The Veil

They say kids say the darnedest things. They really do. Random, darned things.

On Saturday, after his and Erianna's soccer game, I was hanging out in the bleachers with Eli while he ate his snack. Out of nowhere he said, very matter-of-factly, "Auntie, you're my mommy's sister."

"Yes, that's right," I replied.

"And my grandpa is your daddy and mommy's daddy."

"Yep, Grandpa is our dad."

"And my old grandma was your mommy."

"Right."

Wow, random soccer-field talk. Especially for a 5-year-old child who never met my mom. I guess Eli's just trying to put 2 and 2 together and understand our family web. I remember being a little kid and trying to figure out my family - which even as uncomplicated as it really was - was confusing enough for a kid brain, and they were all alive and kicking at the time.

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During our Sunday sermon this past weekend, our pastor was talking about how to pray and just be in the moment or in a place to experience God. We read the passage of the New Testament where Jesus goes on top of the mountain to pray about what he must do at the cross. In that passage, Moses and Elijah appear to Jesus. Oh yes, and they just happen to be dead at the time.

Our pastor talked about how very paper thin the veil between this world and the next is, and in his own words, how, if He really wanted to, God could just let our dearly departed "pop back in on us." The pastor spoke of how the church was full, and not only with the congregation, but with those who have come and gone before us.

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Then suddenly, Eli's comment wasn't so random anymore. Shortly after my mom died - I can't remember if it was the summer she passed away, or if it was later that holiday season - I'm pretty sure she was around quite a bit. Depending on the time of year it was, Erianna was either not quite a year, or just over that mark - she was still bald, which I guess covered her life until about the age of 2, though. She was in that phase where she was working on standing and walking, but would frequently hold onto things while standing.

In the front living room at my parent's house sat my mom's chair. Before she died, she would sit in it after work; reading a book, talking on the phone, or rocking Erianna. I remember one afternoon, we were all at my dad's house. Since Erianna was in the early stages of being mobile, she was still a bit difficult to keep up with. I found her in the front room, holding onto my mom's chair, looking right at the empty seat, her whole face lit up. She was giggling and "talking" to no one. Or to someone.

I don't always feel my mom around like I used to, but I know she's still here. It was evident when Erianna was "talking" to her seven years ago. It's evident when Eli casually mentions her.

It's always hard to lose someone you love, but as we were reminded of so sweetly this weekend, those that love us never truly leave us. The veil is paper thin, after all.

Abby.

I have a really great, long-time friend (not old friend, because we aren't old), who has been going through some rough times lately. She recently wrote a blog about 5 little words spoken to her by her dad. It's part of your journey, he told her when she spoke of her anger, sadness, and frustration. She said it was like 5 nails in a coffin.

Abby, my friend, don't think of these words, events, and frustrations as nails in your coffin. Yes, they are part of your journey, but more than anything, they are 5 strings that have been cut, snapped, and let loose, freeing you for that journey. You're now off where you were always headed, taking a turn down a road you never saw, but that was part of the plan, even if it wasn't your plan.

I've struggled with what to say to you, other than I'm here for you, which hopefully you already knew. We all get handed the short end of the stick at some point in life, but there's no point in comparing experiences because nobody gets the same stick. Even with some of the things I have dealt with in life, I firmly believe there is a reason why each and every thing happens. You can't always see it in the moment. You can't always see it ten years down the line, but it's there. Looking back on this years from now, you will probably remember life before the accident and after. There will be a huge differentiation; it will be like a mark on your very soul. It's going to change you, for the better. How do I know this? Mostly because you're a badass. You're caring, contemplative, thoughtful. You will take in each and every fractured fragment of this experience and carry it with you for the rest of your life. You are not the kind of person who will become bitter. You'll have hard days where you'll cry and wonder why, what if, and what could have been. We all do. But then you'll realize how amazing everything turned out anyway, and be glad that you were lead down this rocky, bumpy, pot-hole filled road. Life is never going to turn out the way we plan it. That's what makes things interesting. It's not always sunshine and laughter, but sometimes we have to weather the storm to really appreciate the beautiful days.

I love you.