what if their story were my story?

For I was an hungred, and ye gave me no meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink:

I was a stranger, and ye took me not in: naked, and ye clothed me not: sick, and in prison, and ye visited me not.

Then shall they also answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, or athirst, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not minister unto thee?

Then shall he answer them, saying, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me.

Matthew 25:42-45

letting go

A little while ago, my grandma died.

Typing that out almost three months later still feels so strange to me, because she had lived so long I almost believed she was immortal. Many things have changed in my life over the past few years, but my grandma–sharp as ever, living in Burbank with the orange vinyl kitchen and the pingpong table in the backyard–was a constant.

These are the little things that as a granddaughter I remember: she was an avid Dodgers fan and kept score of every game. She had the best jewelry and always picked out the best clothing gifts for me and my sisters. There was a mega-sized amethyst ring kept in her drawer that I always thought was the epitome of glamour. She taught me how to play cards and was awesome at solitaire. Her house contained a seemingly endless supply of caffeine-free Diet Coke and fascinating magazines, both of which I took full advantage every summer we visited.

My grandma was as feisty as her bright red hair, which she continued to dye even as she reached her 90s. She was generous and sassy and fiercely independent. She loved music and taught piano lessons for years and years at the beautiful black grand piano in her living room. Every Christmas she'd play The March of the Toys as all the grandkids stomped around. She took us to see The Lion King musical and Romeo and Juliet the ballet and Josh Groban (!) at the Hollywood Bowl. When I was in 9th grade, I performed at Disneyland with the ballroom dance team. Grandma drove all the way down there and paid the steep entrance fee to come watch me dance.

Though she won't be physically present anymore, her memory will remain a constant reminder: do good and be involved; keep things feisty.

I love you, Grandma. 'Til we meet again.

life is sad and beautiful

A neurosurgeon dying of cancer, to his less than a year old daughter:

"When you come to one of the many moments in life when you must give an account of yourself, provide a ledger of what you have been, and done, and meant to the world, do not, I pray, discount that you filled a dying man’s days with a sated joy, a joy unknown to me in all my prior years, a joy that does not hunger for more and more, but rests, satisfied. In this time, right now, that is an enormous thing."

read the rest here

it should be a law of the universe that bad things don't happen in december

I've been meaning to blog, but I just keep crying too much and being too dramatic. I will just say this: I am sad for all of the parents who are missing a child at Christmas this year.

five months

Whenever someone says "before Zach died" or "after Zach's death," my brain doesn't know how to handle it. It doesn't compute. Or when I'm in a really good mood and suddenly see his picture, it's almost confusing. Like I've forgotten and suddenly have to remember all over again. Something about happy feelings just doesn't fit with Zach not being here. I think things are getting better though, at least for me and Aaron. We are busy with school, and we're in a place that harbors no trace of Zach but the pictures we've put up. I cry less frequently, and I think my fear of having children is starting to lessen a little. We don't have to see the empty bedroom, with the bed that stays made, or be in the quiet house, or notice the missing drumset from the garage.

You know what I think makes me saddest, for some reason? Thinking about his mom decorating his grave to match the seasons. A heart wreath for February, Easter wreath for April, flowers in May...no mom should have to do that. No parent should have to bury their child. 

But that's what Mark and Wendy did. And they've carried it so well. I have been in awe of their strength. I could not do what they've done with such grace and such faith. 

I hope I never have to.

*******

Wendy wrote this a couple months ago, and it really speaks volumes to what an amazing person she is.

 This post by Rachel, his sister, is also incredibly inspiring.

And, here's another one written by Aaron about his experience and what he's learned through all this.

Whenever I think about posting some emo post about how sad I am blah blah blah I remember these and think if they can pull it together, losing a son and brother, I can too.

three months and one day

That time

I thought I could not
go any closer to grief
without dying

I went closer,
and I did not die.
Surely God
had his hand in this,

as well as friends.
Still, I was bent,
and my laughter,
as the poet said,

was nowhere to be found.
Then said my friend Daniel,
(brave even among lions),
"It's not the weight you carry

but how you carry it -
books, bricks, grief -
it's all in the way
you embrace it, balance it, carry it

when you cannot, and would not,
put it down."
So I went practicing.
Have you noticed?

Have you heard
the laughter
that comes, now and again,
out of my startled mouth?

How I linger
to admire, admire, admire
the things of this world
that are kind, and maybe

also troubled -
roses in the wind,
the sea geese on the steep waves,
a love
to which there is no reply?

by Mary Oliver, stolen from Amanda


I just want to know, do we ever stop counting?

hurts like heaven

Four weeks ago today Zach, we got the news of your death, and I think I finally have something worth posting about you.

This is Zach, lover of drums, karate, and golf, thirteen years old, random and crazy as ever. The video sums him up better than I ever could in words, but here are a few words' attempt anyway.

I didn't know Zach for very long, as Aaron and I have only been married a year, and we spent half of it living 2,000 miles away. One of my memories of him though, was from when we were in North Carolina for our beach vacation in June. He was always out on the boogie board, even when the waves were big enough that I was too freaked out to go out that far. He had this red beanie that he always had to be wearing. One time he came in from swimming, put it on his wet head, took a nap, and the beanie bled red dye all over the white pillowcase. We thought that was the funniest thing. Another memory is from the chemistry department brunch after graduation in April. Zach and I were in line for food, and I was talking to one of my former professors. She asked Zach what he wanted to be when he grew up, and I forget exactly what he said, but it had something to do with the stock market. He then went into a detailed (and quite accurate) explanation of how the stock market worked. Did you know how the stock market worked at the age of 12? And would you have had the guts to explain it to someone much older than you? That was Zach. He wasn't afraid of anything.

On our anniversary, we watched our wedding video, and there you were Zach, wishing us a good marriage at the luncheon and thanking Aaron for "letting me be in your wedding group", dancing with your sisters at the reception, smiling, happy, alive. We cried.
I have spent the last three weeks wishing I could undo December 11th. But for whatever reason, it was your time to go. Zach, we miss you and love you so much. We look forward to when we can be with you again.

paradise

Thank you so much for your outpouring of love and support. We are in awe of the kindness we've received from so many. Thank you for the comments, tweets, messages, phone calls, emails and prayers. They have made a world of difference.

We feel so blessed not only to have such a wonderful support group, but also to know that we will be with Zach again. Life does not end with death, but continues on because of the resurrection of Jesus Christ. He truly has borne all of our sorrows, and He knows perfectly what we are feeling. I echo Nephi's words: I do not know the meaning of all things, I do not understand why this happened, but I know that God loves His children. 

Romans 8 "For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to^aseparate us from the ^blove of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Slowly but surely, we are finding peace.

there are no words

Aaron's little brother passed away last night. Our hearts are so broken, and I just keep hoping we will wake up from this nightmare.

Please, please, please keep us and his family in your prayers. We need all the help we can get.

my gps took a long time to find a satellite signal

We did not end up getting to hang out in DC. Some people in our branch needed a ride to the temple, and we were the only ones with extra seats. So to the temple we went! But not into the actual city (where I was going to meet up with my old roomie Kristen).

Maybe I cried a little bit behind my sunglasses, sitting in the front seat. I like planning things, and I'm not too happy when things don't work out.

But I did not cry during our first sunday school lesson yesterday, so that was good!

But then I cried after I got home from driving Aaron to orientation this morning, so I'm back to square one. Parallel parking is not so easy, especially when you have an angry cabbie behind you annoyed that you're blocking the road.

On days like this, I like to listen to this song:

I dream of driveways and garages and lawns. The end.

pure imagination

It's almost shocking to me how over a year later, an episode of "Glee" and a Willy Wonka song can push me over the edge, silently sobbing on Aaron's shoulder.

I still miss her.

i own this decision

I feel good about quitting. It's been sad (and maybe I almost cry every time I tell someone I'm done), but I feel calm and okay about this. It's like for the first time in my life I decided on one thing I want to do. And I picked chemistry.

This is not to say that my semester will be any easier than usual. In fact, this will probably be the most difficult yet (can't believe I'm saying that after chem 391). I'm TAing (chem 391, of all classes), I'm working in the lab (trying to get enough data for a paper so that I can put that on my application for...), I'm applying to chemistry PhD programs, and I have other things going on that have yet to come to full fruition and so I'll hold off on announcing via blog just yet. 

Oh, and I'm sticking around for World of Dance this week (which means I'll be in the deJong every day from 5-10 this week), I'm taking four chemistry classes (2 lab classes = 13 hours/week, plus chem 521 and chem 514 = not easy), I have a 15 page paper in French on Occitan culture in southern France due in three weeks (that I have yet to actually start writing anything for), I'm (sort of?) the president of Y Chem and have an opening social to plan. 

Life centered around ballroom is over. Being a member of the team has been, without a doubt, the greatest part of my college experience. I am so grateful for the involvement that I have had with the company. Lee and Linda have been incredible to work with, and my teammates have been so wonderful.

I'm really glad that I have one more chance to dance this week during World of Dance.

And it would be really awesome if you guys could come, because this is it for me. This is the end of a ten-year long crazy involvement with ballroom. This is the last time I will be performing, possibly (and probably) forever.

So maybe if you're not doing anything, you could come and see my exit from the art that has held my attention and passion for so long. It would really, really, really mean a lot. 

Here's the website where you can buy tickets if you're interested. 

il faut avancer

One eternal afternoon* later, and I was home.

I'm torn. I am so, so glad to be home. I'm so happy to be back with Aaron. And I am so happy to start throwing myself into rehearsals and working in the lab and planning my school schedule and figuring out my life and everything else.

But I miss France. I miss hearing French everywhere and reading signs in French. I miss saying "Bonjour!" and "Au revoir!" when I enter and exit stores, elevators, buses. I miss eating jambon/emmental/beurre baguette sandwiches. I miss walking around the centre ville. I miss the metro. I miss the Mediterranean Sea. I miss weekend train trips. I miss the taste of French on my tongue and pastries in my mouth.

To everything there is a season I guess. My season in France is over. Must keep pedaling the bicycle forward or I shall lose my balance, a la Einstein:

"Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving."

Keep moving keep moving keep moving.
Can't help it; mostly I just want to sleep.

*okay, 11 hours if we're going to not exaggerate.

nope nope nope

My hair color gives me away before I even open my mouth.*

Thinking this makes me feel immediately better. Maybe if I package all of my fears into little short sentences I can hide them under the bed of this Ibis hotel and forget about the fact that I am still not even at the half way mark.

Here I am in Toulouse, with a suitcase I can’t lift and mascara that won’t stop running.

Take me home. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease.

*French people, besides never straightening their hair, also never dye it blonde. and there are very few natural blondes here.

dear america, i miss you.

This is me apologizing for never blogging on this blog anymore. Ballroom tour has been so crazy, and internet access has been so haphazard...and well, all I have to say these days is my itinerary which is posted on my other blog, so there you go.

But today I was doing some thinking. Do you ever have moments where you feel like you're reliving something? The first couple of performances after we competed at Blackpool, when we danced the latin medley, it was like I was back on that floor at the Winter Gardens, dancing in front of Brian Watson and the rest of the judges. Instead of seeing the audience at the small theatres in London or Sheffield, I was looking out at the Blackpool crowd.

And then yesterday, when we were in Dundee, Scotland taking a walking tour of the city, we walked through a cemetery dating back to the 1500s, and it was like I was in Utah standing at my grandma's grave. I was remembering little details, like all the grandkids pulling out roses to dry and keep from the arrangement on her casket.  I have these moments every so often where I realize she is not here. And sometimes I just can't help but cry all over again.

I just miss her, ya know? And I want her to know that I haven't forgotten her. 

And...it's just like...if this is how I feel, I can't even imagine what my mom or my grandpa feel like. I'm so sorry, I am so sorry.

And I decided that no one else I love is ever allowed to die before me. And I plan on living a long time, so you all better stay healthy, okay?

Cheers, and go read my other blog for a happy post. 

darkling plain

I'm sorry for my lack of substantial posts lately. Things have been a little crazy. Possibly the most difficult and emotionally taxing semesters of my life is now over, and I feel...empty? It's odd because as awful as the past four months have been, at least they've been full of purpose, and now, I don't know what to do with myself. I'm addicted to hard classes and too much homework. It makes me feel productive and like I'm doing something that matters.

But then, something comes along in the middle of finals week and all of a sudden thermodynamics and French history just seem utterly insignificant. My grandma passed away on Tuesday morning, and it really became hard to care. Really, really, really hard. I have been trying for four days to write up an appropriate post on the subject. But how can you sum someone's life up in one post? How can you possibly impart to the world in a few paragraphs who she was? I tried, and I can't. It's like Apollinaire and Bergson and the Dadaists claimed (Dr. Sprenger would be so proud), language has failed me. Words are completely inadequate.

I want to keep trying anyway. I owe her that much.

stolen words

Dark house, by which once more I stand
Here in the long unlovely street,
Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, waiting for a hand,

A hand that can be clasp'd no more--
Behold me, for I cannot sleep,
And like a guilty thing I creep
At earliest morning to the door.

He is not here; but far away
The noise of life begins again,
And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain
On the bald street breaks the blank day.

-Alfred Lord Tennyson

?

Am I so wrong to believe it's not necessary for me to feel like I have to "fight for my life" (a la "Her Morning Elegance) every single day? It would be nice, just once, just one day this stupid, miserable, torturous semester to go to bed knowing that I did all I could and I can sleep in peace.

I stayed up all night minus the two hours I feel asleep on the couch writing my paper and therefore am allowed to wax overdramatic. I don't believe there are many things more depressing than seeing your unslept in bed the next morning.

The paper is still not finished.

no comment

Sun been down for days
A pretty flower in a vase
A slipper by the fireplace
A cello lying in its case

Soon she's down the stairs
Her morning elegance she wears
The sound of water makes her dream
Awoken by a cloud of steam
She pours a daydream in a cup
A spoon of sugar sweetens up

And she fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
As she goes in a store
With a thought she has caught
By a thread
She pays for the bread
And she goes...
Nobody knows

curse my lack of foresight for not wearing waterproof mascara

Today is one of those days when I feel very small and ask myself what I was thinking when I declared this major.

Too hard, too hard, too hard.