I, however, am having a really hard time. MPC is where Elliana's funeral was held, and I have such vivid memories of that day. I have vivid memories of a lot of things - doctor's appointments, conversations, the pool, walmart, band, my phone, the hospital - so many things. Going back to some of those places has been ok - after a little while. All of my doctor's appointments, as well as the hospital, were in another city. I don't go there often. I'm at MPC regularly, usually more than once a week. And when I'm there, the memories just kind of 'happen' all over again.
So at MPC, there's a door I can't walk through (all the front doors, actually), a spot in the parking lot where the hearse was parked, there's the room where the service was held, there's an aisle I can't walk down when anyone else is in that room with me, there's the spot where her casket sat, there's the row of chairs where Jason and I sat with my family, there's the area on the stage where the band played and the spot on the floor where a keyboard was set up for me to play. It's like an image or series of events that is burned into my memory.
This is what I can do at MPC. I can go to choir practice on Wednesday nights. And for a while, I was going to band practices in that room on Wednesday nights. I can walk into the main building through the side doors or the kitchen door. I can sit on the bench outside of the adult wing a look at the door I can't walk through and the spot in the parking lot where the hearse was parked. I can walk down other aisles in that room to get to the front. I can play the piano in there. I can stand up at the front of that room and talk with other people about how to arrange the choir and orchestra for the cantata. I can go to the offices and 'talk business' or 'visit'.
But I can not go into that room, the one where Elliana's funeral was, the one where weekly Sunday morning worship services are, during an actual service. Or when there are more than, like, 10-15 people in the room. I'm good with the band people and the sound guys. And there are a few other people I'm 'ok' with in that room.
I don't think it's the people. Well, it is - but it's not that I don't like the people at MPC, or that I think badly of them at all. I love them, and I'm pretty sure they love our family.
I think it's... lots of physical bodies in the room. During a worship service, lots of people in the room feels a lot like the funeral service. And on a Sunday morning, there are more people in that room than there were at the funeral - it just feels like too much - too overwhelming. Any other time when there are lots of people in the room, I think the atmosphere would feel too 'relaxed'. Too loud. Too 'fun'. I think that if I were in that room with a whole bunch of people, it would sort of feel like my heart is screaming, but nobody would be able to hear it.
DOES THAT MAKE SENSE TO ANYONE BUT ME??
I want to be able to go to MPC on a Sunday morning. I really do. And I'm trying. I've taken a couple of steps. (By the way, my blog usually feels like 'insight into the crazy lady's mind'. And this post is definitely par for the course.) One Sunday, I rode in the van with Jason and the kids to MPC. I never got out, but I made it to the parking lot. Another Sunday, I drove over to MPC after the worship service had already begun. I knew that it was unlikely anyone would be wandering around outside, so I went and sat on the bench outside the adult wing for a little while. I was ok on the bench. And then I went in through the kitchen door and up to the sound booth during a little bit of the sermon. I was not ok in the sound booth. I really thought I was ready to do that - to be in the room for a short time during a service. But it was significantly harder than I thought it would be.
This past Wednesday night, I had to go into that room to talk through stage arrangements for the cantata. And I remember thinking, 'Why does everybody seem to feel like this is... urgent? Why do we need to decide this tonight?'
And then it dawned on me.
'Because the cantata is only a little over a month away.'
My sense of time is a little whacked sometimes.
The realization that in one month, I need to be able to stand in that room, during a service, with a whole bunch of people in it, and direct a whole bunch of musicians made me almost panic. I still can't go on a Sunday morning, and being able to do that feels like a long way off. I'm going to try to play one song on the 10th (I think) during a service, and I really want to be able to do that, but it is work - it takes energy - and it is emotionally draining - to think about being able to do that.
There's a choir rehearsal in that room on Saturday morning. I'm not sure what that's going to be like. Maybe it will be fine. Maybe it won't. Maybe I'll be in my bossy music zone (I do like to be in charge. (-: ). Or maybe I'll fall apart at some point. And if I do, I know it'll be ok - the choir is a sweet group of people. I just don't want to fall apart. Not in front of a crowd.
I need to be able to do this - to get through rehearsal tomorrow, and to participate in the cantata services in December. And I want to. I hesitate to admit this in such a public place - I have no idea how many of the people involved in this Christmas thing read my blog, and I'm afraid for them to... ???
What am I afraid of? It's taking me a minute to figure this out.
I think I'm afraid for them to see my weakness.
But here it is...
I need to be able to do this Christmas cantata, and I want to. But right now, I don't see how in the world that's going to happen.
I cried reading this. This is obviously so very important to you, yet you just can't (and it totally makes sense to me, so count me "in" with the crazy). PTSD comes to mind to be honest, but I really don't know what to do, other than what you are doing, trying to gradually ease yourself into these places and situations.
ReplyDeleteI once heard my granny tell another grieving mother that she had railed, cried, argued and accused God so many times after my mama died that she didn't think it would be possible for him to give her the grace to see her through one more trial. She was always sure that the last time was the "LAST TIME", that she'd used up her allotment, her own little well of grace was dry. But she said the most amazing thing was, every time she needed more grace, more grace was there. Always the perfect amount, always right on time, always when she least expected to find it and felt the last deserving. If she were here, she would take your hands and tell you exactly those words even though she knew how it would feel to hear them, that encouragement is sharp too. More than 30 years have passed and there isn't a single day that passes when I don't think of her, the same handful of memories, and know that I was never meant to "get past this" or to forget her. She was more than my past, she's also my future and one more reason that I long for what comes next. Wanting more than 7 short years gave me makes me impatient for eternity and unsatisfied and looking forward. She's one of my treasures stored up in heaven...Elliana is one of yours.
ReplyDelete