"The world is a book and those who do not travel read only a page"-Saint Augustine

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Greater Than the Sum of Our Parts

A few months back, while I was on lunch duty, one of my students from last year stopped me and said "Miss, I've been meaning to ask you: what are your thoughts on the afterlife?"  Of course I was caught a bit off guard, but my response was honest: that I wasn't quite sure where I stood on the idea yet, I was still trying to figure it out for myself.  He asked how anyone could possibly think that there is anything more than to just being dead and then ensued a bit of a debate in Spanish with some of his friends.  I shared my thoughts, saying that I believe a large part of it is that those left behind after someone dies don't want to think that their loved one is simple gone; they want to believe that they are still with them in some way.  The conversation went on and we had a small circle and students asked about my beliefs on other things like the beginning of life or the universe: they were curious if I believed in the story God created everything or I had a scientific point of view.  I gave them the answer I always give: both.  As a person who has a strong foundation in science I cannot help but believe that evolution has occurred and that the universe began with the perfect alignment of particles and that after millions and millions of years it allowed life to eventually form (forgive me for simplifying it, they are only 13).  I explained that while these theories tell me how these things happen scientifically, my faith has always played a part as well and that I do not believe that these perfect conditions happened by chance, that I believe there is a greater being at work that allowed for all of this to be set in motion.  I explained that I know that others on either side of the spectrum may disagree with me, but that this is the balance that I have found.  I could see the wheels turning, as they processed what I shared and considered their own thoughts as well as those of their peers.  We all agreed that this, like many things, was something that each of them would decide their stance on in their own in time, and that there was no rush to do so.  

I share this story because I remembered it myself last night as I was finishing a book, Looking for Alaska.  I will try not to give away too much of the story because I hope you all take the time to read it, but be warned, there may be a few inadvertent spoilers (even if there are, you should still read it).  In the last pages, one of the main characters is also reflecting on the afterlife and at first shares the thoughts of my student, that we simple are gone and eventually become part of the earth again and that's all there is too it.  Done.  They also agreed that perhaps "the afterlife is just something we made up to ease the pain of loss", as I once shared with my curious 8th graders.  But then they say something spectacular* (well I suppose the author John Green does):
"I believe now that we are greater than the sum of our parts.  If you take [a person's] genetic code and you add [their] life experiences and the relationships [they] had with people, and then you take the size and shape of [their] body, you do not get [them].  There is something else entirely.  There is a part greater than the sum of [their] parts.  And that part has to go somewhere, because it cannot be destroyed.  
Although no one will ever accuse me of being much of a science student, one thing I learned from science classes is that energy is never created or destroyed...We are as indestructible as we believe ourselves to be...We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken.  We cannot be born, and we cannot die.  Like all energy we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations...But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail."
 *As much as I wanted to include the entire last two pages of the book I didn't for the sake of not giving too much away, but trust me when I say, it is even better than it is here.  You will have to get the book and read it all for yourself, and no John Green does not pay me.  

I generally get emotionally invested in the books I read, but this truly hit home and hit hard.  Since losing David I have thought a lot about a lot of things.  One thing I soon realized is where I stand on the idea of the afterlife: it exists.  It has to exist.  And not just because it makes me feel better, but because I feel it, I know it.  I realize my Catholic faith told me this many many years ago and reiterated the point for 12 years of schooling, but no one would ever accuse me of being very religious and there just wasn't enough for me to say steadfastly that yes it does exist.  Maybe the science behind it doesn't fit as perfectly as the quote from the book might make it sound, but regardless, I have found my balance, my explanation.  David had so much energy when he was alive and so much life to yet live, that all of that couldn't have just disappeared or been destroyed.  I know it wasn't.  The energy that is David simply has changed shape or size or manifestation and I think (and hope) that anyone who knew him would agree.  I hope that others too see that energy in a beautiful mountain view, feel it in an early morning run and hear it in every sound of laughter.  Because that's where that energy is now, and trust me when I say there is plenty of it to last all of our lifetimes.  

Always dancin'


Saturday, November 16, 2013

Just Love

When you lose someone to suicide you begin to question everything.  Everything.  Beyond just the "why?" you think back to every conversation, every argument, every look, every moment, every piece of advice you offered, every word they said, every word you said.  You wonder what you may have overlooked, brushed off or made worse.  You wonder what you could have done differently, what you could have done or said better, how you could have possibly changed the outcome.  And I believe that is healthy and natural, a part of this long and painful process of coping and healing.  But then you must also reach a point where you understand and accept that as an individual you could not have changed what happened.  No single word or conversation would have made things turn out differently.  They just wouldn't have.  To believe you could have prevented this is to believe you could cure cancer overnight.  You cannot save people you can only love them.  And I did love David.  I do love David.  I loved David to the best of my ability both as a partner and as a friend.  But I could not save him.  None of us could.

David will forever hold a very large place in my heart and I believe that his presence there will allow me to love others more wholly, not less.  I have come to realize, or perhaps just hope, that David's passing has not removed a piece of my heart; it has not left a hole.  David fills more of my heart now than he ever has.  I can get up every morning and live life because of him, not in spite of what happened to him.  He is more than this physical world now and is able to share his spirit and love with all those he knew and loved more than he ever could have on Earth.  I know that he cannot save us from this struggle, this pain, but he can and will always love us.

Monday, October 21, 2013

Missing, Remembering, Wishing

I have spent the last 10+ days writing down thoughts and memories of David whenever I can.  I know that had the unique privilege of sharing so much time and so many conversations with David over the last 4 years and I thought there is no better reason to revive this blog (yet again) than to begin sharing these thoughts with others who knew and loved him.  Below are some of the things I will miss and remember most about David.

  • I will miss your use of the word "nicesh", and how easily everyone around you picked it up
  • I will miss your letters and poems: whether they were silly or serious, they were always sincere
  • I will miss seeing how excited you got when you bought Combos, one of your favorite guilty pleasures, especially when you bought them from Menard's as a movie snack 
  • I will miss arguing with you.  You were never afraid to challenge me, make me stand for something and push me to consider all the possibilities.  You made sure that our arguments were never grudges and whether one of us conceded or we simply agreed to disagree, apologies or thank yous were always exchanged and life would move on as normal after
  • I will miss our lengthy chats in our classrooms: those that occurred when we probably should have been working, but life seemed to get in the way and one of us just needed to talk
  • I will miss coming to you for one of my "Am I being crazy?" talks because you are the only person who had no problem being brutally honest with me
  • I will miss our movie nights, where it always seemed to be your turn to pick, but let's face it, we both know I am terrible at decisions so that was probably for the best.
  • I will miss our ridiculous Wii tournaments spent conquering the levels of Mario Party, trying to figure out if we really were smarter than 5th graders (the results were always inconclusive) or betting each other over what the number one answer in Family Feud would be
  • I will miss the times we spent talking through life decisions: deciding to move to Colombia or return home after, making career changes or going back to school
  • I will miss hearing about your adventures and misadventures, like that time you realized you did not in fact enjoy hiking 15+ km per day

  • I will remember all of the things you taught me
    • You taught me about history and kept me up to date on current events
    • I learned to tolerate and even enjoy country music
    • I learned what a crick and timber are and how to go crick stompin'
    • You taught me to drive fearlessly on dark country roads
    • You taught me that it's OK to not always have it together and you let me be a hot mess sometimes
    • I learned (and witnessed many times) what it truly means to dance like nobody is watching
    • You taught me that what others think about me is not even remotely as important as what I think about myself
    • I learned to cherish the small moments in life: a quick phone call before bed, quietly reading in the park, a walk through the woods, a short conversation with a stranger
    • I learned (sort of) how to play tennis, or at least how to defend myself against your serves
  • I will remember (and laugh about) your innate ability to be covered in crumbs, no matter what you were eating
  • I will remember the hours you spent searching for and downloading the Stars Wars saga so that I could watch them all for the first time
  • I will remember your love for Taco Pizza, especially if it came from Happy Joe's
  • I will remember our last minute Austin road trip: attempting to make it to salsa lessons, lazer tag and your purple face after drinking margaritas too fast
  • I will remember (and now laugh about) how we missed our flight to Miami because you had a steak knife in your computer bag, leftover from the cheese and crackers you would take to school for lunch
  • I will remember all the times you stole my clothes.  From running shorts to t-shirts to hiking pants you took it all.  If any of my clothes had gone missing, chances were that you had it.  Even better was that you would admit to liking them so much you offered to buy several items from me because you just didn't think you could go out and find them to purchase yourself
  • I will remember all the times you showed up at my apartment door last year out of the blue just because
  • I will remember the times I caught you listening and practicing song lyrics (usually rap) on YouTube, so you could be a master karaokier (and possibly the next Eminem)
  • I will remember how you always seemed to have a prop to dance with whether you offered your umbrella to a singer at a bar in Cali as she sang Rihanna or whipped out your Razor while singing Lady Gaga's "Telephone" at Jess & Dan's wedding
  • I will remember your words of encouragement whenever I was unsure of myself
  • I will remember the light in your eyes when you were feeling better, when you were having a good day
  • I will remember how your face lit up with joy and pride whenever you updated me about your family, which is how many of our conversations started
  • I will never forget your undying love for the silly north side baseball team, although to be honest I'd go to another game with you in a heartbeat
  • I will cherish the times we spent huddled around one of our laptops watching a Hawkeye or Bears game
  • I will remember you excitedly telling me about how you finally bought a smart phone and how late you stayed up downloading apps (all after making fun of me for years for my iPhone)

  • I wish we could talk one more time and that I could tell you again how important you are, how loved you are and how strong you are
  • I wish I would have called to catch up one more time and tell you how proud I was of you
  • I wish I could have seen you as a husband and father, because you would have been amazing at both
  • I would have reassured your kids that you were not trying to embarrass them with your insane dancing      and singing in front of their friends, but rather teaching them a lesson about being yourself and loving life
  • I would have loved to see you in whatever career path you chose
  • I wish I could talk through my future life decisions with you
  • I thought one day I'd be inviting you to my wedding and having to explain that "no it's not weird if David is there...I mean it's David!" 

  • I will be forever grateful for the relationship and friendship we built over the last 4 years.
  • I will cherish the many memories that help me make it through each day.
  • I am appreciative of all that you taught me and how much you helped me grow.  I will do my best to carry these things with me always.
  • I am thankful for having had you in my life.  I wouldn't exchange a single tear or drop of pain if it meant not having known you.

They say that it's always darkest before the dawn and I wish you could have stayed to see the sun rise again.  The heart ache that I feel now is shared by so many who knew and loved you; I hope that you can find a way to help guide us through this.  My life has forever changed for having known and lost you.  You truly were one of a kind Davy Jo.  


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