gotten married since college and one who is engaged. Marriage was something Brenna looked forward to so much. It's a bittersweet thing to try to find joy for her since she can no longer be here to do it herself.

Truthfully, Omaha has blessed me beyond measure. I am in awe now that I actually was seriously considering two other schools besides Creighton when I made the decision to come here. I have met some incredible people, including a great roommate and three best friends from Creighton that I'll be friends with for a long time. I saw a phenomenal counselor during my time here who I also will be friends with for a long time. My little five year old dancer (and her family, who tolerates me coming over all the time) is no exception.

This week, I had MercyMe's album on repeat, as I normally do, and I caught a line of I Can Only Imagine that somehow had never jumped out at me before - it says 'will I dance for you Jesus, or in awe of you be still?' Someday my only concern will be to dance. I could do it for days and never get tired. Ever. But wait, it gets better.

Someday, Emma and I will be in heaven together. and we will get to dance. And I won't have to hold on to her. She will be able to do it all by herself. How does it get more exciting than that? The transitions of life, the stress and the worry, and the scary new things will no longer exist because that is all we will do.

I wish I had a recording of her voice last year as we were walking backstage before our recital. It was with the rest of the studio we dance at, so we hung out in her dressing room for a bit and then meandered through the narrow hallways and staircases to get backstage. As we were walking up the stairs, I felt Emma's entire body start to kind of shake and tense up, and she squeezed my shoulder. "You ok?" I asked her. "Yeah." She said "I just so 'cited.'

IMAGINE BEING SO EXCITED TO DO SOMETHING FOR GOD YOU SHAKE.

Many people have asked me about leaving Emma when I move in a few weeks. And I have been honest, she will be the hardest person for me to leave. I can't just text her or call her like I can my other friends (I can but I think her attention span for this will be fairly short. Plus, you can't FaceTime snuggles.) I will miss being able to drink Starbucks with her, and most importantly, I don't get to be her dance buddy anymore. I don't get to pass on my love of dance to her, or help her learn to do things she didn't know she could do, or be the person who waits backstage with her, or answers a thousand questions about whether or not Mimi and Papa are coming to the recital. Someone else will get to do that. But it gives me great peace to know that for Emma and I's joint dance career, this isn't it.

One of the things that Emma and I do at dance class is go across the floor. This means you practice big, traveling movements, literally, across the floor. When you don't walk, these things are near impossible. So I always make her a deal - if she is the arms, I will be the legs. Emma thinks that this is my way of meeting her halfway, but really I just want her to have a chance to practice her arms without worrying about the lower half of her body. Also, she is at the perfect combination right now of getting stronger and not quite strong enough, So I need break. (Don't tell her that this deal benefits me too) She knows this deal though, and repeats it, and she knows that if she doesn't hold up her end of the deal, she will walk across the entire floor. This is not her favorite.

Last year in May I mentioned in a blog that Emma has filled a hole for me that seemed eternally, painfully, unbearably empty after Brenna died. Her tiny little self filled it with giggles, the perfect bow for every outfit, and her love of Starbucks. She reminded me (almost scary, somedays) of Brenna's fashion sense, her contagious laugh, and the times we would sit at Nib's in the summers when she was on her life guarding break and I was working and we would drink coffee. This year I learned that Emma hasn't filled that hole, but she's created something entirely new inside of it. And man, that feels good. This week I was so excited because her mom said I could pick Emma and take her to Starbucks today - my counselor encouraged me to try new traditions and events on Brenna's birth and death days to make them easier and finally try to close that hole. Last year, her birthday fell on a Friday and I had five tests the following week. It was the hardest day in a long time. I sat in the library for most of the day and got nothing done. But this year, I'm happy to report a much easier week and day, thanks to my favorite five year old and a good trip to Starbucks, plus some snuggles. Truthfully, I can't think of anyone I'd rather spend it with. Although I have faith that someday Emma will walk on her own, even if she doesn't walk, I hope she's always dancing.

God, I am doing my best down here to serve, worship, and love, despite loss, stress, and missing some people that I love dearly up there. Please let me be the arms, and you can be the legs for me when I fall short - even if I never learn to walk with you, help me to always dance.



"The Journey between who you once were and who you are becoming is where the dance of life truly takes place." -Barbara De Angelis

I don't

Politics aren't really my thing.

I have views about things like healthcare, taxing, war, helping other countries, etc., but like most people, I believe that those are my views because I have the best interest of our country at heart. Should someone present to me a better plan and the research around it, I would happily hop on board.

I was only 14 when President Obama got elected for the first time, which was young enough that the extent of my political upkeep came from what my parents talked about at the dinner table. To their credit, this actually was a decent amount of information because they are both in finance and were interested in the changes. Most of the time though, it was about our days at school and other, more timely matters. I was 22 when President Trump got elected - on my own student loans, living by myself, seeing my own primary care doctor, living a few hours away from my parents. My knowledge about 'adulting' has vastly expanded (although still needs work) to include issues that are included in political matters like healthcare and taxes. For the first time in my life, I actually care (and need to know) what's going on in the White House.

Yesterday I read on Twitter that President Trump actually referred to a few African countries as 'shithole countries' and expressed his displeasure about gaining immigrants from these countries.

Just let that sink in.

As far as I know, there isn't video footage of what President Trump said, so I have no 100% proof that it actually happened. I am going along with what news articles have said instead. Truthfully, it really doesn't matter whether or not he said it - this message is still applicable - to African countries and otherwise. Our president has said plenty of unprofessional and downright mean things about people or groups of people in his short year, so I'm going to argue that I can write this blog regardless.

Immigration is something that, as a very big picture thinker, I can see pros and cons on. I believe in helping people but immigration can be a big undertaking as many countries in the rest of the world see more turmoil. In a perfect world, immigration would be a fast and seamless process and our country would never run out of space or resources and everyone would live happily ever after. Unfortunately, we all know that isn't how it works.

The first week of January, my family and I took a trip to the Dominican Republic for a vacation. We had a wonderful time, and one of the friends we made during our trip was Franklin, who worked at the resort in the entertainment department. Franklin picked up on my sister's name the second day we were there and he would walk through the resort yelling hi to her - it always made us laugh to hear him from the other side of the pool. He spent some time just talking with us on the beach for half an hour or so one day and we learned a lot about him - he is 25, his parents have both passed away, but they are originally from Haiti. He has five (I think) siblings, and he has worked at the resort for three years. He works 9 am to midnight, 11 days on, 3 days off, unless instructed otherwise. During Christmas he worked 15 straight days. He says the pay is okay, but he laughed when we asked how they treated him. When we asked him who Donald Trump was, he laughed even harder. I wonder what he would think of to hear his country referenced in such a way.

There is a good chance that if you are reading this, you have, at some point in your life, been left out of something. The playground at school, drinks after work, or a group at school you wanted to be in. In my experience, 9 times out of 10, this is an accident. Both my college group of friends and my graduate school group of friends consist of lots of people who kind of mix and match together, and it's easy to unintentionally leave someone out. Nevertheless, the intentionality of the action does not change the hurt that you probably felt. The hurt that says you bring nothing of value to this group, so we didn't invite you.

When I have been to other countries, vacations and mission trips alike, one of the things that they all seem to have in common is that they think America is the greatest country in the world. Hannah told me that in Spain, people believe we are hardworking and efficient. When I was in Nicaragua, people stood in awe of the Americans who came to their village. In Hong Kong, we were stopped many times in the temples and asked if we would take pictures with people. It was like being famous for doing absolutely nothing. It breaks my heart to think that this president represents what people hear from America - he is the voice that so many people look to to represent 'the greatest country in the world.'

My dad and I have discussed many times this concept that people think of America but how we almost feel as though we are lying to people. I don't think I live in the greatest country in the world. I think that I have been phenomenally lucky to be born into a family that has health insurance, two parents with good jobs, a roof over my head, warm meals, and the opportunity to go to college. My dad and I have both been to Nicaragua on separate occasions, and we have discussed how truly, those people we met there would probably hate living in America. We are fast paced, self sufficient, and can be greedy. The people of Nicaragua have a heart like nothing I have ever seen before - they are giving all they have to help each other survive. Many of them are impoverished - but while they are impoverished of the body, I think America is impoverished of the heart.

President Trump's views probably represent a very small, small percentage of America, but unfortunately, he's the one with an 'official' voice, and something really needs to be done about that. I am Christian, and I believe that God does not create all people equally, but he creates them of equal value. Thus, we do not function in isolation, we function as a unit. The people of Nicaragua have it down - they give and receive to make their community whole. They help one another in times of need. I believe that giving freely and loving fiercely are core principals of my faith, and not everyone agrees with my faith - but I think just these principals, untied to religion, could really change the way this country moves.

Being from the geographical center of the United States, I have substantially less interactions with people from other countries than my friends on the coasts, but they do happen. There was a girl in my workout class last night who, based on the way she was dressed, led me to believe that our ethnicities, cultural beliefs, religion, and many other things were vastly different. Let me add that I am not juding her based on her choice of clothes or headwear - I am simply empathizing with the fact that I am sure she get s many questions and stares because she looks 'different.' Additionally, but I bet we have this in common: we both like people and want the best for them. During the class I kept thinking about this girl. I had no idea where she was from or what her story was. She could have been born and raised in Omaha for all I know. I have no idea if she has heard the things our president has said about specific parts of this world. I prayed that she hadn't, to keep her from thinking that anyone could ever think less of her, but I prayed that she had, and I prayed she felt empowered by it. I assume that this girl has a family who loves her, friends who enjoy her company, a job she may or may not enjoy, and probably, like the rest of us, a guilty pleasure TV show.

While writing this blog, I desperately wanted to yell Jesus doesn't play favorites. Jesus loves incredible people from all corners of the world. HOWEVER - I am playing a religiously neutral writer here and attempting to keep my Jesus comments to a minimum - trying to appeal to many viewpoints. I want to make the point that religion is not the only reason to accept people for who they are and understand their incredible value to this world.

Awhile back (and probably still going) there was a movement in the country of women who had been sexually assaulted who were encouraged to say 'Me Too." as a sign of their unity. I saw it everywhere - on my Facebook, TV , even written on cars. That one did not affect me personally, but I thought of one that does. Our country has always had issues and I refuse to believe that they are the fault of one specific person, but I think people can contribute great amounts to segregation and hate, and comments about countries being shitholes can do just that - so I, for one, don't.

I don't believe that, girl in my workout class. I don't believe that your heritage, culture, or anything about you is anything less than amazing. I don't believe your country of origin determines your impact on the world. I don't. I don't, Franklin from the Dominican Republic. I don't believe you lack value or greatness. I don't. To the little children of Nicaragua that I came to know and love - I don't. I don't see you as helpless. I don't believe that your country is anything less than amazing, because you rest inside of it.

I don't.

According to Schedule

I have a very associative memory.

I remember specific dates like weddings, parties, or big family events by what others were wearing, or other minor, but oddly specific details. It's almost photographic, but not in the helpful 'ace my test because I memorized the book' photographic. Most people are like "oh, was that Christmas 2014?" and I'm like "Whichever one where my sister wore the green jacket."

I remember people's birthdays faster than their names. This is a super power my friends have tried me on, and it almost always works. (November and March are kinda hard, I don't really know why.) It's almost like there's a special file cabinet in my brain where birthdays are stored.

Similarly, dates seem to take up a lot of space in my brain. I associate dates with everything. I left my favorite job in the whole wide world on August 17. I gave my last dance performance ever on February 24. I graduated from high school on May 20. I promise you I am not crazy. I think it's because I am calendar and schedule oriented.

As you can imagine, this trait seems to be on blast on days that are REALLY important. May 25 is a day that will never leave my mind. Listed directly below it are all the days associated with it - funeral and visitation days, court dates, the day we got to go through some of Brenna's things. January 10 is one of those days.

I woke up this morning with no recollection of the date or it's significance. This is a first for me. When I have these dates engrained in my brain for bad reasons, I tend to know they are coming - it's like a gray cloud that slowly gets closer and closer to me and then hangs over me for that day, and then the day after, it leaves. It's like magic. Annoying magic, but magic nonetheless.

January 10th is the day engrained in my brain as the cold day over winter break of my freshman year of college when I came home from lunch with a friend to find my mom at home in the middle of the day on a Monday. Once I put my stuff down, she said to me "I came home because there's something I need you to read." She sat on my bed while I sat down at my computer and read the CJ online article that had been released on that day because it was Dustin's last court date before his sentencing. It went into horrific detail about how she died. And it broke my heart. My mom laid in my bed with me and cried for what felt like forever. I remember exactly how that felt. It was a weight that I cannot describe to you. All the guilt that had come over the last few months had reached it's peak - irrational and ridiculous questions my friends and I asked ourselves thousands of times about ways we somehow could have prevented this - now seemed like a direct stab to the heart.

That night I sat at a Coldstone with my friend Natalie and went through the details with her. She listened to me with great empathy as the tears streamed down my face. Nine months of processing this death and it wasn't getting any easier because court is the slowest process on the planet. It just keeps coming. It felt similar to getting a really bad cut and then accidentally putting on hand sanitizer the next day. The way it manages to scream at you exactly where that cut came from, and how it felt, and where it is.

My friend Hannah met me for pizza on the three year anniversary of Brenna's death. We had been friends for maybe, two months. But we lived forty minutes from each other in the summer so we met in the halfway spot on the highway and drank coke and ate pizza and talked for like three hours. She was a great listener and added so much joy to my day.

Hannah and I have been through more together than I have with almost any of my other friends that I have made since starting at K-State, and she knows me better than I do. She will tell you that one important thing about me is my need for a schedule. I like plans, I like warning when things are going to change. One cancelled class or moved meeting can throw my day off entirely. Hannah and I always joke that I'm the one that keeps us on track and she's the one who keeps me sane when being on a perfect schedule never works. I think that is one of the things most frustrating about grief is that it does not go according to schedule.

Today, I was sitting in the library between classes when I opened up the "On this Day" feature on Facebook. I was scrolling through when the photo of Brenna next to Dustin's hit me like a ton of bricks, along with the link to the article. It seemed like the previously loud library was silent as all those emotions came flooding back. I was so angry at myself - how could I have forgotten this day? More importantly, why did I forget? January 10 was a different kind of pain than the whole grief journey had been so far. I felt the same anger at my local newspaper as I did on this same day five years ago. I texted my friend Katie before class just so that I could tell someone about it. Simultaneous thoughts of "Why is this bothering me five years later" and "How could I have forgotten this day" ran through my head. Either way, I didn't plan for this.

"That's a sign of healing, Em." were the words she said. and she is so right. "You can't sit and wait anymore. It's okay to remember the good times, but also to forget the bad." One of the reasons that article made me so furious five years ago and today is because I was afraid that the sickening details of Brenna's case would cause people to forget the brilliant, inspiring, kind person that she was.

I've written previously about the difficulty that comes after someone dies when the months or years have gone by and you realize you feel yourself starting to change. You aren't completely weighed down by that thing anymore - but now you're weighed down because you don't feel weighed down. I remember when the WWBD finally came off the back of my car, when I took the yellow bracelet from her funeral off for the first time, and now, for this first, forgetting an important day because it didn't creep up on me like it has in years past. January 10th has always been more quiet - just a dull pain, remembering the feeling that surrounded my community when the news was finally out. It was hard. It is hard to not feel as though January 10th should be a day to grieve this anymore - but Katie is right, it doesn't need to be. Today, for the majority of the day with the exception of half an hour this afternoon, January 10th got to be about having lunch with my friends for the first time in three weeks, exciting new class schedules, and talking about starting my first long rotation in May. It felt really good. I like 'new' January 10th.

It is unfair for Brenna to be known by the scary details of her death, and it is unfair for me to allow the space in my memory reserved for her to have anything less than brilliant, inspiring, and kind things inside of it.