It's rare that I write a serious post; I don't like to be overly dramatic about things - I used to relish that, but in the years since I started this blog I've grown to understand the value of levity. However, on some days I have too much on my mind and the posts become serious. This is one of those posts.
It is a very difficult day, which comes at the end of a very difficult year. A year ago today, my cousin Lynn passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. He had not been in the hospital, suffering from a long illness or anything like that; he was in perfect apparent health. I have not spoken much, if at all, of him over the past year because I just haven't wanted to "bring down the mood," which is stupid because it results in bottling things up and bottled up things come out in bad ways.
But I think a lot of people have kind of felt hesitant to talk about him for that very reason - the idea of grief makes us uncomfortable. We don't know what to do when someone is grieving, and because we're familiar with that feeling, we avoid talking about it so that our friends, acquaintances and coworkers are spared that discomfort. But today, the anniversary I have been dreading, is the perfect day to talk about this. My reason for coming to New York City was twofold: one, to search for jobs; two, to be with Julie as we go through this rough time.
Lynn and his brother and sisters are very close to me and my sisters. In our youth, before we all went off to college and scattered about the globe, we were effectively raised together. We value and adore them as siblings, and our meetings where we would all get together and Grandma and Grandpa's and sleep in sleeping bags on the patio were the types of meetings I counted down for. Lynn and Ben always played the "big brother" roles to me - teasing me and making fun of my numerous quirks and eccentricities. As I recall there was one time I was in a sleeping bag and one of them (either Ben or Lynn I was too dizzy to tell) picked it up by the mouth and spun me around. It was awesome and a little terrifying. But if the time ever came that I needed advice, they were always there to give it and always there as a support system.
Lynn and his brother were the "cool kids" in my eyes. They hung out with my older sisters more than with me - but that never offended me because of the age gap. I hung out more with Kaia and Allie who were my age. Though I still spent plenty of time with Lynn and Ben.
When Lynn went off to school in Canada, I didn't see him again for a number of years, until he went to our family reunion. I was thrilled to see him and followed him around everywhere like a puppy dog. He was the kind of person who just emanated warmth and love, and he was always there for me. Even more years later, when I got facebook and it was much easier for us to be in touch, he made sure to always be there for me. He was the first person I turned to in hardship because he had the best advice for me. He was never judgmental, always open-minded and understanding, and he never talked down to me due to our 8 year difference. I was always his equal.
I will never forget that night last year. We were watching On Golden Pond, and I went upstairs, so I wasn't present when my cousin Allie, who was here for Katie's wedding, got the phone call from her mother.
I will never forget the sudden wailing that brought me downstairs, wondering what scene in the movie had upset Allie so. I will never forget the note that Julie showed me because everyone was too shocked and upset to coherently say it. I will never forget the mind-numbing shock and the sudden emptiness that I felt when I thought: Okay. Lynn's dead. What next?
I always thought that, when I got bad news, it would bring me to my knees sobbing in agony like none other. But the reaction I had instead was the sudden flight of all emotion - a kind of cold detachment that appalled me once my feelings started to return. I also recall a vague dizziness. I think I came the closest to an out-of-body experience that I ever have in my life. The uncontrollable crying came the next day, when Amanda picked me up to help me get some fresh air - sorry honey.
The year since then has been an incredibly difficult one, full of further heartache, further trauma and further loss. I have witnessed true selfishness, pettiness, shallowness and evil (which triggered my 2012 in review post) in a very close place of my life, and have experienced what it is like to be saddened by it rather than angered. I have seen further death of people who have had very important influences on my family life. My grandfather's Alzheimer's has taken an unfortunate turn for the worse. I have come close to losing my father, who is one of the most important people in my life and who I turn to for advice more than I turn to anyone else.
And I have suffered through an anxiety the likes of which has been uncontrollable and oftentimes crippling. This, I understand now, is the consequence of bottling up my emotions - my anger, grief, sorrow and worry about everything that has happened in the last year - to the extent that I had forgotten how to express them. We live in a world where we are expected to cry about something and then move on; it's like this belief that grief, like in a sitcom, should be forgotten and moved on from after one "episode" that highlights the situation. This anxiety has mostly been in the form of hypochondriasis, which has taken such horrible control over my life and mind.
I still wrestle with it, though not in the way I did back in March and April, when it was truly the worst. However, the frustration from it, from the fact that I cannot control the obsessive need to check myself for swelling or bleeding or bloating or any other signs of disease, is often worse than the anxiety. It is hard to explain this urge; this need that no one else feels. That I cannot stop myself from checking unless I consciously focus on keeping that need in check. If I am not constantly vigilant, I will give in. A day where I only check myself once or twice, let alone not at all, is a victory worth celebrating.
It is not all bad, because there is an incredibly good thing that has come out of this past year as well: I have learned about prayer. I have developed a relationship with God that I never had before. Sometimes, I have prayed to ask: "Dude. What is this? Come on, man." But on other occasions I have prayed to say: "I understand that this is a time of testing for me. But I am lost. Help show me where I am supposed to be." I have been frustrated with the Lord. Lynn's death made me fear death - fear my own mortality. That's what I think the hypochondriasis is really about; if someone like Lynn, who was a man of God, in tip-top shape and training for a marathon, can just up and die at age thirty-one, than I darn well can die too. It was truly his time, for whatever reason, and my time could be up at any moment.
In all of my fear, my hypochondriasis, my frustration, grief, pain, and anger, I did the most unexpected thing: I truly turned to God for the first time in my life. I was doubting my faith, and my Lord. I felt utterly lost and confused. This year, I have doubted my faith more than ever in my life. And yet when that happened, I prayed. I said: "Lord. Help my unbelief. Help me to open my heart to you. Help me understand that death is not the end. Help me shut up that voice that keeps saying: 'what if it is?'" Somehow, by doubting my faith, I have been brought closer to God.
I'll admit that I used to pray sparsely, and only when I wanted the Lord to give me something. I did not understand - and I think a lot of people don't understand this - that God is not some sort of all giving jinni who just says: "Okay you want this, here you go." God cannot prevent the free will of humanity; that's part of why He gave us free will, for better or for worse. We make our own mistakes and decisions, and the whole time God will try and show us where our paths are meant to lead. And what I have quickly learned is that, when I have prayed for the Lord to show me something - to help me see what is next for me on my path and help show me what the right thing to do is - He has always answered that prayer with an eerie alacrity. I will be one of the first people to say that I still struggle with death, and yet God has stood beside me through these struggles, showing me little things in every effort to remind me that there is nothing to fear.
In so many things in life there is nothing to fear. We get so wrapped in our own little issues and lives that we lose sight of the bigger picture - a so much bigger picture. Money only seems like a scary thing, but in reality, there is nothing to fear about it and once you realize that, money quickly loses its power over you. There is nothing anyone can take from you when you understand that, no matter how much or how little you have. Money doesn't matter. Toys or trinkets don't matter. Alcohol, partying, sex and attention don't matter. Relationships where the significant other becomes your idol - becomes more important than your own independence and happiness - are unhealthy, should be examined wisely, and do not matter.
What matters is truly the life you lead, and the love you share with other people. What matters is the soul you have and how you treat it, because time on this Earth is brief. No, I am not saying YOLO and I firmly believe that that saying should be put on the list of things that should never be said due to being detrimental to the betterment of mankind.
Realizing how the Lord loves me - in a way that I will never fully understand - has enriched my life greatly. The fact that the Lord-Made-Flesh willingly forfeited his life for my soul - to save someone who was 2000 years away from even being a twinkle in his father's eye - blows me away. That makes it pretty easy for me to stand in His corner.
In this year, I have learned to see my Father in Heaven not as a jinni or all-giving-separate-from-humanity-God, but more as a parent. He doesn't just give us whatever we want whenever we want it - that would make Him, frankly, a bad parent. However, He will always provide what we need. He will always open His home to us when we are homeless or alone. He will always try to guide us down the right path. And yes, He will discipline us when we do wrong, and praise us when we do right. And He will even show us His wrath and His justice when we do evil, when we serve the will of Satan, or when we show that we reject the gift He gave us when He died for our sins. But He loves us all deeply and with a fervor that we cannot understand.
That, to me, has been the driving force behind this year, difficult though it has been. I remember all of the things that Lynn used to say about God and about death. I remember that he never lived his life in fear. I know that there were times when he was afraid - he was human and he did all of the things that humans do. And Lynn was a man of faith, love and understanding. He was funny, and he was charming and he knew how to cheer people up. He had a patience that I strive to live up to the example of every day. He treated every day like a blessing - and I'm working on doing that too. Lynn was happy, and I know that he still is happy as he watches from on high.
But most importantly, I know now that there is nothing to fear.
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