An Arranged Friendship

I have been blessed beyond my own comprehension with some of the most loyal, loving, and devoted girlfriends.  When I say "beyond my own comprehension" that is not from fake humility. I honestly do not understand why I have been so lucky to have my path cross with that of so many fantastic women.  Each and every one of them is priceless to me, and now in the midst of my current grief, I appreciate them more than ever.

I do have one very different kind of friend, one who has been at the top of my list of the most comforting people to me over the loss of my brother.  It's a different kind of friend, not because of who she is, but because of the story of how we have remained close.

She doesn't yet know that I have a blog (I'll send it to her after this entry) and I'm not sure how she would feel about me writing about her, so I'll change her name to "B".  I actually do have another best girl who I call "B" but I'm sure she won't mind sharing her initial for the sake of this entry.

I believe that "B" and I have an "arranged friendship".  I think it was arranged by God.  Let me explain...

I met B when I was 25, a bride-to-be, extremely naive, and very idealistic.  I was surely nauseatingly optimistic, bopping around singing about my wedding, my dreamy fiancee, and in general just being blonde and obnoxious.  She loved to tease me about how wonderful it must be to get ready with the birds and the squirrels each morning.

B was a "cool girl".  Her white Hanes t-shirt would hang out from under her sweaters (it was her signature look), her hair was always in a messy ponytail, she wore converse with everything, she had beautiful make-up free skin, and wore dark-rimmed trendy hipster glasses before they were trendy.  I would look at her and think, "I wish I could be real and chill 'go with the flow' like B."

We were pretty different, to say the least.  However, we instantly loved each other.

We taught together in the same poorly run, pathetically paid, and gossipy school where parents ruled the classrooms and the teachers with intimidation and the fact that they paid tuition for their children to attend.  It was a zoo.  Sometimes we felt like we were teaching in some alternate universe where logic did not exist.

B and I would support each other by complaining during recess duty, crying at lunch, making the students pass notes for us, and meeting for drinks after particularly ridiculous days.

What made the year even more dreadful for B is that in the summer months before the school year started, she lost her best friend to cancer.  That's correct.  We've lost best friends and little brothers...IN THEIR TWENTIES.  That type of tragedy puts me and B into a category; "I Lost Someone Before Their Time, This Doesn't Make Sense, Why Did They Leave Me Here, Heaven Is Still Too Many Damn Decades Away For Me to Bear It" category.     

Several years have passed, we both have left The School for the Insane, we both have acquired husbands, she has a beautiful daughter, and has moved hours away from our former stomping ground.  In the in-between years, we have texted sporadically, kept in touch over Facebook, and well....that's about it.  If she still lived here, I think we would meet for happy hours but that is not the way our paths took us.

However, God arranged our friendship so that in all of my friendships, I would have one girlfriend who understood the type of grief that comes from losing a best friend tragically, too quickly, and at an unfairly young age.  Not very many people fully understand what that type of death can do to you, a family, your life, or how it truly creeps into and infiltrates every corner of your being.

Not very many people truly understand what if feels like to have that loved one's name run through your mind by the minute, but know that no matter how many times you say it, it will never be heard by them again.

"B" understands that and so much more about my grief.  She has understood my need to laugh over ridiculous inside jokes via text message, and she has known the appropriate times to let me vent, or to validate my pain.  She and I have only communicated over text messages, and a few Facebook emails since I have lost Matt.  Her texts have been some of the most therapeutic thoughts shared with me since I have lost my brother.

One of my favorite texts from her over the last few months said this:

"There is something that happens to you, though.  Like when you're so hurt and angry and sad-you're just stripped down to your bones-when you're that vulnerable amazing things happen."

She just "gets it".  Beyond that, she encourages me by telling me that in time, I will start to heal. I will miss him for all of my life, but she promised me that it won't always be so excruciating.

In all of the funny, heartfelt, loving, compassionate and beautiful texts that B has sent me, the most perfect of all came on the morning of Matt's first birthday in heaven.  I had posted on Facebook early that morning, a picture of he and I together.  I had reminisced on past birthdays with him, and commented on how magical his first birthday in heaven must be.

At about 7:30 a.m., I noticed a text from B.

"Julia!  Stop-today is Matt's birthday?  Please find some sort of strange comfort in this: today is her birthday too.  I always celebrate her birthday (tonight baking Christmas treats and drinking wine, like I remember doing with her) and now I have another reason to celebrate.  This is too much of a coincidence.  They are together, watching over each other, and us.  And now I'm crying.  But I feel happy that she has someone to celebrate with."

B had seen my Facebook post that morning, and realized that Matt and her best friend were in heaven at that moment, chuckling at us here on earth having realized that they were together, celebrating December 19th.

Matt wasn't a huge baker and wine drinker, and I don't know if B's best girl would have had deep dish pizza and ice cream cake on her birthday, but can we really even comprehend the way that they are celebrating together in heaven?

God gave me B so that during these first months after Matt has gone to heaven, my phone would light up with texts randomly throughout the day, with jokes and thoughts of love from a girlfriend who understands my pain.

Is the common birthday just a coincidence?  Absolutely not.  God has ways of showing us that He is here, that He IS in control, and He IS taking care of us.

In our intense grief of December 19th, God gave B and I a little reminder of that beautiful truth. He arranged our friendship so that six years after our initial meeting, in my new and raw grief, and in her old and mature pain, we would be brought together again to comfort one another.

Not the Same

Tomorrow, it is my husband's birthday.  On Monday, it is my birthday.  We will be 31 and 33, respectively.  This is the first birthday in 26 years that I will not have my little brother with me to celebrate.  And let me tell you...he knew how to celebrate.

When I turned 24, my girlfriends threw me a surprise party.  It was my "golden" birthday. Matt, his best friend, and two of my best friends were up after everyone else had gone to sleep, blasting 50 Cent, and doing keg stands.  Please keep in mind that since it was my 24th birthday, Matt was 19 and in college.  Not only did he convince my girlfriends to do keg stands, but he also made out with one of them, and made sure that the other one drank so much that she peed in her pants. That's just the kind of guy he was.

Last year however, was different.  My husband was turning 30 and I was having a party for him. A week beforehand, Matt texted me that he couldn't wait for the "hang out".  He said that he wanted us all to be together, dance, and have a great time.  He said he would be home from law school for the party.  For some reason, I never told Jer that Matt said he was coming.  I knew it wasn't going to happen, and I didn't want Jeremiah to be disappointed.  I was right, Matt didn't come.

Shortly thereafter, he was home from law school.  It was my birthday, but he had come home for other reasons.  We stood together in church on the morning of my 32nd birthday, Matt with his arm around me, tightly gripping my shoulder, both of us crying together.  We were scared for what the next months would hold as Matt was going away to start his recovery.  We were both frightened. The days that followed were even more frightening.

My birthday won't ever be the same.  It won't ever be the same, not because I will always remember the trauma of 2013.  That will fade with time.  It won't ever be the same because my life-of-the-party, darling, handsome, ridiculous brother won't be there.

Christmas will never be the same.  Matt won't be there to make everyone inspect how perfectly his corners are folded on the packages he wrapped.  He won't be there to eat all of the mini egg rolls that we don't need to make anymore because no one really liked them but him.  On Christmas Eve, he won't be in church to sing the repeat verses in his beautiful, low baritone in "Joy to the World".

Repeat the sounding joy (cue Matt) REPEAT THE SOUNDING JOY.  Jeremiah and Colleen were brave enough to do it for us this year.    

Easter will never be the same.  We have a blue wicker basket that won't sit next to the rainbow basket and pink basket.  The PGA golf tournament won't be on the from the second we return home from church.  We won't be hungover on Easter morning because we were all up late on Easter Saturday playing bags in his best friend's barn.

Thanksgiving will never be the same.  Who will pick at the turkey before dinner and complain that there are lumps in the potatoes?  Our Home Alone while we eat our pie tradition can't happen because Macauley Culkin looks exactly like Matt did when he was little.

The 4th of July will never be the same.  Every year, an argument ensues when my dad realizes that his firework stash has been compromised.  Every year he blames Matt, justifiably so.  No one will have stolen his fireworks this year.

Dance parties won't be the same.  Cubs games, movie nights, basketball games, bowling nights, golf outings, listening to Dave Matthews Band and Michael Jackson, family vacations, skiing, and dinner on the back porch will never be the same.

These things will never be the same, but I am told that does not mean that they will always be painful.

This year, there will be large part of my birthday that is painful.  I won't have a silly, singing card from my brother, or a goofy voicemail from him with a sweet, "I love you sis," at the end.  That is painful.

I don't think there will ever be a birthday, or Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or Halloween, or any holiday that I don't wish he were here.

As I try to stay hopeful, and not lose faith in God's plan, I have to end with this thought;

In heaven, every day is a holiday.  Every minute, you are celebrating your birth, Christmas trees sparkle endlessly, and Cadbury eggs are always in season.  You celebrate your thanks for God's blessings every day, not only on the third Thursday in November.  And for now, a blessing that I give thanks for is this...even though Matt isn't here to celebrate my 33rd birthday with me, he is safe, at home, and with God.

It will never be the same, but day by day, God is making it peaceful.

My 30th Birthday. Matt and Jer both loved to see who could make the most ridiculous faces in pictures.  Here is a perfect example.   

Brothers

My brother Matt, and my husband Jeremiah both were born into families as the only sons.  They both always wanted a brother.  Then, they had each other.

If I remember correctly, it was a perfect match from the start.  Both Matt and Jer are outgoing, loud, funny, larger-than-life, guys-guys.  They had differences, of course, but the core foundations for friendship (and brotherhood) were there.

In a precious email to my family from one of Matt's most beloved people, Katherine, she wrote to each of us of her special insights into Matt's love for his family members.  She wrote to Jeremiah;

"Jeremiah, aka Johnny/Ricky, in you, Matt found a brother, not a brother-in-law, a real, true brother.  The times I remember him laughing the hardest always involve you. It was that night five years ago when you stayed up dancing to Toto that I so often picture in my head these days when I think of Matt.  You gave him pure joy."  

Needless to say, there are inside jokes in her email that were between Matt and Jeremiah.  There is no need to explain them, but only to understand that inside jokes come with time, love, friendship, and the rare relationship that shares the same, if not similar, sense of humor.

Matt loved Jer.  In his least favorable version of himself, or his darkest times, he put Jer on a pedestal.  He said he wanted to be someone we could all rely on again, someone who was true to his word, like Jer.  In his best version of himself, he was Jer's best friend.

Jer loved Matt.  When Matt was sick, he prayed for him, was real with him....he told it like it was.  When Matt was Matt, Jer did his excited dance if he knew we would see him.

"What's your brother doing?"  "Is Matt going to be there?"  "Let's invite Matt and Katherine!"  "Let's call your brother and see what he's doing."  "Does Matt want to come with?"  "We should totally ask Matt if he wants to come."  

Jeremiah never lost hope for Matt.  He never thought that Matt would not recover.  He always believed in him.  Even when I doubted Matt's recovery, Jer didn't.  That's what brothers do. They believe in each other with ferocity.

Matt believed that Jer was the best husband, going to be the best father, had crazy but wonderful ideas for his future, would accomplish them, and that he had incredible faith.  Jer believed that Matt would recover, marry happily, practice law, be the greatest uncle to our children, and maybe even move in down the street.  He believed that Matt could do wonderful things with his faith.  

Neither of them ever thought to picture life without the other.  Your mind doesn't go there at the age that we are.  You believe that you have decades together, and you dream about what those years will look like.

Now Matt is gone, and Jeremiah is the only young man in our family.  Someday, my sister will marry, someday maybe we will have children, and someday, we will grow...but for now Matt's presence is with us in Jer.  

For Christmas, my family decided that Jer should have Matt's watch.  He also now wears Matt's black, North Face jacket.  When I see the watch on Jeremiah, I remember Matt getting dressed up and proudly putting on his fancy watch from our grandmother.  I can see the way it fit snugly on his huge wrists.  I remember how he pushed up his sleeves to show it off.  When Jeremiah walks in the door from work, wearing Matt's black coat, sometimes for a second, it feels like Matt is standing in the kitchen.  I remember how the cuffs hung over his wrists and that he always had a hoodie sticking out in the back.

Jeremiah would never replace Matt, they are two separate and wonderful men.  What Jeremiah is able to do however, is to comfort us with reminders of him.

On Matthew's birthday, what would have been his 28th year of life, we all gathered together at my house.  It was a wintry, December night.  We ordered pizza and had ice cream cake.  That is what we would have done if Matt had been there.  When my mom and sister pulled up to the house, Jeremiah was in the backyard.  He immediately began pelting them with snowballs.  As his wife, I was annoyed that he thought that was an appropriate way to welcome my mother into our home on her son's birthday.  My mom, however thought it was wonderful.

"That is EXACTLY what Matt would have done," she said.

She was right, he would have been out there with Jer.  It would have been his idea.

Brothers come to us in so many different ways.  They are born on a cold, December day, a surprise baby for two older sisters.  They are given to us as we marry into families.  They are best friends. They are cousins.

Jeremiah and I had a brother named Matt.  We loved him and he loved us.  Our lives were fuller and brighter because of him.

This picture of Matt and Jer is from December 26, 2009.  They had spent the entire day watching a "Step Up" marathon on TBS and recovering from Christmas.  The following summer, they convinced Katherine and I to see the new "Step Up" movie in 3D.  We are still not sure why they loved it so much.  In the picture, the lights from Jer's Jeep make it difficult to see their smiling faces.  I like that as it seems almost heavenly.  Matt is certainly in Heaven waiting for us.  I bet that in Heaven, we will be able to do some of those dance moves that we saw in the movie.  

Remembering How to Laugh

It's amazing how you can find humor in the midst of your darkest times.  It's almost easier to laugh during tragedy, because the opportunities to find hilarity are everywhere.  When life is mundane, there isn't anything drastic or dramatic joke about.  When you are in the pits, the depths of your despair, when you've cried until your face is completely swollen, red, disgusting, puffy, blotchy and ugly...then you have something to laugh at.

You can start by looking in the mirror and laughing because in three months you've added 89 more wrinkles than you have acquired in your whole 32 years of life (that's me).  How did that happen?  What else can I do except laugh?  And moisturize like crazy.  

The rest of the humor follows.  A lot of it is inappropriate.  But maybe, we need to be inappropriate in our grief.  It lightens the mood a little.  Losing our beloved Matt has given us a kind of "get out of jail free" card.  There are some things that I have said just because I can over the last few months, and they have brought laughter.  What is anyone going to say to me, really?

"You shouldn't say that, Julia.  It's not polite."

Nope.  No one is going to say that to me right now.  I have at least 6 more months of making totally ridiculous comments that no one will say anything about.

Here is some of my ridiculousness, mixed in with a few other pearls of wisdom:

#1  A few days after Matthew died, I was starting to feel tied to my phone.  I felt the need to check it constantly, to respond to everyone who reached out to me.  It was making me crazy.  My sister's boyfriend took it from me and put in in the bread drawer.  He told me I wasn't allowed to have it for 90 minutes.  I really needed that.  I had to run an errand, though.  My sister was very worried that I was leaving the house without a cell phone.  She wanted me to be very careful.

I said, "I'll be fine.  Two key family members do not die in the same week.  Unless you're like, in a war or something."

Inappropriate but they laughed.  

#2  Following my brother's memorial service, we piled into the car and sat in shocked silence.  Were we really driving to a cemetery to bury my brother?  That couldn't be.

I broke the ice by saying, (in response to the pastor speaking of our relationship with Christ and our beliefs) "I thought you only used the word provocative in a sexual context.  Pastor Bill said we believed in some provocative stuff.  That weirded me out."

They then explained to me that provocative can be used to express extreme emotion.  

#3  At my parent's house following my brother's memorial service and burial, surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of family, friends, neighbors, and acquaintances my friend Kathleen and I were discussing the Pastor's message from the memorial service.

Kathleen said, (in response to Pastor's Bill's use of the service as an evangelizing opportunity) "Everyone thought the Corning family would do it all sappy and mushy.  But your pastor said it like it is.  It was bad ass.  He gave a bad ass message."

My parents later told Pastor Bill that one of our best friends called his memorial service "bad ass".  I think he was flattered.  

4.  My friend Kathleen calls often to check on me.  She had to call me several times before I was able to bring myself to pick up the phone and talk.  The first time she got me to answer, I was thankful for her persistence.

Kathleen said, (actually yelled) "I mean, I'm going through my day and I think about what happened and it is so F*&!ED up.  And then I realize, if I feel this way, how the F*&! does Julia feel?  I mean, it is so F*&!ed up!"

That was one of the most validating things that has been said to me since losing Matt.  It was raw, real, the truth, and Kathleen was unafraid of being brutally honest with me  She felt my pain, but wasn't afraid to tell me about hers.  

5.  People also have said things that are just plain awful.  One woman told my mom that she would get over it.  Another told her that Matt had a choice.  Neither of those statements are true, nor will they ever be true.  We will not "get over" Matt.  It might hurt less someday, but we will always love him.  Matt did not have a choice.  He was sick.  He did NOT want to leave us, or this earth.

Those comments make us laugh, not because they are funny, but because people can be so completely devoid of sensitivity that their comments seem unreal.

I wish that I could recall every hilarious, inappropriate, ridiculous statement that has been said that has made tears turn into hysteria and given us a reprieve, if only for a brief moment.  I also know that there will be more to come.  I am thankful for laughter.  It brings me back to my old self, and reminds me how to smile.

I will leave with one more comment, made by my husband the other night.  I was grieving for Matt, and our first failed IUI attempt.  It is not the funniest thing that has been said to me, but it certainly was the sweetest.  And it did make me laugh, and remind me how to smile...even if it was only for a moment.

"I wish I had an adult-sized, baby...what do you call them?  Baby-bjorn-type-thingies...then I could carry you around with me all night."

My husband can't carry me around with him all night, but God has been carrying me around with him for these past four months.  While carrying me, He has purposely walked me past people who He knew would show me a little grace, through their humor.

Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then they said among the nations, “The Lord has done great things for them.” Psalm 126:2

Christmas Ornaments

This year for Christmas, one of my very best girlfriends, Ashley, gave me the gifts of hope and joy.  They are in the form of two beautiful, red felt needlepoint Christmas ornaments.  I have not yet put them away, they are hanging from the knobs on the glass cabinet doors of our desk.  I can see them when I sit in my favorite chair to read, do my daily devotionals, e-mail, mindlessly scroll through Pinterest, or simply to watch the snow fall.

Ashley gave these two ornaments to me as a wish for 2014.  She knows the pain that I feel over the loss of my brother, and the worry and fear that I have over the difficulty my husband and I are having at starting a family.  We so badly want to be parents, and it is proving to be very difficult.

Ashley is the kind of friend who cries for me.  What I mean by that, is that she literally has tears rolling down her face when I cannot.  Having a friend that loves like that has helped me to heal. Ashely's tears validate my pain; if my dear friend is crying for me, then it must truly be that bad. Beyond that, her tears make me feel loved.   

When I opened my Christmas gift of hope and joy, I knew that Ash truly wanted those things for me.  I want those things for myself.  I want hope instead of the overwhelming sadness of losing Matt, and I want the joy of a new baby instead of the fear that it won't happen.  I want to have hope for a joyful future.

For now, while I am waiting for the big and obvious gifts of hope and joy, I will work to remain content in the smaller ones.  Last night, in the aftermath of our first failed IUI, I found joy...in two glasses of red wine (I've been in the fertility-challenged world of the "two-week-wait"), a massive cupcake, Downton Abbey, comfies, and my husband.  Those few hours felt a little joyful, but mostly peaceful.

Where the challenge lies is when my alarm wakes me in the cold, dark, early morning hours.  I open my eyes, blink, and remember...my brother is in heaven, we aren't pregnant, my brother is in heaven, we aren't pregnant, my brother is in heaven, we aren't pregnant...

So I roll over and pick up my phone.  I have a text message from my mom.  "Can I take you to lunch today?"

I'm not alone.  I can have hope in knowing that I'm not alone.  I have my husband, my mom and dad and sister, Ashley and all of my loving/devoted/compassionate/supportive girlfriends...and I have God.  He has hope and joy in store for me.

For now...to remind me of His promise, I have them in the form of two Christmas ornaments, and cupcakes and wine.

My Before and After Life

Since I have lost my brother, I have had a very hard time putting my life into context.  Where am I now?  What am I doing with myself?  How do I fit into this world that is moving forward, yet I am frozen.  I am literally frozen.

Ironically, my outside world actually is frozen.  The cold and snow are greater than they have been in years.  It does not stop snowing.  I love it.  Every time the snow starts to fall, or the temperatures drop to dangerous lows, or the icicles on my eves grow longer,  I am reminded of God's power over this world.  Is it inconvenient?  Yes.  Do I have control over it?  No.  I think this is the most magical winter I have ever experienced.

Beyond the feeling of God's power in this winter, Matt loved the snow.  Needless to say, this winter makes me feel close to my brother.

On New Year's Day after walking the dog (Leo), I impulsively laid down in my yard and made a snow angel.  I looked up into the trees and saw the flakes lightly falling down to kiss my face.  It was sunset, and the world was quiet.  The look and the peace of the moment made me feel that the flakes were coming directly to me from heaven, where Matthew most certainly is.

This winter is so magical, and so majestic and so powerful that I do not want it to end.  I am afraid of the spring coming; hence my earlier statement that I am "frozen".  If the spring comes, then the world truly is moving forward and I am afraid that I am not.

Maybe only people who have experienced intense grief can understand me saying that I am afraid of spring coming.  I know that sounds absolutely insane.  Spring is beautiful and happy and we Chicagoans are always ready for it.  But I am not.

I will have to get ready for it because it will come whether I want it to or not.  Yesterday, the groundhog told me that I have six more weeks to prepare myself for this, so I will try.

For now, though I am certainly frozen.  My counselor told me that I will begin to view my life as "before" and "after".  I will now have a "before and after life".  Before my family was whole, now we are...well, we are frozen...much like this winter of 2014.

When I am ready for the "after" part, we will take a family picture again.  For now, this picture is my "before" family.

A good friend said to me, "Julia, I truly believe that joy follows pain."

I believe we will have joy again.  I truly do.  It will just take time.  "After" will come.

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us." Romans 8:18