Let's Recap 2012

To sum up 2012

1. This lovely, influential lady passed away.

2. I quit my job teaching writing to teach women how to enhance their God-given beauty. (I chalk this up to my patron saint, Veronica, the patron of the Holy Image/Face).  Also little known fact, Ms. Lauder was born to one Catholic parent and practiced some throughout her life (according to her auto-biography Estee: A Success Story).

3. My first white knight, super hero, and true love passed away. 

4. This boy came along and reminded me that when I can't pray, someone is praying for me.

5. I finally made my peace with God and reconciled myself to Him, taking the Eucharist after a six month stint of no communion.

6. My favorite cat died on Christmas day.

7. I got to see the ball drop for 2013.

I have no idea what 2013 holds for me. I don't have any expectations or wishes or wants. If there is anything the last few years have taught me, it's to look at everything as a blessing and take everything else as it comes. 

And to somehow not become discouraged or despair. 

And so with that, I say

Bring on Lent, and let's do this.

MIA or AWOL. You decide.

Obviously, I haven't been posting. It's not that I haven't had thoughts or have wanted to share them or needed to get them down, but it's more that I've stopped pushing myself. Or rather, I needed a break after everything that has happened this year.

I know Advent is coming. I know I'm supposed to be anxiously awaiting and excited and joyful.

But if I'm honest with myself and with you, I'm not. I couldn't care less. For the past four or five years, I've entered this season hoping for new beginnings, clean slates, and chances for my life to get better. Every year, it hasn't. It hasn't gotten better; some years it got worse. Some years, I broke even.

But after all this, I don't expect or wait or hope for anything anymore. Lately, I have just been trusting that this is my path and the load I'm expected to carry.

That makes things a lot simpler, but it also makes me apathetic at times. Regardless, I'm thankful for what I do have.

To be honest, Christmas is great, but I don't think it's what I need right now. I'm spiritually and emotionally spent. I need a renewal, a recommitment, a moment to suck it up and reconcile with God and say "okay, I'm over being mad at you." And that, to me, sounds more like Easter. So maybe that is what my Advent will be. Waiting and preparing for Lent and Easter and a chance to pick up where I left off.

Memento Mori

A very strange thing happened to me the other day while tending to my family's graves, especially while laying a bouquet of flowers on my father's.

I can remember being twelve or thirteen and watching my grandfather's casket being lowered into the ground and knowing what was happening, and coming back at eighteen or nineteen and looking at his headstone and comprehending what had happened. Mostly, my heart broke when I saw that my grandmother had already bought her plot next to him and had her name and birth date carved in the headstone. I boo-hooed out there that day when I realized what it meant.

Like I said, I went to put flowers on my father's grave, and I saw my mother had bought his head stone with her name and birth date already inscribed, I boo-hooed like I did when I was a teenager.  There, in big, black, bold letters was our last name - a name I don't think I'll ever be able to give up for a husband, not only my father's name, but my name, too. A name that I feel like is such a part of me and so representative of who I am, I can't disassociate it from myself and my identity. And it scared me. And it reminded me, everything in this world passes away, and I will, too.

I can honestly say I've just about got everything I wished for as a child. I have a job I like, I finally live in a house I pay for, I own my car, I pay my car and health insurance. And for the first time in my life surrounded by my dead family, I felt like an adult. I haven't been so lucky as other people my age and had the right of passage of marriage and children (which I feel like is most people's right of passage into adulthood). And it's in that moment that I realized, I am actually a little thankful that I haven't experienced that feeling yet because somehow, I feel this is fitting. I haven't had a "normal" life or an "easy" life, so why would entering in this phase be any different?

My family is falling apart. My mother keeps busy (which I actually think is good for her) but she rarely has time to talk to me. My baby brother has gone to the marines (he's already gone, actually). And my other brother and I...well, we try, but we never really have gotten along. Maybe this is why I've never been able to marry. This is a tough time, and it seems as if there is no joy. I think only the hope of having my own family could salvage my current one and bring everyone together again.

Then again, maybe I don't get to have any joy. Maybe this is just what God has picked out for me. I hope not.

I swear I'll quit posting about death soon. I just can't shake that topic lately. It's haunted me too much this year.

Death defines us.

When you have a parent die, it is indescribable. You go through these roller coaster of emotions. At first, it's like a thrill ride, constantly up and down, and eventually, after a while, it all slows down. The ups and downs are still there, just simply more spaced out.

One thing that has occurred to throughout all of this is that I never knew what kind of man my father was until his passing. Over 500 (500!) people came to his funeral. It was standing room only. All because at some point or another, he had carried them to work, bought them a meal, been a good boss or a friendly neighbor...just an all around good ol' boy always willing to lend a hand. He also had no problem putting people in their place if they weren't doing right by others.  I might have been able to say I'm pretty sure my dad was a good man while he was alive, but now that he's gone, I can definitely say he was a good man.

And then it occurred to me. It was the same with Jesus. People could say while he was alive, "we're pretty sure He's the messiah" but after His death and resurrection, people could definitely say "HE IS the messiah."

Not saying my dad was like Jesus, I'm just drawing the parallel that it was only in death, each man's life got definition. And maybe that is what death is, that last judgement, that ending point that gives each of our lives meaning. We'll spend our whole lives trying to figure out who we are and who God wants us to be only to know at the moment of death.

That's really the first time I've contemplated God or something spiritual in the past three months.

I'm still upset and disappointed at Him. I've been known to be a little begrudging, and surely God knew something like this was going to make me a spiritual zombie. I know it can't be healthy, but work out your salvation with fear and trembling, right?

An Open Letter to My Future Husband

I've been reading a lot of self-help single Catholic gal books, specifically, this one.

And one thing I read that really helps is the idea of writing letters to my future husband, even though I may or may not have met him. I like the idea of all of them piling up and handing them to him on our wedding day before the ceremony just to show him how ardently, how truly, I have loved him and how long I've waited. So I've been writing. I'm not going to share every letter, but this is one I decided I would.

My dear husband,

I feel like I get to know you more every day, even though I've never met you. Is that weird? Is this how it's supposed to work? I feel like by going on all these bad dates and learning what kind of person I am, I am somehow learning who you are too.

You'll be smart, intelligent, and witty. You like studying and will know I'm smart and like good, interesting conversation, but you'll also realize that I don't much care to make myself an academic, though you might be one yourself. You'll respect this difference. In fact, you'll even like it and welcome it.

You'll be polite and hold open doors for me, even though I can hold them open for myself and will let me do it for myself when I want. You'll acknowledge my independent streak, but you'll know when I want and need help.

You'll be my sunshine.  You'll remind me of how good my life is even when I think the world is going to Hell in a hand basket, especially if I'm going through a bout of depression. You'll realize I'm a tad bit dramatic at times about life because of my condition, but you'll know how to deal with me in patience and love.

You'll be holy, and you'll hold me accountable for praying every day, and you will hold my hand during mass. We'll talk about things we read or see or hear, and we'll grow in our faith together.

You are who I want. You are who I dream of. You are the one I am waiting for. And sometimes, when I think about that, it makes me cry, that I already love you so much, but I don't even know you.

I love you, and I'm waiting for you. Come find me.

-V.

(I just can't keep) Hanging On

Sometimes, I write stuff. 

And then I delete it. 

And then re-write it.

And then I finally just think to myself, "Darling, you are absolutely mental."

And then I post I video that sums up how I really feel.

Because I'm too ashamed to talk about specifics, so I'll only speak vaguely. 

Because this shouldn't bother me, but it does. 

So there. 

Birthday Birthday

What a weird birthday.

Usually, I rejoice in the fact of my getting a year older, but this year, I just haven't really cared or been that excited by it.

I mean, I have a lot of good things going on in my life right now.

I have a job I love. I have a boy I really like, who actually wants to attend mass with me to learn about the Church. I have good friends and family supporting me all around.

But I still have a lot of sadness. I think today it finally sank in that my dad is gone. For the longest time, it's just felt like he's not available - like work made him travel to Australia or Germany again, and he just hasn't been able to talk to me. But he always, always, calls me for my birthday. And he couldn't today. And he won't. And I think maybe that's the moment that I realized he's really gone. 

I've been looking for some consolation in all of this, and I think I've finally come to realize that I appreciate the man my father was for me, and I want to marry someone just like him.  Someone who loved his wife, even in her eccentricities, loved his children, and wanted to be their rock and their provider. Someone who always brought flowers and chocolate to all of the women on Valentine's Day, who always put up the Christmas tree with his children, who flew kites every May, who reprimanded us when necessary, but above all, did all of these things with love for those he loved. 

I think I've been searching for that kind of love my entire life, and I feel a little bit like Dorothy.  My heart's desire been in my own front yard this entire time, and I never really realized it until it was gone. And I know God has that kind of love too; I just wish I could feel it a bit more these days.