Goodbyes are hard...

Today is a sad day.  My oldest, dearest friend is being deployed to Afghanistan.  My awesome big brother is at it again.  Being a hero.  So I write a post dedicated to how awesome he truly is.

He was my very first friend.  We two started out life thick as thieves.  We were each other’s first playmates and co-conspirator.  He even cut my hair while my poor young mother tried to get a shower with two toddlers at home. 

We were both blessed with over active imaginations.  There was never a dull moment with the two of us.  The number of made up games we played were endless.  Movie Theater, trampoline world, roller blade land, pioneers indians and aliens (so naming games were not our forte) were some of my favorites. 

Through the years we grew and developed.  I became a little mom, always trying to control everyone, and Mike stayed a free spirit who was willing to please.  We made a great pair. 

As we entered high school we grew apart, but it was okay.  We had different life paths at the time and our goals were vastly different.  But none of that really mattered, because I still looked up to him and I know he cared for me.  Two instances stand out to me during those years. 

First would be a day we had a fire mishap at school.  I was a sophomore, he a senior, and he had the hardship/pleasure of driving us to and from school every day.  That day the fire alarm went off during the last class of the day (should I mention that for some unknown reason, kids at my school would light things on fire and throw them into the garbage cans…backpacks, posters, you know, whatever a teenager wanted…*que music* memories of Copper Hills….).  It was a cold day and the school could not send us outside so they tried to usher us into the large gym.  Hahahahaha, yea right.  You and I both know that everyone darted for the door to the parking lot, fighting to get to their cars before they were caught by the crazy hall monitors and vice principals who knew this assault was coming.  Well I was a quiet, pushover (literally) during these days (I did not get cool until college, I know, hard to believe).   Even though my brother and I were not all that close these days, we still had this sibling telepathy thing going on.  There was no way we were staying in that gym.  Long story short (way too late for that) I was shoved and pushed down in the mayhem.  Not only did I fall, but a very rude man-child saw me trying to get up and chose to push me back down rather than try and be a decent human being and help me up (oh high school).  By the time I got outside my brother had the car running pulled up to the curb waiting for me (that’s right kids, no texting needed, we just knew this unspoken plan).  When he saw the tears rolling down my face he jumped out the car and jogged to me.  I remember him asking if I was okay. When I told him what had happened there was a charge in him that I had seen before, he was ready for a fight.  “Where is he? Who is he? Do you see him?”  My big brother hero was ready to beat the crap out of some kid for being a total jerk.  I convinced him to just get in the car and go home (lucky for the random man-child).  It was one of those moments that I knew, without of a doubt, that he is on my side.  He has got my back, and I can always count on him to protect me. 

The second lovely high school memory was after he had graduated and I was senior.  He had recently joined the army but had not yet left for basic.  We were on much better terms these days than in the previous story.  I had been sick the last couple of days, but being the overly excelled person I was, I went to school.  It was like the worst day of my high school career.  I did not even go to class, I just laid sad and pathetic on the band room floor for the whole morning.  You know when you get a really high fever and you get the shivers and if feels like you will never get warm again?  Yeah, I was there.  People would see me and just lay their coats on me because they felt so bad.  Finally a couple of friends arranged to drive me home.  I got home and called my mom, tears streaming down my face and wrapped in every blanket I could find.  Well she called my brother to come over and check on me.  He got there and was very much in over his head.  There is not much maternal instinct in a 19 year old boy, but he felt bad for me.  After calling my mom he was instructioned to get me some ibprophin and water.  Well I was freezing and tangled beyond hope in a million blankets.  So he just dropped the pill in my mouth and tried to pour water in my mouth but he missed.  Yeah, he spilled cold water all over my face.  I lost it.  I just started bawling.  Poor, poor Mike.  He was just trying to help, and I was not mad at him, I was just done.  He ran and got a towel and tried to clean me up.  He then sat on the end of the bed and stayed with me until my mom came home and took over for him.   He was just so sweet and caring and he did all he could which was just giving me his time.  He is amazing. 

So now I have to say goodbye for a second time.  For the second time he leaves to a war zone.  This amazing, loving person, who is needed and wanted at home is leaving.  The pain of him going is like a physical, unrelenting pressure on my chest.  Sometimes I feel like I cannot even breathe I am so sad. 

Can I just share that I hate war?  Nothing political. No agendas.  I just hate war.  I do not think anyone really does like war, but I just do not feel like we say it enough.  I hate war.  If I had a say, no political official can take office until they read or re-read All Quiet on the Western Front and have to write a ten page paper analyzing the effects of war on young men and their families.  I think that assignment would prevent unnecessary pain. 

I think of a poem penned by Konstantin Josef Jireček and later adapted by Vietnam soldiers that has recently struck a chord with me:

We the unwilling,

Led by the unqualified,

To kill the unfortunate,

Die for the ungrateful.

We have done so much,

With so little,

For so long,

We are now qualified to do anything,

With nothing.

The poem can be interpreted by a many number of ways.  For me it is saying that our brave young men, are fighting for a country that does not understand their sacrifice.  These young men, who are just starting to live and have so much to learn and experience, are fighting a fight they did not chose because they believe they have something to fight for.  These amazing, resourceful, young, young men are paying the ultimate price, not only with their physical lives but also with their emotional and spiritual lives. 

So much pain.  So much suffering.  All seemingly unnecessary. 

Good bye my sweet, dear brother.  May God be with you until we meet again.  

A little wisdom gained from life.

At 23, I feel like my life mantra is taken straight from Pocahontas: "You'll learn things you never knew you never knew."  I love that statement.  No matter how much I know, learn, or experience, there will always be things I do not know, but also there is so much to life that I will never even fathom.  Like, my mind is barely able to keep from exploding as I try to think of something that I do not even know exists.  Maybe the head ache is from trying to do the impossible. 

All this being said, I do not think anyone, myself included, should ever underestimate the knowledge and life experience they do have.  We each have already done the hardest thing we have ever done to date.  Yeah, think that through.  Imagine the hardest, deepest, saddest, loneliest, most soul crushing moment of your life, and then take a deep breath.  That moment has already passed.  You survived it.  Now, do not misread me and think that I am saying nothing worse than those moments will ever happen, because they will, and they just might knock you off your feet.  Just remember everything you have learned up to this point and let all that life carry you through the next chapter. 

Introduction finished and background knowledge now activated I would like to share with you a gem I have gained and relearned over and over again.  You ready for this?  Never let anyone let their pain belittle your pain and make you feel guilty for having feelings.  Profound?  Maybe. Ground breaking? Not really.  But let us talk our way through that statement.

Pretend something bad has happened to you, so you feel grief.  It is your right, as a human being, to feel that grief.  Grief is a very personal experience and it is yours to experience.  However, when something bad happens it rarely happens to only one person.  The ripple affect of tragedy knows no end.  That is something to keep in mind while you grieve; there are still other people grieving. And an unfortunate step of grief is anger.  You have the right to be angry and so do others. 

Anger is a fickle thing isn't it?  Anger is full of passion and drive.  It has motives and plans of attack.  No one ever sat idly by while being truly angry.  And for that reason, many people ride the anger train in the journey of grief for all it is worth.  Have you ever been so angry you see red or taste metal?  I remember once during one of my later semesters of college getting so angry while studying for a physiology test that I could name and picture every reaction happening in my body; from the change in hormone levels, the muscle tissue contraction, and my change in blood pressure all leading to a 'fight' reaction (it was a very effective study technique). 

Anger makes ugly things happen.  Ugly, seemingly unforgivable, things happen.  People, in their grief, will do horrible things out of pure selfish anger.  These things can make you feel like crap.  Your grief will multiply and become harder to bare, because those who share your pain would rather tear you down than grieve with you.  And worst case scenario, they make you feel guilty for feeling bad.  That is truly the worst feeling in the world.  Feeling horrible, than feeling guilty, than trying to hide your pain is a sucky situation.  You are being forced out of your stages of grief.  You will never heal if you cannot freely grieve. 

I cannot tell you how many times this has happened to me.  I am one who internalizes EVERYTHING.  I feel everyone's emotions right along with them.  When I was younger I would have to leave the room when something embarrassing or sad happened on T.V. because I was feeling all the same things as the character.  It is something about me that I treasure because I am able to be empathetic towards others.  On the flip side, it often times makes me more vulnerable.  I have had to learn, and continually re-learn, that it is okay to feel bad.  It is okay to cry, scream, laugh, curl up into a ball and close off to the world for an hour, and even eat a pint of ice cream, because I am not a robot.  If others try to belittle my pain, or mock me for my tears it is okay because they do not get to dictate how I feel.  Only I can decide how I feel, and I have every right to feel my feelings!!!

Please, please, do not let other people drag you down further.  If you are sad, cry.  If you are exhausted, take a mid-day nap.  If you are elated, sing at the top of your lungs.  If you are angry, scream until you are blue in the face.  You are entitled to feelings.  Have I said that enough yet?  Just one more time to be clear.  You are a human being and it is only normal to have feelings and you should embrace them! 

But a moment to address the antithesis of all of this.  You do not have any right, ever, to deride someone else's pain.  I am not saying you are required to take ownership of anyone's pain. In fact, unless you have directly caused the personal injury to that person, you should not ever take ownership or feel responsible for anyone's pain.  If you and someone you know have suffered some terrible tragedy, do not make the mistake of thinking that your grief is greater. It is not your place to rank hardships.

 Remember the words of Sis. Marjorie Hinckley: "Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

I love you all.

Cadavers, Museums and Bones, oh my!

*As originally published in 2011*

So even though I say I have an idea for a new blog in my last blog doesn't actually mean I will ever do any of those posts. Like today I think I will blog a little bit about cadavers, museums and bones. Believe it or not, these are some of my favorite subjects. I am about to finish up a degree in Anthropology and I would love nothing more than to work in a museum someday and specialize in human remains. I have about three years experience in museums as well as osteological (human bones), mummified, and cadaver experience. I understand that this is an odd set of skills and experiences to put on a resume, but hey, someone has to do it!

This might actually be a bit of a rant today because I am extremely pissed at the medical community as a whole. You see, in anthropology/archaeology, we are taught and drilled over and over how to respectfully study and document human remains. There are rules for handling the remains, documenting/photographing/drawing remains, and storing remains. If you name it, there is a rule, whether written or not, somewhere out there in the anthropological world for human remains. And, of course, this is the way it should be. The remains are actual people who deserve actual respect regardless if they are individuals who donated their body's to science or if they are 5000 year old individuals happened upon during a hike in the Alps (more on the Kenniwick man in a later post).

On the flip side, in the medical community students are taught that cadavers are empty shells who are used for practice. Rather make a mistake on a dead guy than one who would like to wake up when you finish with them. Even thought this reasoning is valid, it still really bothers me. The other day when I was working in a cadaver lab, my lab instructor came in and dropped her book on one of the cadavers as if it were a table under the body bag and not a person. I was mortified! Then she continued to mix up the skulls and mandibles until reuniting the correct skull with the correct mandible was next to impossible. By the time my lab time was finished I was through the roof. Her behavior was unquestionable wrong, not to mention the fact that she only behaved this way because that is how she was taught by her lab instructor.

I really feel very strongly about the need for a more anthropological approach to medicine. If we cannot understand a persons culture and appreciate their worth as an individual (even after death) then I feel all is lost. We cannot remove the humanistic side to studying humans with out grave affects.

I do understand that some people have a hard time with human remains. I have also know several people who cannot deal with remains unless they emotionally and (arguably) humanisticly detach themselves from the remains. But these types of jobs are not for everyone because of this.

I am not going to lie. The first time I worked with human remains was in a museum setting and when I was done I went home and cried for hours. It was a small child and I was simply performing a routine check to make sure nothing had gone wrong with the remains while in a transitioning stage at the museum. I laid in bed and sobbed for this child. This child was removed from her original resting place, was removed from her parents and family, and this child had died so young. The next morning I went into the museum with a prayer in my heart and faced the remains again. This time I did not have such an emotional reaction but rather I was able to work and still keep the realization that this was a person who lived a life and had people who loved them and I should show them all the respect I would want for myself and my loved ones.

Your first time is hard, but you learn to handle each situation handed to you. For those who cannot do so should seriously consider another profession.

The little moments....

     So it is currently 11:30 pm, two days before my sister's wedding.  We just spent the last two hours putting curlers in her hair and doing a body wrap, a process we will repeat tomorrow night.  And it was great.

    We have been running around all day since 9 am, and we are slap happy, to say the least.  After sufficiently getting all of my sister and the surrounding carpet wet with the squirt bottle I used to do her hair, she was freezing.  Unfortunately for her, we needed to do the body wrap, which just so happens to be a rather cold activity.

    So, in case you have never done a body wrap, or you have no idea what I am even talking about, let me give you the 'skinny' (horrible pun intended).  The jest of it is you use your choice of some witch-doctor lotion/oil/gel and rub it all over your desired body area, in our case her mid-section, and then you wrap said section in plastic wrap as tight as you can, then you follow up with a tight wrap in ace bandages, all of this unpleasantness is then slept in for the night. The point is to make you shed water weight and tighten up the area wrapped.  Should I mention I do not really believe this works all that great and I don't support this endeavored for anyone. 

     Needless to say, rubbing cold jelly on your tummy at roughly 11 pm with wet hair and hardly any clothes on is not the best of experiences.  I would also like to remind you all that we are at the end stages of exhaustion flirting with delirium.  Put all of these ridiculous factors together and we have one heck of a situation.  We got the giggles.  Like, tears running down my face, weirdo noises from my sister, no breathing, giggles. 

    As we tried to regain enough composure to finish the task at hand a wave of melancholy overcame me.  She is getting married in two days.  My baby sister will no longer be my baby sister.  Our ridiculous  days are numbered.  Our roads are diverging and it is an end of a defining chapter of our lives.  While yes, there are so many happy, positive things that lay ahead, saying goodbye to the past is still hard.  I love her.  We fight like cats and dogs but I love her, because we have all of the little moments that individually mean nothing at all, but has a compilation mean everything.  Breakfast chats before work, Dr. Phil after school, baking fails and triumphs, missing scarfs and hairspray, fights over nothing, and late night giggles will no longer define our relationship. 

    So as I prep and go over my duties as maid of honor for the millionth time I pause for a moment.  I pause to say goodbye and to let that little bit of pain surface and be acknowledged so I can truly celebrate in the next couple of days all the good that is going to come. 

Pride: The Downfall of Man

   So I have been thinking a lot lately about how to rid my life of pride.  Pride makes your heart hard and head even harder.  Humility is a much more admirable trait and it makes you a much happier person.  Some time ago I heard a story about two women.  I don't really remember who told it, or where I was, or even how long ago it really was, but it has stayed with me.  I don't take credit for the story, but I really wanted to share it.  I rewrote it (to the best of my memory and added some fluff to make it flow better) and I want to share it with you. 

There once was a woman, Julie, who came from humble means.  Julie often spent time imagining when she would someday be able to enjoy the finer things in life.  She believed that a true sign of success and happiness in life were seen in one’s monetary value.  Julie lived an ambitious life, always striving for the best.  She found a nice man who accepted her as she was and was willing to work hard to give her the lifestyle she so desperately wanted.

Early in their marriage they were living on a small budget like many people just starting out.  Julie’s husband was working a modest job with a possibility of upward mobility.  While their future held an optimistic outlook, Julie was not happy with having to wait.  Her time was often spent trying to find ways for her husband to make them more money and keep up the appearance that they were better off than they really were.  She believed her vanity was an investment that would help them in the long run. 

One day Julie’s husband came home from work with exciting news.  He had been invited to a social work party that would provide ample opportunities for networking.  Julie was excited and knew that this was her time to pull all the stops in hoping of impressing the ‘right’ people.  She begged her husband to find the money for her to buy a new outfit for the occasion.  Despite their ability to afford such things, they made the unnecessary sacrifices so she could look her best. 

As she modeled her outfit in her mirror alone in her room, Julie was unsatisfied.  She felt like the only noticeable thing about the woman staring back at her was her lack of any extravagant jewelry.  Julie owned a few pieces such as her wedding band, and a family heirloom pearl necklace, but she didn’t feel like she owned anything that would portray the class she so desperately wanted.  As she lusted after what she couldn’t have she knew there was no way she could have the type of ornaments she desperately wanted.  Julie felt sorry for herself. 

The next day, they day before the party, she had a lunch date with an old friend, Mary, she had known for a number of years. Mary and Julie grew up together and were from the same socio-economic background.  The old adage of “opposites attract” rang true for the women.  Mary was the generous, content one of the two.  The girls got along so well growing up because they complimented each other.  Over the last couple of years the girls had fallen in part largely in part of their marriages.  While both of them had found nice caring men who treated them well, Mary had married into a family with considerable amount of money, unlike Julie.  Julie had let jealously come between a lifelong friendship.  She no longer enjoyed hanging out with her friend because she found herself only noticing her nice clothes and jewelry rather than following the conversations. 

Mary had noticed her friend becoming distant but couldn’t figure out why.  They had always been close, and could trust Julie with her deepest secrets.  It was a rare treat for them to go out on a lunch date.  So when Julie showed up, Mary couldn’t help but feel the irritation rolling off her friend.  Julie was dreading the get together with Mary, if she hadn’t cancelled twice already she would have called the lunch off.  The last thing Julie wanted was to spend two hours with someone who had it all when she felt like she had nothing. 

Mary greeted her friend warmly and worked some small talk.  It wasn’t long before Mary asked Julie what was bothering her.  Julie let her self-pity bubble over as she spilled out her situation to Mary.  Mary was relieved because this was a problem she could fix for her friend.  Mary offered to lend a statement jewelry piece to Julie to wear to the party.  Julie was elated as she ended her lunch to go pick up her dress and meet Julie at her house to find something that would match.

At Mary’s home Julie modeled her stunning dress as Mary complimented her friend.  Mary opened her jewelry box and pulled out a delicate necklace studded with small diamonds that matched the   dress perfectly.  She placed the necklace on her friend and admired the ensemble.  Mary then told her friend that she thought this necklace would match the best, but she was more than welcome to look at the others if she wanted to.  Julie liked the piece and the simple elegance but she felt like it was an understatement to what she was trying to portray.  She walked over to the jewelry box and fingered the beautiful necklaces one by one.  She stopped when she came to a gold chain that had a single pendant.  On the pendant was the largest yellow diamond she had ever seen surrounded by smaller white diamonds.  She picked up the necklace and asked Mary if this could be the one she borrowed.  Mary, being the gracious friend she was, promptly agreed and helped Julie try it on.  Julie was breathless as she fixated on the huge stone.  She knew this was what she needed to complete her look and impress the people at the party. 

The next night at the party Julie held her head high as she did everything she could to put her husband in the good sights of his superiors.  This seemed like her shining moment, dressed well, surrounded by wealthy people and wearing the most beautiful necklace that received countless compliments.  Julie was still on cloud nine when her and her husband arrived home that night.  She kissed her husband and took off her coat when her husband noticed something was wrong.  He noticed that the space on the necklace that once held a large yellow diamond was now grossly empty.

 The couple franticly searched the coat, floor, car, everywhere they could think of to find the missing stone.  Her husband called the venue in hopes that the cleaning crew had found the diamond, but to no avail.  Julie lay in bed completely sleepless as she thought about what losing this diamond meant for her.  There was no way Julie would be able to tell her friend that she had lost what Julie believed to be the most expensive diamond Mary had owned.  She knew her friend would never forgive her and she couldn’t face the shame and defame of her actions. 

In the morning Julie set out with her husband to go to a jeweler to see what could be done about the necklace.  Upon inspecting the piece and listening to the disheartening story, the jeweler said he would be able to find another yellow diamond roughly the same shape and size to replace the missing stone.  Unfortunately, the cost would be great, and the couple knew they would never be able to afford it.  Julie’s husband begged her to tell Mary and see if there was some kind of arrangement that could be made between the two of them over the necklace.  Julie refused, she would not let go of her pride and ask for forgiveness for her wrong. 

That night the couple compiled everything they had of value and sold it all, including their car.  Left with nothing, they still could not afford the diamond.  After much talk about what they would need to do to find the remainder of the money, they agreed to get a second mortgage and meet with some local loan sharks to cover the rest.  As Julie now looked on her once seemingly bright future she knew her life was now going to be hard.

Handing over the money was almost too painful.  When the necklace was finished Julie held the necklace in her hand and stared at the shining stone that had crushed her.  She placed the necklace in an envelope and walked to Mary’s house.  Julie gave Mary the envelope and refused to come in and talk about how the party had gone regardless of Mary’s pleadings.  Again, Mary knew something was wrong.  Julie refused to look at her and seemed to have aged years in the matter of a week.  Mary did not push and figured, in time, Julie would share what was wrong. Julie left the house with no intentions of ever speaking with her friend ever again. 

Years passed and the repaying of the vast amount of debt had taken a huge toll on Julie and her husband.  They never had children because they knew they would never be able to afford them.  Her husband lost his job and ended up working multiple physical labor jobs to make ends meet.  Julie also was forced to work.  She worked two graveyard jobs cleaning and spent her days sewing to bring in extra money.  She never saw her husband because of their crazy schedules and the love that once fueled their marriage had all but vanished.  Julie had not aged well because of her life style.  Worry lines and wrinkles covered her once smooth face, gray hair overtook her once golden hair, soft hands were calloused and a straight spine was now hunched over in fatigue.  Over the years Julie had time to reevaluate her goals and self-worth.  Slowly the pride had been chipped painfully away off her heart and she regretted the silly headed girl she once was.  She could not change what had been done but she often wondered what kind of life she would have if she had not been so hard hearted and hard headed in her youth. 

One morning, while walking downtown to the bus stop to go home after a long night’s work, an aged, yet familiar voice called out her name.  She looked up to see her once close friend Mary walking quickly towards her.  Time had been kind to Mary.  Soft laugh lines creased her forehead, there was pep in her step, and she stood tall, shoulders pulled back.  Mary was not extravagantly dressed, but she was definitely not haggard like how Julie felt.  Mary reached her friend and hugged her tight.  She could tell Julie had a story to tell, but did not ask about it, rather she asked where she was headed and if she would join her for some breakfast.  Reluctantly she accepted the invite and they walked to a small café.

Mary’s bright disposition had only grown over the years as she kept the conversation flowing pretty much single handedly.  Julie nodded occasionally but spent most of the meal starring into her mug.  Eventually, Mary could no longer hold in her curiosity.  What had happened that had made her friend stop answering her calls and letters?  Why, after that party, had she cut herself off completely from their friendship? But also, what kind of life had Julie been living all of these years? 

After Mary asked Julie what she had been up to there was a long moment of silence.  Julie took a deep breath and looked up at Mary to reveal tears streaming down her face.  She slowly started to tell Mary about that party all those years ago.  She started at the beginning and shared every detail, from the decorations to the food to the small talk.  She eventually got to the part when she realized the diamond was missing.  The tears flowed faster and she repeatedly apologized and said how she should have just told Mary that next day.  Mary tried to interject but Julie didn’t let her.  She continued on about going to the jeweler and coming up with the money to buy the new diamond. 

When Julie finished the two friends sat there in another moment of silence.  Finally Mary spoke to Julie, “My dear, dear friend.  I wish you had come to me and told me about this.  The stone in the necklace was a fake, it was never a real diamond.  Even if it had been, I would have forgiven you because I love you.  I am so sorry for all this has done to you.”

Please take the time to soften your heart.  A little will go a long way and could ultimately change your life.  Whether you are the first to apologize after an argument, or you ask for help with that diy project that you are in way over your head, it is a step in the right direction.

Remember there are people who will always love you regardless of your faults. 

 

The blogging misadventrue...

So I started this blog a few years ago, but never really kept up with it, but now I think I am ready to recommit! 

I just really enjoy writing and I think this is a fun place to write.  There really is no right or wrong way to express yourself in written form (yes, there are grammar rules and crap, but really who cares about that if you are just writing for the joy of writing) and what a better place to stretch my writing wings then on the internet.

In all reality, this post may be gone by tomorrow because I change my mind about posting it.  But what are you going to do?

I have a lot of thoughts just floating around in my head and maybe it would be helpful to me if I could just write them down somewhere and know that I am being heard (at least I can pretend I am being heard...my current blog traffic consists of me and um, well me). 

Here we go on to another adventure of maybe committing to something on the internet.