Flowers for the Living

For Danielle. Sort of... But it's for everyone who has lost someone... And all the rest of us.

Why is it that it takes somebody dying before people come together - I mean, REALLY come together - to celebrate that person? I want to know. This has been circling the back of my mind like a flock of vultures and picking away at the edges of my thoughts for literally, weeks now.

It is so frustrating.

Anyway, I got to thinking about death. What death means, and how we respond to it. What life means, and how we respond to that.

It all started because a friend of mine died quite suddenly recently, and... She was such a fun, awesome person, and now she's gone. And I can almost guarantee that the hundred or so people in the room at her funeral had never ALL been together in a room before.

And that made me really angry.

I guess part of that is my grief showing up, because I'm still sad about her, but it's more than that. It makes me angry that when we die, all these people show up to talk about how great we were. Really?

I mean, seriously, it's retarded.

Ya'll (Sorry guys, my Southern "roots" show up a little more when I'm mad.) can't bother to show up for a holiday get-together or a birthday party or a fun weekend or whatever, but hey, I'm dead now, so let's all show up and talk about how awesome she was and how much we miss her...

No. If she was that awesome, you'd have made time for her while she was still freaking alive and wanted you around. (And don't get me wrong, I *know* that plenty of people DID make time for my sweet friend before she died. It just frustrated me to think that they were probably never all in the same room together to celebrate her while she was alive.)

That's what's at the core of this for me, I guess. That the "Hey everybody, let's get together and CELEBRATE each other!" thing doesn't happen nearly as often or as beautifully as it should. And that often we are made to feel as though we are imposing on others' schedules when we *do* ask for that time...

We get so caught up in the minutia of our microscopic lives that it takes the DEATH of young, vibrant, beautiful, giving and compassionate woman before everybody's willing to take a pause, take a breath and go, "Wait up. She was awesome. And we didn't bother to tell her enough before she was gone."

It was enough to make me stop, shake my head, and wonder. Who am I? What will people say about ME when I die?

Honestly, I could care less what people think of me when I die. Or what they say. You know why? Because I'LL BE DEAD. And here's a little secret for you: dead people don't care what the living have to say to, for, or about, them.

It's now, here, in the land of the LIVING that I actually care. Here, in this place, where I still breathe the same air as you do... Where I'm still able to laugh, and cry, and wash the same damned laundry day after day after day after day, and yell at my kids. Here is where I care.

So tell me now, or don't tell me at all. Because once I'm dead, it's over. There'll be no more telling then.

And I'll tell you. Let's make a deal of it, k?

I think of that almost every day now. I think of it every time I say goodbye, or goodnight, or whatever... "Did I tell them that I love them? Did I make them feel special enough... Just in case there is no tomorrow?" Not always in so many words, but the thought is still there, peering over my shoulder to make sure I haven't forgotten.

This is especially poignant for me, because in living with diabetes, you learn really quickly that most people who know about diabetes, including - and maybe especially - your doctor, don't really expect you to live all that long. Which kind of sucks. Like, hardcore sucks. You become aware of your mortality a lot more quickly than others may... Even more so when you've had a brush with death through DKA (Diabetic Ketoacidosis. It sucks, trust me in this.). *I* expect to live a long time, but that doesn't mean anything either. Even if I didn't have Type 1, there's no guarantee that I have another hour or another day. I just live a little closer to te reality of what death is than many people do because I have Type 1.

And being a parent with this... WHOA, Mama, it really brings it home.

So I want to start a new tradition. A new way of going about things. Because the land of regret is for the dead. And I don't ever want to go there... I'm not afraid of death, but I am afraid that I'll look back again sometime and say, "I wish I'd told her how much she meant to me." 

The dead don't care about our wishes. Our love that we didn't express, our hopes that we never shared, or the laughs over that last margarita that we never had.

So why do we wait until someone dies to shower them with beautiful flowers and equally beautiful words?

Life gives to the living, and the dead care nothing for it. Our words of affirmation and love and beauty are best spent on the spirits of those around us who still draw breath and can be affirmed and loved and receive beauty.

When I was a young teen, I went to a summer camp where we had a project where we had to give "Flowers for the Living." What this meant was that we each were given a box, and every person at some point during the week of that camp had to write at least one thing about someone else that they appreciated and admired. This was almost 20 years ago, and I still have some of those little slips of paper. They were precious to me, and carried me through some very hard times. And I still remember that experience clearly. It rocked my world in an awesome and powerful way.

So starting here and now, where I have become lax and apathetic and unappreciative... Or where I have held my words to myself, thinking I am too effusive - I want to shake that off. I want to give my flowers to the living.

I want to follow the wisdom of Henry Ward Beecher: “Do not keep alabaster boxes of your love and tenderness sealed up until your friends are dead.  Fill their lives with sweetness, speak approvingly, and cheer them with words and deeds while their ear can hear them and their hearts be thrilled by them.”

Oh, yes. I want to thrill the ears and hearts of everyone I know. Lord grant that I may do so.

The One Where I Write About Japan

So Monday happened... And there was no Reading. Well... There was reading, but I didn't share any of it. This week has been kind of odd. And I think maybe it had something to do with the fact that Passover started Monday night? Life this last week or so has just felt... In limbo. Like I was waiting for something big to happen. And it did. And now I can move forward, with remembrance.

Anyway. This post is not about yesterday or this week or Passover (as much as I would like it to be).

It's about Japan.

Finally.

I know.

I'll be honest: I've been avoiding the whole subject.

I haven't looked at many photos. I haven't read much about it. I haven't talked about it, even among my friends who I see a lot. In fact, I've wholly forgotten about it a couple of times.

And I haven't given anywhere... Yet.

Am I a callused, selfish, ignorant fool?

Maybe.

Sometimes, it's just easier to bury your head in the sand. Sometimes, I like being that cartoon ostrich. Sometimes, it hurts too much to look Death and Pain and Carnage and Sorrow full in the face and not flinch.

Sometimes, I just don't want my heart to break. Lately has been one of those sometimes. I feel fragile. Or overwhelmed. Or both, maybe? I don't know.  

Even as I'm writing this, my heart aches. For what I haven't seen, but I know must surely be. For the pain, the loss, the chaos, the heartache.

I guess maybe that's because I have to marinate on things - on big, scary, awful, important THINGS - for a while. I have to think about them and let them sit quietly in my heart.

Or else I'll get overwhelmed. And I'm useless when I'm overwhelmed.

And because there is so much else crowding my mind, my thoughts, and my actions. The day-to-day of life and small children and breathing and my own small world.

I think sometimes, during a life crisis or a breakdown or whatever it is that SOMEONE ELSE is going through, I can appear aloof, untouched and untouchable. In fact, I've had several family members tell me "You just don't care!" when I am presented with their hurricanes of life stuff.

And that's patently untrue. I DO CARE.

I care too much.

I care so much that I have to turn off my emotions.  Otherwise I am engulfed by them, overtaken and the waves of my heart become tsunamis that threaten to destroy me, to overwhelm me. And I'm useless when I'm overwhelmed.

So I turn my emotions off (as best I can), and I become cool, logical Kristen. The female counterpart to Mr. Spock.

And only in the private moments of quiet do I allow them to come back and let the tears come. And believe me, they come. A lot more than I'd like to admit.

Perhaps this is a wrong way of dealing with the really heavy, hard, ultra-sad stuff... Perhaps. I don't know. But this is how I am able to cope.

So here we are.

Awful things have happened.

Japan has happened.

And I've sat quietly with it.

And the tears have come.

And I've turned them off.

And NOW is the time to talk about it.

So why am I posting about this now? A full month, a full SIX WEEKS after the first quake?

Because NOW, it's *not* breaking news anymore. It's old. It's stale. We already know all about that. It's after-the-fact. It's almost time to forget. Japan is the setting sun on the horizon of our collective memories.  So what! Japan had yet ANOTHER major earthquake... We don't care, we've already heard about it.

That's why NOW Japan is so incredibly important.

When the rest of America has moved on, this is when *I* am ready to think about it, talk about it, and ACT on what has happened.

I've talked about it with KayKay (and a little with the Ladybug), and we've talked about what it means to be homeless and WITHOUT. Her emotions come more easily than mine, and she is strongly moved. 

So as a family, we are donating to Shelterbox. I offered the choice up to KayKay and she felt the most connected to their work. I invite you to donate to them or the Red Cross or Doctors Without Borders. 

We are also contacting friends in Japan to discuss whether we can send them things directly that THEY PERSONALLY can distribute. 

Please join us in continuing to pray for the people of Japan.

I know this is late... But it feels timely. It feels just right. 

I would love to hear your thoughts. Do share, friends.