I'm a singer now, not a worker

Okay, I'm not a singer, but I'm not a worker anymore either. The title comes from a family story. When my sister Carrie was little my sister Rachel found her sitting on the toilet wearing my dad's painter's hat singing "I'm a worker now, not a singer!" Then she took the hat off and sang "I'm a singer now, not a worker!" What a funny girl. Anyway, that is now an oft repeated phrase in our family.

So on to the real reason for this post: yesterday was my last day of work. I have left the workforce to be a mom. Well, for the next few days I'll be lazy housewife, but motherhood is my official excuse. Like all the upcoming changes in my life, it doesn't seem real. Yesterday was too busy and too normal to be a last day. I checked books in and out, told kids to be quiet, to stop using the F word, and did the usual library things. I prepared some things for my replacement, but I've kind of been doing that since September, so that wasn't unusual either. I'm not a big "goodbye" girl, so when it was time to go, I turned in my keys and walked out the door. There were no parades or anything, so it was all quite surreal I guess. Maybe it will sink in at 6:00 Monday morning when Troy is eating his cereal and watching Sportscenter and I can make a decision if I'm going to join him or not. But who knows when it will really click that I'm a mommy now, not a worker (don't worry, I know mommy actually requires a lot MORE work).

Saying Goodbye

Warning: The following is long, rambling and possibly depressing. :)

Carrie died in a car accident on a Wednesday and the following Monday, two years ago today, I said goodbye to my sister for the last time.

The day Carrie died I had stayed late at work getting ready for our book fair that was to begin the next Monday. I left the school an hour later than usual and checked the answering machine when I got home. My dad’s voice came on. My dad rarely called me. Mom usually called and passed the phone if he needed to say something, so it was a little strange that he called and that he left a message. Then his voice was soft—softer than usual. I must have processed all these little hints very quickly because it didn’t take him long to say that there had been a tragedy in the family and that I needed to call home. Immediately I thought of my grandparents, because that’s what you do. The fact that he used tragedy didn’t register until I called back and he said Carrie had been in a car accident. At that moment I knew she was dead, but didn’t want to accept it so I desperately asked if she was okay. Once I heard the final news I couldn’t breathe and frankly can’t remember much of anything my dad said after that.

Although I remember what I was doing each day from the moment I learned of Carrie’s death until days after her funeral, I also remember feeling like I was living in a fog. Between the lack of sleep and food and the general numbness that comes from such a terrible event, I felt like the world was rapidly moving past me but I had no desire to join in. I walked slower, I thought slower, I was ready for life to stop and leave me where I was—feeling everything and nothing all at once.

Specific memories of the week I said goodbye to Carrie include:

• Crying that the last moments Carrie knew on this earth were scary ones.
  
  
• Feeling okay enough to sleep that first night until I turned off the light and TV. Then only thing in my mind was that my sister was dead.
  
  
• Anxiously counting the mileposts as I got closer to Utah I-15 MP 23. The closer I got the harder it was to catch my breath. Before I knew it, I was driving over her skid marks and had passed them. I started crying, not so much because being in that place made it any more real, but because I felt like that was my last chance to be with her, like somehow I would feel her there. But driving by at 70 miles per hour didn’t give me any time to soak her in.
  
  
• Wishing the miles between home and me would quickly disappear. However, once I drove in to the Sevier Valley, I suddenly dreaded walking into my house. I was afraid of what I would find there and how I would deal with my family and the people stopping by.
  
  
• Seeing her the first time after her accident. She looked so bad—not the perfect little Carrie of my memory. The road did awful things to her. The trauma seemed to make her body twice the size it should have been. It felt like only her hands were her. The little red marks from the gravel marred her beautiful skin, but seeing that skin comforted me because at least that was something of her I could say goodbye to.
  
  
• Living off beef stew, frogeye salad and Wal-Mart steak rolls. Food was the last thing on my mind, even though the house was full of it. I don’t think we ever sat down and had an actual “meal,” partly because we were so busy with all the arrangements, but food just wasn’t a priority. We were so wrapped up in our grief that we simply forgot to eat. When I actually did, I turned to the only three things than had any appeal.
  
  
• Watching my sister Sarah get ready for her Junior Prom two days after her sister died. I was so sad for her. She had her dress all picked out and my mom was about to start the traditional last-minute-sewing-fest, but when Carrie died that didn’t matter much to anyone anymore. Although Carrie’s prom dress was far from Sarah’s style, we pulled it out. Sarah is taller and slimmer than Carrie was, but when she wore the dress, she was perfect. We tried hard to put Carrie aside for a couple hours as we got Sarah ready and went to her program, but she knew and we knew where our hearts were. Sarah was so brave. I think that day she took a big step toward becoming a grown up.
  
  
• Visiting my "home" ward. My family had moved from the boundries, but my brother, one sister and I somehow decided that was where we needed to be that Sunday morning. It was so comforting. They had what is best described as a musical testimony meeting where members come up and talk about their favorite hymn and the congregation sings a verse of it. As person after person got up and mentioned their love for our family and sorrow at our loss, I was bawling my eyes out yet felt so much peace. Jason got up and acted as our family spokeman and expressed my feelings perfectly when he asked we sing "Be Still, My Soul." I don't know that I sang a single word, but that was my plea with the Lord, that He be with me and comfort my aching soul.

• Getting Carrie ready for the viewing. Once she was lying in the casket, I stood there looking at her. Of course she didn’t look right, but I couldn’t live with the fact that the skirt of her dress was crooked. I needed to take care of her—to make sure she would rest peacefully and perfectly.
  
  
• Trying to find the words to say goodbye to my sister. Each of us siblings wrote Carrie a letter to leave with her. I struggled over mine. What do you say to your 19-year-old sister who never got to experience so many of the joys in life? All I could hope was that she was happy.
  
  
• Gathering with my immediate and extended family at the end of the pre-funeral viewing to pray and say our last goodbyes. As I waited my turn and watched my brothers and sisters go before me, I knew that I wouldn’t ever have the time I needed to be ready to let her go. It seemed I had only stood there for a few seconds when my mom pointed out that a close relative had come into the room. I distinctly thought, “I don’t care!! I need to be with my sister. No one matters but her. Don’t make me leave her.” They say one of the stages of grief is anger and this moment was the closest thing to anger I felt about the whole situation. At that moment, I couldn’t understand why I had to do this. I didn’t know why everyone else had to be there for this. Why everyone got to witness the last time we said goodbye to our sister and daughter. I felt pressure to make it quick, to keep myself together but I wanted so badly to hold her, to kneel next to her casket and have time to get my thoughts together and let her feel everything in my heart while I could still see her.
  
  
• Watching old home videos that night after the funeral. Some family members had already left, my husband and one sister included, but those of us that were still around pulled out the Carrie classics. We watched her fall in the creek and get rescued by my dad, hop from grass patch to grass patch in the outfield as softballs rolled by, and other silly antics. However, one of the most trivial clips broke my heart the most. Our family had gone camping in Zion National Park and as Mom set up camp, Dad filmed the kids as we ran around the campsite. As we watched, we laughed at Jason’s squeaky, girlish voice and then Carrie’s chirpy soprano filled the room. Hearing her voice made me miss her so badly. I ached for her and stayed up long after the movies were over and everyone was in bed, just missing her.
  
  
• Returning to work a week after the funeral. Nothing there had changed. Everyone did what they always did—life and work went on as normal. Yet I was changed. I couldn’t believe that all these people could keep answering phones and checking out books when Carrie was gone. How could the world keep turning when it was upside down?

Isn’t it strange that try as we might, some memories will always be filled with holes—incomplete bits of information floating around that, no matter how important or precious the event, we’ll never piece together? Then other parts of our lives we can remember with vivid detail: what we were wearing, how the room smelled and the tone of a person's voice. The latter is my memory of the second week of March 2007.

It breaks my heart that my memories of her when she was already gone are so vivid and complete, but that my memories of Carrie alive are imperfect and hole-ridden memories. I’m sad I didn’t take the opportunity to make more. One night I dreamt that Carrie was fine, life was normal, but we knew she would die. Even in my dream I felt so desperate—knowing I had to come up with the perfect words to let her know how much I loved her and would miss her. It was impossible. As hard as it was to say goodbye to my sister after she was already gone, I wouldn’t have been able to if she had been alive.

She was a wonderful girl, full of happiness, sadness and everything in between. Maybe in her short life she had experienced all she needed to and it was time for her to prove herself in the next world. Of course, no matter how much faith I have that she’s okay and progressing more now than she would have on Earth, I still miss her terribly.

Two Years

We miss you Carrie.

Here's a little video of her. Too bad there's no sound. It would be good to hear her laugh.

Three Days of School!

First of all, I am very happy that David Cook won American Idol. Sorry to all my Utah pals, but Archy was a little to adult contemp for me. Rock on (right, like I'm a rocker).

Anyway, school is winding down, which means Troy is counting the days until his 3 months of almost zero responsibility and I am getting big muslces from lifting and moving all the textbooks pouring into the library. I like to be busy, so it's okay.

It's been kind of a weird week. We found out a couple weeks ago that my mom's cancer isn't as gone as they thought it was. Now the doctors are trying to figure out the best treatment. I'm still sure she'll be okay, but it's frustrating that we thought she was in the clear just to learn there's more to come. Bummer. All this craziness with my mom makes me miss Carrie, too. It's weird how things just come up that make me think of and miss her.

Happy Birthday

Happy birthday Carrie. We love you. I remember thinking months and months ago how strange today would be without you here, and here it is. Time is going too fast and yet not fast enough.

1st Birthday

Finally 5

Sweet 16

Happy 18th!

A Sad Day

Today when I got home from work I was talking to my mother-in-law. She told me the brother of a girl in my ward was in a major car accident last night. They're keeping him on life support until all the family can get there and then will have the funeral on Friday. He's 19, just like Carrie. I wasn't planning on doing a sad post today, but I guess things come up.

I know I need to call her and I got her number from her aunt, but I'm trying to remember what it was like for me right after Carrie died. I don't think I could have talked to anyone about it right away. In fact, I was glad when people later told me they tried to call but couldn't get through (probably because I was talking to my parents). I would have lost it, so I guess I just assume it's the same for her. Add to that the fact that I will start sobbing--I don't know if I'd be any help or comfort. On the other hand, it meant so much to know people cared. That's what got me through it and still does now. When I called my mom to ask her what I should do I couldn't even get through the first sentence of the story. Maybe I'll call her after the funeral because it was after everyone went home and people stopped coming by that I felt the most empty. Who knows. I'm just rambling to get my thoughts out.

My heart aches for her and her family and pray they will lean on each other and the Lord for comfort.

Another Friday

Ah, the weekend. Troy's at a football game (I hear it's not going well) and I'm enjoying my Friday Night Freedom. I went to a birthday party for my friend's son. It was a pirate theme and I made myself a little bandanna. There were a lot of other friends there and it was nice to see everyone and chat. Actually, I'll see a lot of them tomorrow at a baby shower. I just finished making and wrapping my gift. It's just a blanket, but I like the colors. Hooray for going out of town to find fabric. Anyway, the new mom and the birthday mom are part of a long-time family in Blythe. The matriarch is our ward choir director and is trying to get me to come back to choir, but I just can't. Ever since Carrie's funeral, I don't really sing. Well, I'll sing along with the radio and in Primary, but I have a really hard time singing the hymns in sacrament and the one time I went to choir it wasn't any better. My heart just feels heavy when I think of making the words come out. But you can't really explain that to someone, especially without tears coming to the surface. I don't why singing is the part of me I lost with her, but I just can't do it anymore.

It's strange that sometimes Carrie's death just seems like a fact--that's the way it is and it all seems very distant. Others it's so fresh I can smell the flowers that filled our house and the way my clothes felt on my skin as I stood next to her casket.

Last week I realized we'll have to take Carrie's name off our rotating Christmas list. As traditions pass and milestones are marked, we're losing her. Our family is slowing becoming one less.

Like a Story That Had Just Begun

Although I do have other things to talk about, today's blog is a special one for my sister Carrie. Today it has been 6 months since she was killed in a car accident. I miss her so much. I hadn't seen her since my brother's missionary homecoming last July. She had just moved away to go to school and had started dating a guy who later became her fiance. There was so much ahead for her. Anyone who's been my to MySpace page knows I've had "Who You'd Be Today" on my page for a long time. It's the perfect song for how I feel about Carrie. She was about to start a new life, one we never got to see her experience. I can only imagine what it would be like for her. I didn't see her with her fiance, except for that one day last July. I don't know if she'd be working now or pregnant with her first baby. There's so much unknown.

I just miss her. It's that simple. I miss what she could have been. I miss the excitement in her voice when she had good news. I miss her stories. I miss her smiles. I'll miss her when my brother and other sisters get married. I'll miss her being there when I have children. It's weird for me to know they and their cousins will never know their Aunt Carrie--that she'll just be an unknown character in too-old stories. For someone so full of life and so much a part of my memories of my family, I feel cheated that she will be held to such a small role in the long stories of our lives.

I've never been able to succinctly say what makes me who I am and what motivates me to do what I do, but now I feel like the loss of my sister defines me. At least it does to me. It's one of the few things I don't think will ever leave me. Remembering the moment my dad told me she had died. Seeing her lying on the cold metal table. Wanting to reach out and touch her delicate hands, the only part of her that was still her, but fearing what my fingers would find. Feeling a desparate final need to straighten her dress before we closed the casket so she would be forever perfect, just the way I wanted to remember her. Wishing everyone would just disappear so I could be with her, telling her how much she meant to me and how much I would miss her.

I hope she's happy and knows how much she means to us.

Thank Goodness for A/C

Well, it's 113 degrees right now. During the last hour of work I guess some the classrooms were without A/C, but not my library, as far as I could tell. Thank goodness! I had enough hotness last week when the A/C at my house was waiting for repair. Good things I have great in-laws in town that we could stay with. Anyway, one more day of textbook distribution on a massive scale and then I have to find the stragglers. Hope I don't run out of books. Keep your fingers crossed!

I had a great time chatting with some friends online last night and was even bed by 10:30, but am so groggy I had to have some kids repeat their ID numbers three times today. Good thing there's nothing on TV tonight that I'll be tempted to stay up late for.

Yesterday my mom faxed a copy of the proof for my sister's headstone to me. Even seeing her name in stone in the picture doesn't make it same real. I've heard people say that when the actual headstone is set at the grave it hits them, so we'll see. It's almost like it's a task that has be completed without feeling. That's how it was before the funeral. There was so much to do to get things ready that we didn't have much time to think about what had happened. Something I don't think you can understand if you haven't experienced it. I know I didn't.

Here Goes Nothing

Well, I guess it's time to give blogging a shot. Those of you who know me know I'm not a great emailer, journaler or any other type of communication -er. But I love staying up to date with friends by reading their blogs, so I'll give it a whirl.

I spent all weekend doing a whole lot of nothing. I prepped for my sunbeams lesson (boy were the kids crazy today!) and spiced up my myspace page. Not that anyone ever looks at it, but now it represents what's on my mind, so I'm happy with it. I've had a Kenny Chesney song on it for a while that is totally what I think about my sister and thought maybe it was time for a change. However, after a couple hours of a new song, I had to change it back. I just wasn't ready to let it go.