remember

I remember

To remember

is a blessing and a curse.

She's the most precious memory, every thought of her I hold with so much love. Yet every memory of her is just that, a memory. only a memory.

No real life is ever gonna be done with her again. not one more memory is to be made with her.

I remember how she wore her boots everywhere. In grocery aisles. restaurant aisles. airplane aisles.

I remember her goofiness. Her goofiness was contagious and held space for anyone to be unapologetically a silly goose. It was one of the purest gifts.

I remember how it felt to walk into her bedroom back at the ranch house, the day after the funeral. The room was room for all the things she left behind when she moved.

I remember how everything was clothed in a thin layer of dust. sticky notes of grace still taped onto her white door. the jeep lightbar on her bed. flannel shirts in the closet.

The books we had gone through together, arranged in the corner bookcase. those books have typed out countless pages in the chapters we shared.

♡

The exhaustion of grief.

It's really unexplainable

to understand it,

experiencing it is the only way.

It sucks the life out of you

and leaves you with nothing but

pure exhaustion.

The exhaustion leaves you staring at people blankly, zoning out, and losing physical strength to sit with good posture.

It's a battle to stay focused on one thing.

I numb myself with videos of random topics like Harriet Tubman, the royal family, and cake decorating. I'm not proud of this weakness. I need healthy habits in the midst of this, I know. I'm tempted to numb. For being present in the moment is rather brutal right now.

Sometimes this grief is so stout it feels like it will strangle me from the very air I breathe. The fact she is gone still gives panic. Sometimes the grief leaves me claustrophobic. In those moments, I would do about anything to escape the exhaustion of grief.

Then I remember

why I am grieving

I remember that you grieve as deep as you love.

I remember the life we shared together for 3 years.

How the friendship just got better and better and I realized how no amount of vulnerability would be too much for it. We both were sticking it out with each other, the ugly things in life got walked through, side by side.

I remember the hours upon hours we would rack up on phone calls, hashing details out, calling each other out, pointing grace moments out. Three hours down and still the list to discuss was not all checked. Yes, we made lists of what we were gonna tell each other, so we wouldn't forget anything important.

Sitting beside water was our thing. There we wrestled with the realities of life. We had a spot by swepco lake back in Gentry that we drove to and sat by the water edge. In the darkness we stared at the moon while we stared at our own darkness. Then last September we sat by the ocean in Florida and as sand slid through our fingers we discussed life things that had slid through our own fingers. How to let go. How to not clench the fists into tight wads. How to accept things that were as mysterious as the ocean before us. There also we watched the moon rise through the murky clouds, our own vision murky too. Two girls, barely grown up, wondering how to keep growing up. Two girls, with no idea this was their last time sitting beside water together. I would do anything to sit on that beach again as her voice, with that slight lisp, beside me would tell me that God was good, despite any wave that slashed at us.

I remember our water fights, our walmart runs, our wobbly jeep rides. That death wobble. It kept every moment of driving that black jeep entertaining.

She used that word “entertaining” a lot.

Now at home for a few days, I sit on my bedroom carpet and the more I flip through that ranch scrapbook, the more a million little memories flip through the chapters we shared on this earth. Each page slammed full. Just like our days.

Abundance. I remember abundance.

In most situations, I can imagine what eddie would say. yet. she surprised me. she was not always predictable. she had mystery to her.

I remember sitting in the sun helps ease the darkness. So here, at home, I sit on the porch, and rock in the old red wooden rocking chair that has been slightly abused by a hound that lives around here. Eddie would tell me that hound was spoiled and her XL ears and long tail made her look funny and that I needed desperately to put that hound on a diet cuz according to her if a dog is too fat to jump up into a lifted jeep, than that's a sign its too fat. valid thought.

I remember the words of wisdom

“do the next right thing”.

It's becoming a motto. And if we did tattoos I would half way consider getting it inked onto my hand in tiny neat letters. For I need to be reminded of it often. For maybe one pointer in surviving this chapter is continually doing the next right thing.

The exhaustion fills all the gaps in daily life. I'm so grateful for all the hearts that tenderly hold space for all that. I can genuinely say I feel like I'm living on prayers. I'm alright, for our Father is enough. More than enough.

So as I live the blessing and curse of remembering, I chose to do the next right thing.