On this Father's day...

Happy Father's Day, to my Dad! :) by sashanaomi on Polyvore.com

Today is a very bittersweet day for my family, especially my dad. Today thirteen years ago, on June 20, 1997, my dad's own dad passed away. Even after so much time, and even though I was only eight years old when my grandpa "papaw" died, I can still remember his hearty laugh, and the way it sounded like he was coughing his stomach out. I remember his drivenness, especially the way he reacted when my sister was bit on the nose by his beloved dog. 


He used to carry around the most enormous coffee thermos I've ever seen. I wanted to carry around a thermos that big because my papaw was "all grown up" and "really cool" and I wanted to be a cool grown-up like him. Many of my memories are of sitting on the couch watching some boring grandpa channel in our Darlington home, waiting for him to fall asleep so I could turn the channel to cartoons (and let me tell you, it didn't take long before he was out, and I had to turn the volume up on the television to overcome the sound of his awfully loud snores). 


I remember the way he smelled, like hard work and sweat and musky grandpa cologne that seemingly all grandpas wear. I can still feel his grainy, prickly last kiss on my cheek when we both knew it was goodbye.   


Since I can't be there today, I thought I would make this little piece to remind my dad that his son Cody and I love him and think about him on this very difficult day.


Happy Father's Day!

The best part of me was you.

The best part of me was you. by sashanaomi on Polyvore.com

Finally, I am posting a polyvore I made ;) My favorite so far, I might add.
and here's a quote, since I am so emersed in study of Kierkegaard and his works right now:


"Life must be understood backwards; but...it must be lived forward." -Soren Kierkegaard

BREAK, BREak, break.

Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.

O, well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote this poem over a hundred years ago about his best friend who died young. The children playing signifies how innocent and carefree children are, and as he points out the children, he gives an "oh, well", as in, "it's good that they get to live, but what about MY young friend who died?" I find myself thinking that way, asking myself why Shane had to die when it could have been any other child. Not that I would ever wish death on someone elses' family, but in grief sometimes my thoughts become selfish. I see so many people wasting their lives away on drugs and greed and power and wonder why it had to be Shane. I met people in high school who couldn't show respect if it was handed to them on a silver platter and I couldn't help but think of Shane's motivation, kind heart and fun-loving spirit.

God has numbered all our days before we were even born. He sees the whole trail when I can't see beyond the next step. I have to keep reminding myself of that.

Tennyson uses the crashing of the sea to show that nature carries on without hesitation; it does not stop for a moment of silence in the midst of our nightmares. It does not care if we live or die. The waves still crash against the crags, grass still grows, seasons change. Even people move on, and the grieving are left with a day that is dead. Memories. Hopes. Longing.

Today's Song (you can find to the right): Until I See You Again, Mark Schultz

Even after 8 years, Shane, you are not even slightly forgotten. I watch home videos of you and it all comes flooding back and you are still alive, I know it, and you write letters in the sky that say "I love you". We love you too.

at a red light.

This is what grief feels like. Your world doesn't have to come crashing down on a rainy day, or a Friday night.

And no matter how much pain you might be in, the world keeps moving on as if your pain doesn't exist, or worse, that it doesn't matter to them. (Unless, of course, you are Michael Jackson's folks :p)

And it isn't anyone's fault, it's just the way the world spins around.

What a wonderful yet sucky world.

Red Window Sharpened, originally uploaded by Steve Sorrels.

David Nail on 6Lyrics.com

shane ryan turns 22.

Shane Ryan Ellis by sashanaomi on Polyvore.com

The Shane I picture stops at 14. I look at my husband day to day and think of how he is only two months older than Shane, but I can't imagine Shane at 22.

Because he is stuck in 2001.

Because, for some reason, he was not allowed to live longer.

Maybe this is because God spared him from some pain to come. But to us, no pain is greater than Shane being gone. Maybe God chose Shane because he was already the best person he could ever be. I don't know why, and I don't think I will ever know.

A week ago was the first time I watched a home video of Shane since his death. It was bittersweet watching him dance across my old living room. And yes, literally dance; Shane, Dustin, Brooke, and I were leaping across the living room floor to some retro 90's music. As I watched, I couldn't take my eyes off of him. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed. First because little one-year-old Seth was jumping onto his stomach, once because Dustin and he wrestled each other to the floor. I watched him pick me up and spin me around. I hugged my 2009 body, knowing at that one moment of time, Shane embraced my 1995 body.

The most difficult thing about watching that video was the feeling that it was happening now. The noises, the voices, the music, the laughter was all 13 years past. But no, Shane is not dead, because I see him alive in the video. He lives in that picture. Seth did not just turn 15, because he is only 1 in that picture. Time is not now, it is then. For a second, I can reel back time and hug Shane.

I still have his embrace in my skin. I still have his laughter fresh in my mind. I still have the memories to hold close to me and to write down.

Nothing, not even time, can take this away.

Happy 22nd birthday, Shane.

P.S. I have kept a journal of letters to Shane since October 28, 2001. I would like to share a few entries in memory of Shane on his birthday, and in honor of the person who has to hurt the most of all of us, my dear Aunt Dana.

October 28, 2001
It was nice to know you while it lasted, but we still have forever! Don't ever forget me. I know I never will. I'll tell my children of the love you changed lives with and of all the memories we shared. I promise, Shane, your love will carry on.

The main reason I want to have you here is because of all the grief everyone has. I have to deal with my mom crying a lot, and I don't like when she crys. It hurts me when she crys. It makes me sad. I love when she smiles and laughs. It makes me happy. It's like I'm a part of her. And I am. But your mom is the one, I think, with the most grief. Your death tore her whole life and body apart, into a million pieces and she can never be put back together. Never. Not on Earth, anyway. I'm not blaming you, though. Your body just couldn't take it anymore. And you are lucky because you are in no pain at all, and you, right now, are in the paradise of God, Jesus and angels. You have seen the face of God! I can't believe it.

November 4, 2001
Well, I don't know what to talk about. Well, maybe I will give you a memory:
MEMORY:
This wasn't too long ago, but it was probably when you were in 6th or 7th grade. I think it was 6th grade. Anyway, you were going to a dance with Samantha. You were going out with her. You and her were boyfriend and girlfriend. You were really nervous. You know, you were quiet and shy. You didn't know which shirt you were going to wear for the dance. I think the shirts were new. You went around and asked everyone which shirt looked better. Finally you picked out a shirt, and I remember it have a cool pattern and bright colors. I remember your mom being so excited and smiling and being happy. Her heart was nothing but happy before you died. You got your heart from her. You were a part of her. When you were no longer here, a part of her wasn't, either. You were her happiness. You were her life.

December 31, 2001
I don't really want to end this year at all because 2002 will be the first year I won't have your face to look at, or any happiness through listening to you play the piano.

I guess this book could go on forever. Or, at least, until I die. That would be a long Dear Shane book. Or maybe not. You know, I remember you smiling and hugging your mom and saying that you and her were going to grow old together, and you said you were going to live with her and take care of her even when you're 30.

I guess your ribbon of love will tie us all into a tighter, more beautiful bow forever.

what is your worst fear?

Watch this music video, and you will discover my worst fear coming true.

Breathe in
Breathe out
Tell me all of your doubts
Everybody bleeds this way
Just the same

Breathe in
Breathe out
Move on and break down
If everyone goes away
I will stay

We push and pull
And I fall down sometimes
I'm not letting go
You hold the other line

Cause there is a light
In your eyes...

Hold on, Hold tight
If I'm out of your sight
And everything keeps moving on
Moving on
Hold on, Hold tight
Make it through another night
Everyday, there comes a song
With the dawn

We push and pull
And I fall down sometimes
But I'm not letting go
You hold the other line

Cause there is a light
In your eyes...

Breathe in
And breathe out
Breath in
And breathe out
Breathe in
And breathe out
Breathe in
And breathe out

Look left
Look right
To the moon
And the night
Everything under the stars
Is in your arms

Cause there is a light
In your eyes...

The bold lyric (of my doing) is what makes this song come alive to me. Losing someone is so terrifying and heinous because against your will, but life keeps moving on. You cannot stop or reverse time, as much as you wish you could. But, somehow, you make it through another night. Somehow, the sun still rises in the morning. You breathe in and breathe out.

The sun has no sympathy for the circumstances. Nature does not care how you live or die, who you love or hate. It does not care how much you have left to do in life; it takes you by surprise, and it does not take gracefully.

Like Stephen Crane says in The Open Boat,

"When it occurs to a man that nature does not regard him as important, and that she feels she would not maim the universe by disposing of him, he at first wishes to throw bricks at the temple, and he hates deeply the fact that there are no bricks and no temples. Any visible expression of nature would surely be pelleted with his jeers. Then, if there be no tangible thing to hoot at he feels, perhaps, the desire to confront a personification and indulge in pleas, bowed to one knee, and with hands supplicant, saying: 'Yes, but I love myself.'"

It is my worst fear to lose him without the sun's sympathy.

resting places

Any words to describe my swelled thoughts are simple cliche, and even that thought is cliche. I cannot come to understand anything that has not already been understood, or love anything that hasn't been loved, or experience a feeling or grief or longing that hasn't been felt, grieved, or longed after. The most of what I cannot explain is why, in one decade, I have held the cold, still hand of my 14-year-old cousin Shane in his casket, or why I am on a train to Indiana where I will meet my dear 9-year-old cousin Evin.

But I know that God is merciful and most just. I don't know how to incorporate God as the Hero in this life of bitterness and sweetness, cold and hot, few and plenty. But it is there, somewhere, though I can read a mere couple pages in. I can only experience this bittersweet catastrophic life that is mine, a tiny story in the grandest epic of all time-which is, time itself.

So, I will not try to explain. I will listen to the words blasting in my ear by Hillsong, singing "You are All Glorious". I will silently hold Stevie as she cries on my shoulder asking "Why?", while inside the only answer I can think of is "Because." And on my way home I will sing "Let Us Adore Him" and nothing else. I will suck it up and move on with my meaningless studies to receive a meaningless piece of white paper. Maybe I can take this as a reminder of the only aspect of life that isn't meaningless...family, friends, acquaintances, customers, coworkers, and strangers. Nothing else matters when you stand before a casket, taking in the sight of his body and holding his hand, weeping.

Rest in Peace

Evin James Jarman

March 3, 1999-August 29, 2008

Shane Ryan Ellis

June 5, 1987-August 24, 2001