Song Sparrow, Sing Me A Song...

For Ash

     My sister loved birds. I teased her about it a lot. What an odd thing for a twenty four year old to start loving and collecting. Girls our age collect stories of late nights downtown with friends, shot glasses from cities they’ve visited, shoes. Sixty year old women collect birds. Since she’s passed away, I’ve found a love for all things feathered. It’s made me feel close to her in a way A chance to build on the collection that she isn’t able to finish. We split her quaint collection of birds between my mother and sister. I moved into my apartment, with two bird figurines, and a tiny tattoo of a bird with ‘Ash’ floating above it. In the months since my sister’s death, I’ve waited to see her again. I don’t explicitly know how the next life works, and I’m definitely navigating my new life without her, completely lost most days. I’ve been praying and waiting for some time with her. In the weeks after her death, I waited for beautiful dreams of her in heaven. Even beautiful dreams of things we had once done together, but those dreams haven’t come. Any dreams really. I’ve felt spiritual disconnect unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I look for her in everything that I do. Sometimes I even wonder if I think about her too much. Eight months since she left us, and coming up on what was supposed to be our twenty fifth birthday together, I’ve been feeling a sense of hopelessness in my quest to be closer to her. I’ve said it over and over again, but I’m an analyzer of all things, and for what might be the first time in my life; and what will probably be the most significant , my analyzing (and Ash I’m quite certain) brought me to tears in a beautiful way this past week.
     I’ve been living by myself since April, and have been glittering this apartment with memories of her. My room has been my last project, and the walls have been bare for the four months I’ve lived here. Do I put pictures of her up? Will that just make me sad? I haven’t known what to do with the space at all, and in all the years I lived with Ash, she was the decorator of our lives. And even now, I am learning she still is. Last week I went to California with my family. We visited the Redwoods of Northern California. I was overwhelmed with tears as I walked down trails, and climbed on trees. Ash and I once ran through those trails together. Summer after summer, hiding from each other; we’d climb and explore the fallen trees. I have amazing memories of time spent there with her. As I walked and listened, all I could focus on were birds. The sky was a pretty blue that day, and despite my crying, it was just a beautiful and bright day. This really isn’t that significant, given my obsession with them since her death, but there on the trails I decided I should somehow incorporate this into something for my walls that would make me happy, while still incorporating her love of birds We left and drove to Monterrey, California and stumbled on an amazing antique store. I felt a fire inside of me to find something in this store for Ash. Two problems, huge store…closing in fifteen minutes. I managed to grab two ‘Bird and Nature Magazines’ from 1906 and a beautifully famed piece of wall paper with a bird on it. I actually loved the framed picture, and it had some blue in it. The magazines, if anything, were old and might make for some interesting faded wall hangings. When I finally made it home to Texas, I began to thumb through the magazines. Instantly, I was disappointed. I was expecting lots of cool bird pictures, and what I got was scientific looking fold out diagrams for the most part. Until page 23. A story titled ‘The Song Sparrow’, opened with this,

     ‘While men are speculating on the truth of the statement, that “wealth lessens, rather than increases, human happiness,” the ecstatic notes of the song sparrow are offering ample proof that , in the bird-world at least, happiness is not dependent upon fine feathers or luxurious quarters. During the cheerless winter days, although his dusky little form is indistinct among the dead leaves of the frozen thicket, this brave bird sends a thrill of joy through every heart, as his song, clear and rapturous, rises above the hoarse moan of the wintry wind, and mingles with the snowflakes.’

You can imagine the tears streaming down my face. The only thing in my mind as I was reading this, was Ash. These words were floating off of the page at me. Everything, I’ve ever thought about her was here on this page, in a magazine about what she loved…and someone else wrote it in 1906. I kept reading, only to find more proof that Ash wanted me to see her. Not in a dream as I had imagined, but in her own free spirited, not so blatant way.

     A poem by Henry Van Dyke,

‘With darker patches at his throat, And yet of all the well dressed throng, Not one can sing so brave a song. It makes the pride of looks appear, a vain and foolish thing, to hear his sweet, sweet, sweet, very merry cheer. A lofty place he does not love, but sits by choice, and well at ease, in hedges and the little trees. That stretch their slender arms above. The meadow brook; and there he sings, till all the field with pleasure rings; And so he tells in ever ear, that lowly homes to heaven are near, in sweet, sweet, sweet, very merry cheer.’

Still balling, and still thumbing, Ash ended our evening with this,

Here Be My Loves

By John Vance Cheney

Here by my loves among the feathered things


The angels lend their tunes to, and their wings.

The lowly sparrows, cradled on the ground,

To hear earth’s heart, and sing that happy sound;

The thrushes, they of melody so pure

Whether ‘tis earth’s or heaven’s I am not sure;

Why I thought it would all come so easy, I’m not sure. Nothing about this journey has been easy, and I don’t think it will be. I’ll be dealing with her death for the rest of my life. Little moments like this one are what make me believe that though it feels impossible at times to acknowledge, there is most definitely a God far greater than anything I can completely comprehend. I understand Ash’s love for birds now more than I ever did when she was still alive. And now I know in fact, these things really aren’t that random at all, but probably exactly as they were supposed to be. In reading these words, I can only imagine what her new life must be like, but I think her love and connect with the bird-world as this passage describes, go hand in hand…or feather in feather if you will. I love you sister, Happy Birthday to the most beautiful girl I know, and the one I miss and love so much!

Chronicles With Coping...Or Something Like It. Chapter Two.

Okay Mind, I Don't Know What You Want Me To Do With All Of These Feelings...

     Coming up on three months, and I don't know that I've found my way to a good place yet.  I'm somewhere in between functioning and acknowledging. At this point, I kind of feel like I'm just getting through the days and hanging on to routine.  There is a growing stack of self help books next to my bed, and yet I can't even venture to open them.  The sight of one, honestly brings tears to my eyes.  Part of me thinks, 'No, you're not ready for this', but I think the more accurate statement is 'No, you don't want to deal with this, and reading this book is sort of dealing with this.'  Maybe it's not, I don't even know anymore.  As always, I'm finding comfort in music, some days it is the only place I find comfort.  My life is one big contradiction right now.   Somedays, I wake up thinking, I'm okay.  I understand and I have so much to remember about Ash, so much to be thankful for.  I mean God, I'm sitting here writing this, how can I even utter a complaint, or feel anything but grace for all that I still get to have?  However on most days, my whole being says, 'Are You Kidding?!  Get back in bed, and stay there, you are allowed, and no one will mind. The idea that someone is going to be able to tell me how I am supposed to be feeling and what I can do to cope, is lost on me.  I realize I'm not the only girl whose ever lost a twin sister, and yet all of me feels like, yes I am.  No one will ever know or understand this loss. This feeling.  A huge part of me has just shut down.  My life is a really awkward exchange of completely carefree times with my friends, to a complete lack of understanding of myself and what this situation has brought into all of our lives.  At times I feel like I have no connect.  My friends are having these beautiful dreams about Ash.  I am not.  I think I'm struggling with that a lot.  Honestly, I couldn't tell you the last time I had a dream that I remembered, but to not be dreaming about her, when I feel she is all that is on my mind at any given moment.  It's sad for me.  I want that to be a way I can cope,  to be laughing in my sleep with her.  I've never understood less about how my mind works and the motions I'm going through, than this moment now.
     My mom wishes I were dating more, to get my mind off of things, and all  I can think is that I am a girl with some serious emotional baggage right now...and who wants that?  Its a lot to ask someone to take on.  I don't even want to deal with it, but I don't get a choice.  I don't even know how to answer simple questions like 'How many brothers and sisters do you have?'  I go from juggling how to answer  little things like that to wondering how I will incorporate her into my wedding as the 'Maid of Honor' she was supposed to be.  I don't want to even think about how our birthday will be.  I'm not ready for it to just be my birthday.     I'm reading my journals a ton right now, and entries like this are keeping me going.
     'Ash is still amazing as always, and is coping well.  The girl is so so strong.  I really can't put it into any other words.  I love my days with her, even if we are just sitting in her hospital room...usually I'm watching her make jewelry or paint.  Mainly because she is simply amazing at it, and I can't compete.  I've tried, but while she's whipping out some fantastic, beautiful, necklace...I'm staring at an open box of beads wondering how I'm going to use every color in the box and still make it look cute.  And those stupid little tools you have to use to clamp together a tiny piece of chain...yeah, I'm not good at that either.  So I just sit and watch her, we talk about food a lot...haha.  Mostly about things we wish we could cook...and if the hospital allowed, I bet she'd be able to whip it up in her room.  I'd probably watch that too, and be the official taste tester of course.  We talk a lot about our plans for when she gets out of the hospital, and most days I force her to listen to stories about my class.  Most days she ends with a ' Thanks for sitting with me, I had fun with you.'  We are best friends, and we've honestly spent the last twenty four years of our lives together, day to day.  And yet, I don't know that we've ever been closer, or enjoyed each other more than we are right now.'
    I wrote this three weeks before Ash passed away.   'Ash' dangles around my neck daily, it is tattooed on my ribs forever, I have this unbelievable need to keep her spirit current, and reminders of her with me constantly. Testament to the place I know I am trying to get in my grieving.

Chronicles With Coping...Or Something Like It.

The Superficial Blur Of Things. Chapter One.


I've been feeling the need to write for weeks now.  Only I haven't known where to begin, what to say, or even what it is that I am feeling.  Part of me is scared of what will come out, if I really allow myself to sit down and admit to all that I know is lingering, all that I havent allowed myself to answer inside.  'Did she know I loved her', 'Was she scared?'.  It's a weird internal struggle with myself daily.  If I let my mind wander, there is no limit to where it will go.  That is a scary notion knowing that for every question I have to rely on everything but Ash as a source for the answer.  I find myself getting mad for even thinking about what her last moments could have been like, because truthfully speaking, the phrase alone is still troubling.  As we were getting ready to move down to ICU, I couldnt help but be angry.  A nurse came in and hugged me, which made me mad too.  One, because perhaps I should have known, but her name was lost to me.  And two, why are you hugging me?  What does that mean?  I read into everything.  Perhaps she was just trying to comfort someone way too young to be going through all of this, and in hindsight, I am sure this was probably the case, but as a nurse, what do you know that I don't?  By the time we got down to ICU, I was in silent tears.  Ash was already in her special place, she was really good at this.  When things on any given day would hurt, or get scary, she would close her eyes, and let her  mind take her somewhere while the nurses did what they needed to do.  Still, even with her eyes closed, and her form of meditation happening, I didnt want to let her see me crying.  I didnt want her to know that I was scared, and really I dont know if I was scared or overwhelmed.  I needed her to think that this was just like everyother trip we'd made down to ICU, becuause at this point ICU had become regular for us.  Only, this was not the same.  I waited in the waiting room for almost an hour, alone.  As a nurse walked me in to see Ash, she asked that I not talk to her, because she needed to concentrate on breathing.  There were tears in her eyes, all I could do was wipe them away.  I wanted to pick her up and run out of there.  I held her hand as she began to mime all that she wanted to tell me.All I can remember thinking, is 'this is not what twenty four year olds should be dealing with.'  I souldnt be gathering up my twin sisters few neccesities for yet another few days in ICU.  I should be helping her find her shoes, her car keys, as we head out the door on our way to Trudy's for a martini and probably a stuffed avocado.  And yet leaving the hospital early that morning, there was no doubt in my mind that after a few hours of rest, I'd be back in ICU, joking with her about her attractive nurse.  Even my mother's unexpected call to come back to the hospital didnt really cross my mind as that odd.  I knew Ash was having a hard time, but with all that we've been through, for this to be the end, didnt even cross my mind.  Ash passed away on Sunday December 12, 2010, with Leukemia.  Of all the most frustrating things, its not even the Leukemia that brought her life to an end.  Pneumonia and a lung infection, that doctors could not get a grasp on.  Seriously?
I havent stopped in three weeks, on the go all the time.  Mostly because when it is quiet, there is time to think, and for now I'm not quite ready to think about it all.  I wasnt ready for Ash to go, not that its something I could have ever been ready for...but utterly and completely unprepared doesnt even begin to explain it.  Emotionally, I've never felt more alone.  It's weird to be completely surrounded by loving people and feel like you can't put into words anything beyond the superficial 'thank you', and 'i'll let you know if i need anything.'  Who am I kidding?  There is a lot that I need right now, but I wouldnt even know what to ask for, nor that its even something you could give.  I can barely process what I am feeling, assuming that I'm even allowing myself to scratch the surface of all that is to come.  I don't know that I ever completely let people into my life.  Not the way you are supposed to anyway.  At one time I'd venture to say I was an open person, but in reality, I'm extremely guarded in all that directly relates to how I'm feeling.  I don't know why, and I don't know where it comes from, but for me, to open up to an extent, is to turn over control.  Control of what I'm feeling, and control of how those feelings are used.  If I hold onto it all, deal with it somehow, there are no unknowns.  The only person I've never had to let in to get everything about the person I am has been Ash.  I turn to her when things are hard, and I don't know what to do.  So to now be faced with this, and she's not there to turn to... I am at a loss.  Something that's been there my whole life, I will never have again.  Its not even a relationship I can begin to mimic with someone else.  The permanence of it all is setting in, and at night is when I feel it the most.