I Close My Eyes And Go Back In Time, I Can See You Smiling, You're So Alive.

It's been a month since I lost my friend.
How has it been a month?
It feels like I've been missing her for months, Ireland feels like it was years ago, but I remember her wake like it was yesterday.
I remember the last time I ever saw her so clearly, even with my defective memory.
When people die, you always hear friends and family say things like "not a day goes by that I don't think about them".  Everyone says it, and I knew that they were telling the truth, but I never understood the weight of that.
Not a day, not an hour goes by without a thought of Monica, without a twinge of pain at the loss.
Every time I think of her is a struggle.  I hate the word struggle because it's what christians say when stuff goes wrong.  They struggle.  Then God redeems them and it's happily ever after.  Struggle seems to be more of a story term, rather than a real situation.  I always think of luchar, a spanish word meaning fight or struggle.  But it's a real physical and taxing struggle, rather than a fluffy thing.
What I mean to say is that every time I think of Monica it takes a toll on me.  Do I feel the weight of her absence all over again, or do I repress this twinge and save the reflection, the feeling, for next time?
This last month has been a mess.
I sleep pretty well now, I can focus on homework and go to class without having panic attacks, I can see my friends from my Ireland team without wanting to cry.  That's progress right?
But then there are these moments when I can't breathe and I'm trapped because there's nothing I can do to bring Monica back, and there isn't anyone who understands what it's like to be in my head.
I'm going to LA in the fall.
I'm moving on with my life, taking risks and going forward.  What would Monica have said?  What would she have done in the fall?
There are no longer opportunities to talk about her, people no longer ask me how I'm doing.
So I don't think about it.
I feel like I have to be okay.  It's been a month, classes go on and life goes on but oh how I don't want to move on.
I don't want to go to LA.
I don't want to fly through life and leave Gordon and the N. Ireland trip and Monica behind.
I don't want to pretend like I'm okay with what happened.
Because I'm not.
It shouldn't have been her that died.
How can I go to LA and enjoy the program knowing that the further away I go from March 30th and Gordon College, the further I move from Monica.
What am I supposed to do with this?
Why did it have to be her?!
Why not me?
I'm so afraid that I'll never know, and I'll do it anyways.
I don't want to move forward and leave her behind.
I'm just so not okay with what happened.  I'm not okay with it and I refuse to accept that it had to happen because it shouldn't have.

 Come back.

Three fifteen am.
I have just finished the fine cut for Spotless.
And who do I meet outside of my dorm upon returning?

This guy.
So naturally I cower and run and then return when he runs away.
I feel so bad disliking him.
Nobody ever loves a skunk for fear of being sprayed.
But they're so cute and they look oh so cuddly.

So yes, I saw fluffy again.
And at this point in the game, as we approach 3:30 am, is it worth going to bed, or should I do my homework that's due in 7.5 hours?
Eff animation.
I hate it.
I'm going to go to bed for a few hours.
Tomorrow is going to be rough.
Goodnight fluffy.

So what I just said about having my housing sorted for the fall?
No go.
Just got a call from Melissa saying it would make more sense for her to live in her apartment off campus because it's cheaper and such.
So I get that.  I mean we'll be seniors and money is becoming more real now that we'll soon have to be paying off loans.
I just don't know what to do about LA.
My immediate reaction is that I don't want to go.
But a week ago I totally wanted to.
Did I really want to?
I want to go to Europe.
Will I be able to go to Europe?
This is a really good opportunity.
What do I want to do?!
Maybe I should go to LA.
WHAT IS HAPPENING IN MY BRAIN.

So I'm a tea drinker.  I loooove tea.
But then I moved into an apartment with Liz, who brought with her a Keurig.
And oh my goodness.
I love it.
I think it's more the fun of using a Keurig and delicious Bailey's creamer rather than the actual coffee, but I'm into it.
And of course, then there's my Tangled/Disney Family Photo mug, making every sip magical.

Disney Family Photo!

Tangled!

So there you have it!  At this rate I'll be an addict in no time.
Also, can I just say that it is so nice outside!
It is such a relief to be freed from the depressing arctic.
Sunshine makes life easier.
Also also...
I got into the LA film studies program for next semester.
But now I'm not sure if I want to go.
My decision is due in three days (AHHHH?!?!).
I've been really discouraged/disheartened about my skills and the likelihood of a future career in film.
And I like PR.
I might even love it.
Do I love film anymore?
I don't know.
I think I'm better at PR, and I can get a job more easily in PR.
But which do I love?
I've also already made arrangements for next semester to continue working at my awesome babysitting job with the greatest family in the world, and rooming in a cheap dorm in the middle of campus with Melissa (my adventure camp roommate).  I feel like I should stay here next semester.
But let's be real, are my feelings reliable anymore since I've become a basketcase?
Probably not.
I just don't want to go.  Maybe it's because I have things sorted here or because I'm not sure about film, but I think I should wait a semester.
I think I'm going to defer my acceptance until spring, which will give me time to decide.
I want to go to Europe.  I am sure of this.
I might even want to live in Europe.
I keep thinking that I would love to go to England for a semester and do digital marketing and PR there.
Ahhhhh.
I feel like decision will determine the course of the rest of my life.
I go to LA and I make all of these connections and get an internship and boom I'm invested in the industry.
Maybe I'm just afraid of commitment.
I think I'm going to defer.
Oh goodness.
Enough of this; let's have a countdown, shall we?

DAYS LEFT UNTIL
PR Presentation- 5
Heather comes to visit- 7
Museum Gala- 8
Room Lottery- 12
Film Showcase- 13
Semester is finished- 18
Golden Gala- 22
Go Home- 23

We're almost there, friends.
Good thing I still don't know where I'm living this summer, let alone what I'll be doing.


Be Still.

I have the weirdest dreams.
I dreamt last night that Steven peer pressured me into doing this filmed race thing through a dark corn maze, and then Steven turned into one of my guy friends from home.  And I ended up accidentally beating up this guy friend in the process because he was the one chasing me and I didn't realize I was actually hurting him.  And then he was super mad at me.
So I went back with him to his house because I guess I was staying with him and his parents and brothers were there and they were all a little mad at me for hurting their son.  So then he and his youngest brother start completely ignoring me and doing these weird shenanigans, and his mom asks me to talk to her about what's upsetting me and then she tells me to apologize and make everything right.
So I go to apologize and I open the door and they shout at me to leave because someone was changing or something like that so I get embarrassed and run away to this really huge dark kitchen with really long flowy curtains hanging over floor-to-ceiling open windows.
That was a beautiful location.
But anyways so my friend who is mad at me runs in and I apologize and cry and all that nonsense and he's like it's okay and hugs me and then I wake up.
Very long and detailed dream.
I think there was some sort of weird zombie hunt happening outside the open air kitchen as well.
Naturally.

"Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid."

This morning while I was making an early lunch, Kesha and I talked about my friend Brian who was running his first marathon today.  The Boston Marathon.
At four thirty, in the middle of my three hour class, we found out about the explosions.
Luckily, I got a hold of Brian and found out that he was safe and out of the city by the time I called him.
But shoot.
Over a hundred people injured and two dead.
An eight year old child is one of the dead.
Eight years old.
In Boston of all places.  On Patriots' Day.
I can't even imagine what those at the marathon must be going through.
The Huffington Post's religion section wrote an article on fear in light of the explosions, which is where the title of this post comes from.  Rob Lee writes via the Huffington Post:

"To explain away this tragedy with any theological certainty would also be trite, foolish and a pity excuse for what real theological thinking should be. Many in the days ahead will rationalize this with some faith perspective that might not make sense.

My initial reaction is the Psalm that has consoled many in situations such as these. Psalm 46 offers these words, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult."

The Psalmist doesn't offer explanations to the tragedies in our world, but the writer offers the presence of a living and loving God. I'm not going to write this and say that this was "planned" or that the tragedy was for a "greater purpose." All those reactionary explanations can be detrimental. What we can be confident in, however is the hope of the presence of the Divine. A very present help that stands to console our fear and strengthen us in love."

I can't imagine what the people of Boston are going through.  With so many tragedies and horrifying events, it's so hard to remember the beauty in the world.

Pray for the people of Boston.

So I'm babysitting.  And I just got the nine year old to bed after convincing him that the cars driving by outside are just cars and the weird sounds coming from his bedside table are just his weird water bottle and the ambiguous clunking from downstairs is the ice-maker.  So he seemed satisfied and agreed to try to sleep.
But now, as I sit downstairs and apply for internships, there is the strangest sound coming from outside.
It literally sounds like a spaceship is landing in the backyard.
Now, I see no mysterious lights coming in from the windows, so I'm going to assume that this is not the case.  And I'm not about to look out the window into the black unknown for fear of seeing something frightening (horror movies have damaged me).
It's got to be a plane, right?
It's that hovering sound that is smoother than a helicopter, so it must be a plane.  But the odd thing about this sound is that it gets really loud and then suddenly very quiet, then a minute or two later it gets really loud again.
And oh yeah there aren't any airports in Wenham.
So planes should not be flying this low anyways.
It's a UFO.
I am writing this blog post so that when E.T finally comes to fulfill his life-long goal of destroying me, everyone will know what has become of me.
E.T. did it.
And maybe people will stop thinking he's so cute and harmless.
Because he's not.

So anyways, it's only a matter of time before the child makes his way down the stairs to ask me what this legitimately concerning sound is.
And what shall I say?
Oh it's nothing, just a plane...

I miss Monica.

I hate cell phones.
I was in my PR class today and I looked around at one point when the professor was lecturing and saw six out of thirteen or fourteen people in my class playing with their iPhones.
It makes me nuts.
Now, I think iPhones are awesome and if I ever get enough money, I will purchase one.
But is it really necessary to be on it all of the time?
When I was in high school, we weren't allowed to be on our phones during class because it was distracting and, well, rude.
But now that we're adults and not adhering to strick classroom rules, we seem to think it's okay to be consistently texting and tapping away on our phones.
It's making me nuts.
I'll be having a conversation with a friend or classmate, and they'll be texting or searching or even answering calls in the middle of the conversation or lunch or whatever.  It's crazy to me.
I would love to have a basket next to the door of my apartment/classroom/everywhere where phones have to be stored.
But that's kind of controlling and crazy, I suppose.
If only.

So it's way too late/early in the morning to be blogging (it's 1:34am), but I've just had an experience that needs to be shared.
I just spent ten hours (I kid you freaking not) editing my group's short film in barrington.  I decided to call it quits about a half hour ago, so I got my stuff and started walking to the parking lot.  In the deserted creepy parking lot, I come across none other than a skunk.
First off, skunks are adorable.

I think that's part of their defense mechanism.  They're so stinking cute (punny?) that you just want to go up and pet them, but you know that once you freak the little neurotic rodents out, they'll spray you.
There's also the idea I have that skunks and raccoons are friends, and I'm just really not as okay with raccoons because they are clever and they bite.
So conflicting.
So I see this skunk about twenty feet away from me (says my lack of depth perception), and I'm like oh my gossssssh look at that cute little thing scuttle around.  Oh wait.  Towards me.
No bueno.
So I instantly panic and run around the little shack/building that my car is parked behind.  And when I turn the corner, Mr. Skunk is there.
I am not making this up.
He was legitimately ten feet away from me.
I was convinced I was done for, and I was mentally preparing myself for how I would get the smell out of my backpack, and wondering if it would soak through to my belongings.
So we had a stare-down.
Literally.
Literally.
We stared at each other for maybe five or six seconds, and then he turned and I ran, fearing the worst.  When I looked back I saw that he too was running away from me.
So turns out we were both terrified of each other.
And he didn't spray me.
And I ran the whole way to my car.
And now I'm parked in 15 minute parking because that is the second skunk I have seen in three days on this campus (and I have not been out much) and I will have a stroke if I meet another skunk while coming back from Woodland.
So yes, I'll trade in the skunk pee for some parking tickets please.
Anywho, I clearly need some sleep.

Kids are spoilers.
I was watching Toy Story 3 with the four year old I babysit and his friend today and barely three minutes into it they began telling me exactly what was about to happen.
And I'm like hey thanks children, good thing I've seen this movie several hundred times already.
I hope someone tells them when they get older that they cannot do that to people.  Spoilers.
Anywho, today is the day.  After a week of ceremonies and services, today is the last formal opportunity to say goodbye to Monica.
This afternoon is the campus celebration of Monica's life.  And that's it.
I think I've been waiting for closure to land in my lap, but I'm realizing that that's not how it works.
It's stressful because I feel like I'm being forced into saying goodbye and moving on, but I'm not ready for that.
I'm trying.
I've gone to all of the services, talked to a bunch of people, even googled advice on how to deal with this.
Google has actually been really helpful.
After I returned to school I kept getting people telling me they were sorry and I had no idea how to respond to them.  My automatic response is "it's okay" but it wasn't.  It's not.  And I eventually just ended up staring at people awkwardly because I didn't know what to say.
So I googled appropriate responses.
Thank you is supposed to be the go-to answer, which I probably could have figured out myself if my brain was functioning normally.
I've also been watching movies about grieving characters like Beginners and Rabbit Hole.
I know it's just a movie and they're just actors, but it kind of helps.
At this point, right now, I'm just nervous about another ceremony.  More crying, more looking at photos of Monica and hearing how great she was.  More crying and choking and heaviness.
Maybe it will help.

So today we had a reporting chapel.
This means that all of the missions trips that traveled abroad this past spring and winter present photos and stories of their trip to the auditorium full of students.
My team met an hour and a half early to talk about what we were going to say and how we could address Monica's absence in a way that honored her as well as the trip.
So that was rough.
It was, however, so nice to be with my team again.  My friends outside of the trip are pretty much at a loss in this situation, as they didn't know Monica or how she sculpted the trip for me.  So it was really great to be with them.
The presentation wasn't too exciting.  We all shook, I stared at my feet so as not to make eye contact with anyone in the audience (and start crying), and we sat down.
I keep expecting this to be over.  This weight and headache and exhaustion and aching. 
I keep thinking that after I leave New Hampshire, after I see people at school, after I meet with my team, after I do the reporting chapel...then it'll be over.
I think I know that Monica isn't coming back.  But these feelings, this indescribable grief, should be going away soon...right?
I thought I would feel better after this chapel for sure.  I saw my group, I talked with them and I cried with Rachel and we talked about Monica and we got up in front of the chapel and talked about Monica and yet I still can't think.  I'm still not hungry.  I'm still exhausted.  I'm still dizzy and shaky and my eyes still won't stop tearing.
On the other hand, I don't want to stop being devastated.  Losing Monica is a tragedy, and if I were to forget that, to get over that, then how much did she really mean to me?
Rachel told me tonight that she was praying with Monica a few days before she died and that Monica was asking Jesus to come back and take her home with him.
I know that she's in heaven, and I know that I'm supposed to be happy that she's with Jesus and that she's not suffering because I know that that's all she ever wanted, but I'm still so angry.
She was only eighteen.
My team is going to her wake tomorrow.  Then her funeral is Thursday morning at a Catholic church which is so bizarre to me because she really really doesn't like or believe in the Catholic church.  And then Friday is the Gordon memorial service.
This whole week is setting us up to say goodbye to Monica.
But what happens then?  No more Facebook statuses about her life, no more mention of her in emails or chapel and soon conversations.
I just really don't want Monica to disappear.  She was too good a person to have that happen to her.
I just miss her.

I feel like I can't breathe.  My chest hurts and my eyes hurt and I can't breathe.
This morning I woke up and wondered why my body felt so bad, and then I remembered.
Monica is dead.
How is this possible?  How is this real?

I met Monica last semester, as we were selected to be on the team to go to Northern Ireland through Gordon.  I had no idea what to make of her.  She was this little freshman that would look everyone in the eyes and ask them about themselves even if she had never met them.  She had no fear; as far as she was concerned, the world was her family.  She truly loved everyone.
I know when people die everyone says all these nice things about them and exaggerate all of their good qualities, but this was literally Monica.  These aren't aspects of her that I took for granted or just realized now that she's gone.  These are things that I noticed every single day I spent with her.
She was my closest friend on my trip to Ireland.  She was so wise and mature for eighteen, but such a goof ball at the same time.  On an afternoon shopping we decided to go up a cool glass elevator to the very top where there was this glass globe thing that overlooked the city.  About half way up in this glass elevator, we both remembered that we were terrified of heights and complete idiots for subjecting ourselves to this.  We laughed.  We took photos.

She was so friendly.  We went to a tourist shop after these photos were taken and she literally spoke to everyone that came within a three feet radius of her.  And not just hi, what's up; she asked them if they lived there and how their days were going and what part of Belfast they liked the best.
What most people are saying in conversation and on Facebook now about Monica is that she genuinely cared about people.  She never asked someone how they were unless she actually wanted to know.  She was so intentional, and so trusting in God.
We had so many discussions on the trip about God and life and death and what it means to trust in a God we can't see.  I would have never ever imagined that just over two months later, she would know all of the answers to the questions we were asking.  I can't believe this.
How do you move on from this?
My friend is gone.  I will never see her goofy grin or hear her laugh or ask her opinion ever again.  She texted me four days ago, and I never texted her back.  I'll never text her back.
How do you go back to your apartment, to your classes, to your job, knowing that Monica will never go to another class or see your apartment again or grow up?  How do you grow up when you know Monica won't?
How do you move on from something like this?
I think that the worst thing that can happen when someone you love dies is forgetting them.  I never want to forget Monica.  I haven't been able to stop being sad or trying not to cry or crying and I don't want this to go on forever but if I stop being sad, I stop remembering how much it hurts that she's not here.
I feel so bad for Kesha.
I'm at her house for break and I know she's sad too and I know me being sad makes her sad but I can't be happy.  I can't get over this.
What is the sense in living if it gets taken away so quickly?
How do you continue living your everyday life?
The most maddening thing about this whole situation is that Monica would know just what to say to me right now.

I miss her.