I’m at your grave

I’m at your grave

I’m sitting at your grave right now. The sun is warm and the breeze feels nice. So many sounds of construction and yard work around me while a crow let's me know he’s here too. It’s odd, sitting here. Every time I come some other neighhour has been added to the row. It makes me sad, because I know there are more people who, like us, have to experience loss. Have lost their loved one, have to feel grief.

Tears run down my cheek. I parked my car over by Co-op this time and as walked here I could feel them swelling and welling up. It's weird. I feel it in my throat and in my gut and in my heart. I haven't cried about you for a while, but that doesn’t make the heartbreak less intense. Sometimes I feel guilty when there are no tears, but girl, the lack of tears doesn't mean I no longer miss you. I almost think the missing becomes deeper as time passes.

You should have turned 27 this weekend. That would have been according to my plan, you know, the ‘grow old together’ kind of thing; and here I am sitting at your grave. That isnt right, that shouldn't be. I always find the solitude, the respect, the solemness of a cemetery quite comforting, peaceful, and at the same time this place is so empty or something. Most people don’t come here for fun. Then the other time I was here I saw a lady working out between headstones and I nearly walked up to her. You know me - I'm kind of chicken, but honestly I had to tell you. I can’t believe people have the audacity to do something like that.

I was gonna say I'm glad you're here. In this grave. But you really aren’t here. It's just a casket with what remains of your body and a pretty headstone on top. You know we got your verse, our verse, put on it?! It is such a great reminder that the Lord’s strength is what carries us, what's perfect in our brokenness if we commit to him and that it's only by his grace. But that grace is so sufficient, so abundant for me in my weakness and you in yours. It is what saved us and holds us and makes you be able to be with God in heaven now. And we, we to get to live with the Lord but here on earth. What a blessing and such amazing grace that we get to abide with the Lord and that He never leaves us and He never changes. It blows my mind that we get to be with Him in heaven and I'm actually a little lot jealous you already get to be there.

This world has been quite the gongshow lately. The craziest things have been happening, I'm not getting into them but you'd have a fit if you heard about all the jazz going on. I know you would have your opinions but you’d also have been without work and youth and friends for months and months because of covid and I'm just so glad you dont have to experience all that. This would break you girl, and yet you’d remain positive and think of way to hug people even though we are told we can’t.

There is so much going on and I wish we could talk. I'd ask you your views and listen to your rants. We’d message back and forth and try to wrap our heads around this.

I mean, the world situation is nuts and I'm not minimizing that. Really though, we were told from the beginning that by choosing to eat (goodness, I just realized even Eve liked food!) - we made a choice that life wouldn't be easy. We wouldn't forever walk with God in the garden and the Lord could no longer say “and it was very good”. We, as humanity, messed up big time. And until this day we live with the effects of that choice so long ago. The effects are diseases like cancer and viruses like covid. It’s crime and violence and hatred. It's people blowing each other up and selfish gain being priority over the whole. It's the loss of community and family units. It's broken relationships and abuse. And yet there is some hope. Lots of hope. You knew it. I know it. And you shared it when you were here and even in the story of your battle with NUTs and death, even then you stood triumphant. How? Because you lived and relished in God’s grace and shared his power and might and victory. Not just a few, you shared with everyone so that they too would know His strength. God used you to plant so many seeds and that was your task. And you did, often with joy and a smile. Honestly, you weren‘t perfect but your smile and joy and genuine care and love for people is what I hear about. You cared girl. And your youth, your friends, clients, co-workers, co-leaders, everyone who knew you knows that still. I believe it's a testimony in itself and those seeds you sowed and showed, God will give the increase.

So as I sit here, my tears dry now, and my cheeks salty, I just am so thankful for the years we had together. For the time I got to have with you and for the life you lived here on earth. I am thankful for the beautiful woman you are and were and that I know that you are with the Lord. Thank you, for being your bouncy, crazily excited you, for being the non-communicating listener, my loudest cheerleader and my truest friend. I miss you dear sister but oh am I ever glad that the lord had you Home and that we have that comfort. Looking forward to being reunited one point in eternity but until then I will continue to tell your story, continue loving you my dear, and all who know me know I have a little sister and she's with Jesus.

To God be the glory!

I'm moving to The Netherlands soon here, and this will be the last time I can visit your gravesite for a while. I mean, you don’t notice I'm here probably - but that's fine! This is a pretty special place.

Ps. took my birks off and just chilling here with my sunnies and soaking up the rays. You would do the same.

And another thing. You’re beside a police officer and across the path is a large army vehicle. One of the kids trusted that you’d at least be safe in this spot.

blessed with family near and far; blood and not.

Partir, c'est mourir un peu.

Partir, c’est mourir un peu,     /   To go away is to die a little,

C’est mourir à ce qu’on aime:    /   It is to die to that which one loves:

On laisse un peu de soi-même    /   Everywhere and always,

En toute heure at tout lieu.   /    One leaves behind a part of oneself.

C’est toujours le deuil d’un vœu,   /   It is always the mourning of wishes

Le dernier vers d’un poème;   /   The last verse of a poem

Partir, c’est mourir un peu.   /  To go away is to die a little.

Et l’on part, et c’est un jeu,   /    And one leaves, and it's a game,

Et jusqu’à l’adieu suprême     /    And until the final farewell

C’est son âme que l’on sème,   /   It is one's soul that one scatters,

Que l’on sème à chaque adieu / That one scattters with each farewell

Partir, c’est mourir un peu.   /   To go away is to die a little.

~ Edmond Haraucourt ~1856-1941 ~

 The last few days the title of this poem has been on my mind. Perhaps because my mom said it on Friday when I'd just said the see-you's to my lovely family who were going to their home in Nederland."Partir, c'est mourir un peu." The more I live the more I go. The more I go the more I meet. The more I meet the more I leave. The more I leave the more I die. It is reality, nothing shall change this fact. Over the last couple of years I have wondered if I leave more than others do, if I die more than others do. Okay - I know it is a little dying - a little mourning, but still it is...
Mourir and mourning - it looks to me that the French and the English have the same root - one is dying the other is a sorrow, a pain that comes with leaving something behind and having to let go. Death of someone you love is painful - you have to let go - they are no more and there is an emptiness. I remember clearly when my grandparents passed away. Opas and omas are supposed to be there, they're your parents' parents and they belong; they're family; they are related; they are yours. And then they're gone, they're seat empty, their voice silenced, their step stopped. Then you realize what you miss. No more can you get a hug or kiss, no more phone calls or visits. No more grandparent. Only the memories, the part that lives on in us - where a little of them has scattered into our own lives.

Mourir sounds so tragic. So big. So deafening. Mourir it is so harsh and so final. It is the end. And yet...

The first time I really remember saying goodbye was when we moved to Canada. It was Nov. 2004 and I was 13. A teenager being 'transplanted' to another part of the world. Awful. My sisters didn't help me any (and I didn't help them either), as we all 'hated' Canada and everything that had to do with it. Plus we were leaving ALL our family and friends behind. We were leaving everything we knew in Holland and moving to a place we only knew from maps, stories and our geography books - to a place where we knew NOTHING. That flight across the Atlantic was long, very long. I felt empty inside. I cried until the tears couldn't roll anymore. I sniffed until I couldn't feel any more. I thought and broke inside. I - or what I knew was 'I' - was left behind, on the other side. My life had just ended. Mourir. There was no more to do than to start over. It felt like my being was still on the other side. On laisse un peu de soi-même/En toute heure at tout lieu.

Over the next months it seemed like slowly the life was breathed back into me... that which was scattered before started to 'seed' and germinate once again, but also new things started to grow. New relationships and experiences added to the at once so somber colour scheme, slowly adding more happiness.

There are the small farewells in life. The 'see you tomorrow's and the 'bye's we say on the phone. Then there are the bigger farewells when we tell the other we hope to see them soon or know it will be in a week or two. There are also the farewells that are long term. They are goodbyes that feel like the end. The goodbyes that leave you empty and weak, wobbly and alone. It is those goodbyes, those farewells, those leavings that leave me deep in thought so often. The same are they that make me feel that I have left part of who I am behind, or have given it away - scattered it. Part of me goes with them that leave me, or part of me stays in the place that I leave.

It is hard, very hard. 

 

I left Holland for Canada. 

I left my school for another, for another, for another, for another, for another.
I left my grandparent, and another, and another.
I left my friend and another and another and more yet.
I left my brother, a sister, a mother, a father.
I left my family,

I left my home, my abode, my comfort zone for another.

I left my life to find it a new. 

I died a little with each leaving; part of me scattered over there, with you, with them, or right here. Scattered - for you to enjoy and perhaps to remember me by. Scattered because such is life. Scattered because that is life. Scattered because that is how things happen. 

You come; you go. You live; you die. You sow; you harvest. You live; you grow. You hurt; you heal. You cry; you laugh. You embrace; you let go. You break down; you build up. You mourn; you dance. You throw things away; you gather them. You seek; you find; you lose; you seek. You keep; you throw out. You tear; you sew. You hate; you love. You are silent; you speak. You are at war; you are at peace.  (Eccl. 3)

You don't know; you go to He Who knows. 

I don't get it, never have and doubt I ever will. But know that partirs are part of my life (and of yours too). Just because I have lived in multiple places far from each other I have friends and family - loved ones - who I can't just visit and embrace. Those same lovely people I see only for a time. Like when my family was over from the Netherlands this past month I embraced and cherished those moments. Then they left and I had to let go. When I am in Alberta for the summer months I try to live it up - I dance and gather and laugh and love and live and grow. Then when Fall comes I have to let go, mourn a little, hurt a little, cry a little, seek a little, tear a little, hate a little, only to go right back to dancing, gathering, laughing, loving, living, and growing. Just to do it over and over again. To you it may seem like a cycle - never ending and always always going. A game perhaps? because it certainly feels like un jeu sometimes That is exactly how it is - we live and part of life is letting go or leaving or partir. Part of life searching for where you belong and while you're searching you're finding where you don't belong and letting things go. While you live you leave and while you leave you die a little. 

It's painful. When you say your 'see you's and you don't know when that see you will be (but know it won't be anytime soon). It is painful when you have loved from closeby and have to let that go only to do it over a long distance. It is painful when you have to let go and let the other's live on - knowing you're not there to live with them. It is like you're leaving yourself with them - and you can't live or something. Obviously that isn't true. I still have a lovely life to live right here when I am not with you - here where I am and you where you are. We're doing our things - separate and yet connected - but in different parts. We our living and remembering and cherishing that which we did have and that which we do have.

Each time we leave we die a little - because  a little of us goes with the others.

Each time I leave I die a little - because a part of me goes with you. So that you - whom I have met and then left - can live with a bit of me scattered in your life. 

There is indeed - a time and season for everything. And all things will be made beautiful in His time - even the 'mourir un peu's. What a comfort that God knows, and knows best. When I die He gives life (Ps 139). When I cry He dries my tears (Ps 22). When I am hurt He heals (Ps 30). When I am lost He guides me through (Ps 23). When I am in the dark He is the Light (Ps 119). When I feel alone He is with me (Ps 23). When I question He soothes (Ps 79). When I cry out He hears (Ps 37). When I am afraid He comforts (Ps 55). When I am wild He calms me (Ps 42). When I don't know I trust that He knows (Ps 46) and will never leave. (Heb. 13)

My prayer then is may God be with you till we meet again!

a man in my life II

I was looking through past blogs of mine. It's interesting to see how things change in just a matter of time.
When I came across the post a man in my life I couldn't help but think of this picture: 

...YouTube videos...
with personal sound system, such a great invention

huh? what? lol?!

click here to read: a man in my life I

a man in my life

I don't think I look that much like my dad.
But we are quite similar I think. I think I am like
my dad with several characteristics...
It's cool to see how similar we can be, and how
different too. I mean there are many things that I
have from my mom.. The more I think about it, the more
I see my dad in me. It is kind of scary at the same
time. I love my dad though, he's awesome! :D

Just look at the pictures, and you'll know why!

~posing for a picture~

~my parents are a perfect couple,
their supposed to be smiles are always
worth a good laugh!~

~he is at home in every restaurant,
sometimes you just wish you could hide..~

~his giggles are hilarious!~

~oh, that gap in his mouth, he lost a
tooth.. the new tooth doesn't seem to come
up..
(My dad has beautiful gray/blue eyes!)~

~adjusted glasses in order to watch TV while mom
cuts his ears, and he says 'ouch, you always cut my
ear!'~

mom should be home

My mom is in Orlando right now. For a Tupperware meeting/conference. She left this past Monday and won't be back until late Saturday night. It might not seem like something big, and that's what I thought.. She's just gone a couple of days, and will be back sooner then we think. Well that's what my brain was telling me the last week, but now I think a little different.
It's rather boring without a mam around. I mean doing the chores, the laundry,dishes, clean up, I don't really mind doing that.
But coming home to a house that's quiet. To a kitchen where there is no one cooking. To an upstairs where there is no one reading her book. To a home where no one tells you what to do, and you cant really ask how to do stuff either. Well it's crazy, but I even miss the part of being 'bossed' around. I think everyone wishes at one point during their childhood/teenage years that moms weren't there. Just so that we could have the freedom, no one telling us what to do. No one saying how to do it, and no complaints of how we have done it.



For me, I always thought so too. My dad has been gone before, several times actually - to Holland and away for work. I can only remember one time that my mom was gone for more then a day, and that was way back in 2002. I was hmm 11 then, and boy did I miss her. My dad and mom went to Canada for two weeks then and us kids were billeted out to other places, it wasn't so bad really. But now, for the first time in 8 years my mom is gone, for almost a WEEK! wha! I miss her, and I certainly hope she does come back on Saturday. And even more so, doesn't go on a trip for a long time, at least not if it means that we have to be home alone, blagh.
I'll be sure to tell her that though, because I think that is something a mom needs to know, that she's appreciated, loved, and missed when she isn't here.