The Start of the Holidays

And so it begins....
all of the hoop-la over nothing, or in other words the holidays. It is now 4 days until Thanksgiving and I could not dread it more. All of the traditions that have been upheld for all of my life are now going to fall like dominoes. There is no way I could do them but no way that I could ever forget.

This year we are having pulled pork sandwiches at home and watching football (even though I hate football). As much as I wouldn't be able to make the journey up to my aunt's, like every year before, the absence of that journey is still painful in itself. I feel lost...lost without the tradition, without the anticipation just to eat food and laugh over the most stupid jokes. Although the feeling of being lost is one I have become well acquainted with.

And it isn't just Thanksgiving I'm dreading, it is the procession. After thanksgiving its black Friday  and then after that Christmas is in full force. Not to mention it is winter and me and snow do not have the best of memories. My family and I would always go to our closest outlet mall at midnight after Thanksgiving. It was funny because we would never buy anything, we would just walk around and complain about how cold we were. There was something about that day that would finally tell me I could be excited, my favorite season was finally upon us.

Christmas was always so special to me. More than I can even say. When you have a perfect family, perfect friends, basically a perfect life, Christmas just makes that all the more evident. It would be a time of happiness  of joy, and all the other Christmas cliches. I would live for the smell of the pine tree, and the puzzles, and the holiday movies. I would live to find the perfect gifts, and to see their face when they opened it. I would live to feel alive.

That is all gone for me. The smell of the pine tree just burns the edges of hollow heart. The pain inside just intensifies. 

Not only do the memories burn, but the very holiday just seems childish. I look around at everyone and the looks in their eyes, the very look I exemplified for my whole life, and all I see is greed. Greed for presents, greed for a perfect life, and greed for status. It is a time that everyone strives to be perfect, and if you're not then get ready to throw the white cloth over your bones in the closet. It just makes me sick. Why is everyone so ashamed of their secrets? Why does everyone feel the need to hide them? And to judge others for the very same sin? I will be the very first to say that I am a dirty rotten sinner. I have messed up more times that I can count. But I also know that covering them up will not do anything. And yet I look around and see everyone hiding their wrong just to seem perfect, just to receive better presents. Maybe I am just ranting here but I am disgusted by the materialism I am surrounded by.

My mom made a comment the other day that I thought was very fitting, "our circumstances just make everything we though so dear before seem- seem insignificant". I could not agree more.

Now I will be viewed as a grinch, because I am not excited to receive presents or relive past Christmases, but in some ways I look forward to this Christmas the most. I will truly be able, for the first time in my life, to look at Christmas not as a way to receive presents, but to rejoice in my saviors coming.

Laments of My Soul

The laments of my soul

Are apparently too much to bear

My pain is private pain

Because no one seems to care

They say that God feels my pain

Then why doesn't he take it away

Doesn't he worry

That my faith is going astray

All areas of my life are being torn apart

everything's ripping at the seams

I mourn each and every day

For the loss of my once reachable dreams

My dreams of a happy future

Of a family so perfect

Now every time I put on a smile

My happiness is just counterfeit

Doesn't God want me to be happy

To find joy in my life

Now all joy does is mock me

And cause me so much strife

Everyone else is laughing

So why can't I

Water falls from my eyes

But my soul's river has run dirt dry

College Essay - Pewaukee Triathlon

My stomach clenched as the butterflies settled in and made my stomach their home. Ten minutes until the first shot would ring and I was nowhere near ready, in fact I was weeks behind. Normal athletes train for this event for months, but I had signed up just a mere month and a half before July 8, race day. Why am I doing this? I thought to myself, but the answer was on the tip of my tongue. My brother. Just the thought stung my eyes but there was no time for tears. I approached the front of the line.  There was no turning back now. “GO!” the announcer shouted, and I plunged into the water.

Thirteen minutes of actively drowning passed and I emerged and sprinted to my bike. A third of the way done, I thought, trying to encourage myself. My legs slowly took to a rhythm and I remembered why I love biking so much. I reached the 11 mile mark and felt good but I knew this feeling was going to end very shortly. I turned the corner and started biking right past my house. The memories flooded over me and were almost too much to bear. Memories of just one year ago when it was my brother in my place, and I was cheering from the sidelines. I pushed on.

After 58 minutes I had finished the bike and transitioned flawlessly into running. Each step toward the finish line became harder and harder both physically and emotionally. Eventually the finish line came into view and the cries of all of my supporters reached my ears. “Go Laura!” was repeated again and again as I crossed over the line. This is so wrong! I cried silently. I looked around and was met by so many declarations of pride over what I had just accomplished. “Laura, you just finished your first triathlon!” I smiled and nodded while the only words I could hear were those of my brother just four months before. “Laura, I am so proud of you. I always knew you could do it!”

I finally let myself think about what July 8th meant to me as I stood on the finish line. July 8th was not only the four month anniversary of my brother’s death, but also the day I pushed myself to accomplish one of his passions, a triathlon. That day I came to grips with the fact that my brother would never race again and took it upon myself to live the life that he couldn’t. I raced in honor of my brother and best friend, Patrick Sievert.

Distinguishing Frienships

One thing I have discovered through the past four months is that I have a lot of friends. But what I am just beginning to realize is that I have very few real friends. Before the accident there was little difference between the two, both were equally as important to me. My real friends were there for me through the hard stuff, and my accessory friends were there to keep me looking good and to have fun with.

I also had trouble distinguishing between the two. Every person was good for different things. I would go to this person for guy troubles and that other person for friend troubles, everyone had a role. I would classify each of these people as real friends. How naive was I. Now I have trouble filling even one hand with real friends. This is because my definition of real and even of friends have changed. I still value each person but I find every day another person leaves my life and goes from the status of real to accessory.

Last week all I wanted was for someone to say "Laura, how are you?" and not just to be polite. I needed someone to seek me out to want to spend time with me but not just to distract me. I have way too many distraction friends but hardly any friends that will be there with me even through the tears. It has now been four months and the tears surprise people, even those that were closest to me. People don't understand that it is going to take more than four months for me to heal and to be normal. My friends want the old Laura back but the sad realization is that she is never coming back. I have changed, and it is permanent. I will be forever different but I need friends that will be okay with that and embrace it.

But now I have a dilemma. Some friends I just don't want to lose. Two of my closest friends barely even talked to me for a month after school ended and every day that passed was a new struggle for me. The sad part is that I understand. I understand that they are 16 and don't want to have to deal with this. The pain of death is new and strong every day and it can be overwhelming. I understand why they left. But I needed them not to. Their words "Laura we will be here with you for the long run. We know people will leave your life because of this pain but we will be here with you, to cry and to laugh," hurts me more every single day knowing that it was all lies. Now I have two options: 1) to call them out on it and to express how much they hurt me every single day or 2) lose them, just as I have been doing for the past month. There are problems with both. The problem with calling them out on it is that it will be a pity friendship. The only reason why they will come around will be because they caused a grieving girl even more grief. I don't want a pity friendship in the least bit. But the problem with the other option is that they have been my closest friends for minimum of a year, one of the girls has been for three. I miss them, a lot. I need someone that will know without me having to tell them that it is a rough day and will be there for me even when I can't get out of bed it hurts so bad, even though that is not fun in the least bit.

As for now I feel alone. I am surrounded by people when I'm doing okay but when I'm not they all suddenly vanish. I walk through the darkness with fewer and fewer people by my side as the journey becomes longer. My heart breaks every day as everybody's life moves on, and mine can't. 

Life is a series of tragedies...

The days and nights directly after the accident are a completely blur to me. All I remember is people swarming my house wanting to show their sympathy. There were people I've never seen before of my mother's friends and even my friends from years ago showed up. It was a strange time. That time would've been happy if not for the circumstances. I can just imagine my mother going into her host mode that suits her so well. I can imagine my father, as the night wore on, getting  more and more exhausted and the sure signs that this was not his cup of tea appearing. I can imagine my feeling of contentment, knowing that life couldn't get any better. But there is this funny thing about imagination, it creates a world that can only exist in one's fantasies. Instead it was a much different scene. My mother had women surrounding her doing the things that mom normally would've never have let them do. Her role of host was torn down and the only thing she knew how to do was to let others love on her. My father had given up all shreds of superficial conversation and all things demanded by our society as considered "polite". He had abandoned trying to make small talk and holed up in his room until everyone eventually left, which turned out to be days after. I remember my aunt and uncle were sitting on the couch laughing at a joke my aunt made and my father turned and looked at me with tears in his eyes, "How can they be laughing? Laughing!" as he returned to his room. And finally me...the feeling of contentment had long deserted me and left me feeling utter despair. I didn't know what to do or how to feel but one thing was for certain, I felt alone and scared. The ironic thing about that was I was never alone. My friends rotated sleeping over every night so I wouldn't have to sleep alone. They would be there when I woke up sobbing in the middle of the night to just hold me. But even through all that, the feeling of being alone was so very present. In those days and nights life could not get any worse. I went from being on top of the world to barely even wanting to be part of the world. The other day I went with my adventure gym class to Lapham Peak. Lapham Peak is the place Patrick and I spent hours training for our birkie, so it held many memories for me. "It's hard knowing that the last time I was here...I was happy," I told my friend. "You're not happy now?" The answer came easily, "No."

 My cousin, last week, said something that stuck with me..."Life is just a series of tragedies, and joy is what you feel in between them." I guess I just have to hold on until I am able to feel joy again, however long that might be. 

Sadness is a Mountain

Sadness is a mountain
The cliffs, the crevasses, the rocks
You are launched into a long adventure
Like a boat departing from the docks

There are times when it seems possible
The lush grass and prairie flowers
But then other times when the rocks form a cliff
And the heavens decide to send down showers

You never knows what you are going to find
A ray of sunshine on a stormy day
Yet most of the time it seems like a wall
Like being miles away from the bay

The wall blocks out the sun
And the snow is all around
You forget what happiness feels like
A person who has been last yet never found

You mourn the life you had before
When the mountain hadn't even crossed your mind
The memories haunt your day and night
Like a man whose eyes became blind

Your heart aches for the day when you reach the top
And can squint to see the end
Your journey is only half way done
Yet your life is on the mend

Until then you have to keep going
Even though the mountain seems to loom above
You have to tell yourself the pain will decrease
And in the end, the hurt is worth the love

The Brady Bunch

My house was a very peaceful and rational house. My friends would come over and would be so shocked at how chill everything is. They would call my family the Brady Bunch. I once was pulling in our Lexus into the garage and I pulled in too sharp and pretty much scraped the whole side of the car (it looked worse than it was). And my mother comes out and takes one look at the car and turns to me and says, "So what happened to the car?" "Umm well I kind of turned too sharp into the garage and it scraped the car." "Ya I'd say. Well get to work. You better hope the paint comes off." and heads back inside. There was no yelling or fighting. We are very level headed in my family, but that changed when Patch died. 

When a tragedy happens, people change. Anger that is directed at the situation can sometimes be directed at the wrong subjects. It's just one more thing that I have to get used to, not that I am not at fault myself either. Sometimes I will just be short and quick with my mother even when she has done absolutely nothing at all. I find that I have to walk around on tiptoes in my house sometimes because even the littlest of things can be blown out of proportion because one is feeling emotional that day. It is very hard balancing my family. Right after the accident my dad sat us all down and said with tears in his eyes, "We have to stick together. It is going to be tough but we need each other." The gap in my heart is never more evident than when I am with my family. My family has two families within it, the large family and the small. The large family is when it was all 6 of us, and the small family was when it was just my parents, Patrick, and I because Beth and Dan were away at college. Both were so precious to me, but there was just something about the small family. We were so happy and so complete. Our family dinners would last for hours because we got along so well and could make each other laugh. The other day I went to church with my parents and it felt so wrong, just like everything else in my life. Patrick should have been there and he would've been there. The Brady Bunch is torn apart and I find myself watching the reruns and mourning how perfect it was without me even realizing.

Classic Action Shot with the Sieverts

Holding Me Tightly

There are times when God just astounds me. This is one of those times. The other day I was reading in my prayer journal from last July (almost a year ago), and my ignorance astounded me. I had no idea what I was saying. I was so neive and whiny! I literally struggled with every small thing in my life until I had completely exhausted the topic. I didnt realize that my life was perfect, well as close as it could be. If I were God i would be so darn sick of me, I definitely was when reading it. But then i came across this entry from August 19, 2011. It is such a blessing to me now because it shows me how much my father loves me.

...I guess that shows me how content I am with the unknown. Not very! I want in all circumstances to bless Your name. Last night I tried to say, "do what you want with my family" but i could not bring myself to do it because I thought You were going to kill one of them, i know that sounds ridiculous. I was really struggling with the phrase"You give and You take away, may the name of the Lord be praised." I still am. I know it's not going to be easy but help me to be okay with that! I need you Lord....

then to the side it says...

You are strong enough. Your father holds you tightly.

The first time reading this I broke down into tears, but these were different tears than the past 90 days. These were tears knowing that I will get through this because my father is holding me tightly. The feeling of comfort was so foreign to me. God has been preparing me for that day, because "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength" (Philippians 4:13). After the initial shock I started thinking about the side comment, "You are strong enough. Your father holds you tightly". Just even the fact that it was there is a mystery. It is not my handwriting, whatsoever. And no one reads my journal. Up until the moment I brought it out to read (I put it away for two and a half months after the accident because I could not bear the thought of writing out my prayers to God) it was shoved under papers and books. There is no way that someone would have found it unless looking. I asked everyone that it could have been and nobody had the slightest clue what I was talking about. After a while I came up with a conclusion, it's a God thing. 

Last year that would have been my first conclusion. But over the past year, especially over the past 3 months I have become pretty skeptical. I have run away from the signs long enough though. This outpouring of love from friends and family has been incredible, and all of the random signs like the one in my journal have pointed me to the obvious fact, my God loves me and he is holding me tightly. 

Nightmares

Late nights are never, ever good for me. I have the worst immune system in the world. Its 12:30 a.m. and I am blogging (not to mention i have a final tomorrow)?? Some would call me stupid, but its my way to survive. Three months ago sleep was the most precious thing to me. Getting 8 hours a night was a top priority, sometimes i even worked in 9 (i know, call me crazy). But just like everything else, that has changed. I don't sleep, and when I do I have nightmares. Sometimes they are classic nightmares and other times they are relating to Patrick
Here are 2 dreams in just the past week (a week in my life):

Classic Nightmare

The setting takes place in medieval times (yes i was in a gown like one of those princess movies). Everything was going great. The kingdom was running smoothly and I had control over everything. Then the monster came. For those of you that have seen harry potter it was a mix of a basilisk and the monster things in the Avengers, except it was pitch black. This thing was ruthless. All it did for days was haunt my kingdom looking for anyone out in the open for it to pray on. And death by this monster was not a pleasant thing, it involved crushing bones until one died of pain. Every time it flew over, one would have to find something to hide under so it wouldn't see him. But it kept getting smarter and I kept having to run faster and hide quicker. It was one of those dreams that one is constantly running and constantly in fear. Overall exhausting. Except the worst part of the dream was the end. I was given the task to find Patrick and save him from this monster. This was my only and last task, if i couldn't fulfill it then i was a failure and didn't deserve to live. I kept running, yelling out his name, but I could not find him. I looked over the whole kingdom and was getting more and more frantic. My last moment in that dream was realizing that the monster had gotten him, and wishing it was me instead.  

Patrick Dream:

Patrick and I were playing Frisbee in the yard. I had a moment where my heart was completely happy and I thought that was my life and my  reality was the nightmare. It was wonderful, except the part where I had to realize that it was just a dream. But this one did not stay happy. This car pulled up and out came two men. They started chasing us, and we ran. Patch was naturally faster than me seeing that he was incredibly fit and I started falling behind. These men had this weapon that shot out bullets but once the bullet penetrated your skin there was no saving you, you would die a slow painful death. They were getting closer and closer to me but I could not run any faster. I was willing Patch to get away but instead he looked back. He had a look of intense love on his face before diving at me. I had no idea what he was doing. No Patch, I thought, we are supposed to be running away from them. Tackling me will not help! But i didn't realize he was diving in back of me. I looked back at him and realized he just took a bullet, for me. My heart screamed in pain, knowing what he just did. The men vanished and I held my brother as he died, again. Tears were streaming down my face as I told him I loved him. No patch...you cant leave me! Not again! I can't do this again...why would you do that?? But his face portrayed that he knew what he was doing, and he would do it a million times just to save me. I held my brothers dead body in my arms and just cried. The weird part about the bullet was that I couldn't be with the body for long. It would decompose the body and those around it. Walking away was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, and it was just a dream. Seeing him there alone, without even a burial killed me. Although I already died inside when he did (its funny how similar dreams can be to real life). Three days later I get a phone call. It was from a couple that owned a house near the spot he got shot. I answered the phone and they explained who they were. Then the screaming started. "How could you do that to your brother?? You say you loved him? Please, that's not love. You are an awful sister. All he ever did was love you and you repay him like this?! And then leaving him?! Despicable." I ended the dream in tears and woke up with tears. A never ending cycle of pain. 

The worst part about the whole thing, I think, is that sometimes I don't mind the nightmares. Just for the beginning. It always starts out Patch and I, just like the last 16 years of my life. For just a short time everything seems normal and happy. I get to talk to him again and hear his voice. I am 10 times more scared of the day that I cant remember his voice than a night of nightmares. My biggest fear: forgetting a single thing about my brother...

Plunging Into the Darkness

"The quickest way for anyone to reach the sun and the light of day is not to run west, chasing after the setting sun, but to head east, plunging into the darkness until one comes to the sunrise."

Plunging into the darkness....scariest 4 words of my life! The past 89 days have pushed me further and further from the setting sun and the pain is becoming deeper and deeper. March 8, 2012 my life changed forever.

My best friend/brother died.

I have struggled with how to express my emotions over this loss and I have come up empty. When someone suggested a blog I hated the idea. I hated the idea that people would be reading what I had to say, that they would somehow know what was going through my head. But I have exhausted all my other options. This blog will be my journey through my never ending process of healing and discovering God's grace anew each and every day.

I find that I encounter new obstacles constantly; my heartache over Patrick, learning to live my new life without him, struggling not to be mad at God, and dealing with those around me. Things that seemed easy before are now the biggest of challenges. Just 5 minutes ago my iTunes was on shuffle and a song came on that haunted me with memories of Patrick and myself and I was paralyzed for a full 2 minutes with pain. Nothing is easy now. Nothing.

I was happy just 3 months ago. I had everything. Then it all changed and there is no going back. The healing process is long and painful but I have to face the darkness so I can one day see a sunrise again...that is my one and only prayer for today and for the many months and years to come.