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