Sorrows

As I mentioned, its been a tough summer.  Especially July, when death seemed to take up residence in our circle of loved ones, first taking the brother of an amazing young lady, next my great-aunt (the one who always had a bag of candy to give away), followed by a friend's grandmother and another friend's father.  As my heart carries sorrow for my own family, it also bears the hurt for my friends who are now facing a future without someone whom they loved immensely.  All this loss reminds me of my dear friend Sara, who came into my life just when I needed her, and then left without warning and I thought I couldn't bear it.  Sara was my roommate when I was a flight attendant living in Tennessee.  She offered me the extra room in her apartment when the five people I was living with before all left in the same month...the place I was crashing because my first roommate decided to let her boyfriend move into our apartment and, oh, by the way, they wanted some privacy and could I please find somewhere else to watch Oprah and eat my Spagetti-Os.  Finally, I lived with someone who wanted me there, someone who invited me to go work out with her, get groceries, make a special dinner and watch tv together.  Someone who let me come into their room and look through photo albums while telling me about her family and her childhood and her favorite music.  Someone who was kind to me and made a mark, who I thought, when I marry Chris, I want her to be a bridesmaid.

Then one day, I was sitting at the airport waiting to catch a flight, and a fellow FA came over to share some gossip.  Eagerly, I leaned forward in my chair with that "OOO, this is going to be good" look of anticipation.  And she said, "OH!  Did you hear about Sara?"  And my smile matched her own as I said, "Which one?  The trainer?  Did she have her baby?"  Then she said, "No, the girl who lives in Knoxville.  She died yesterday."  And the earth stopped moving.  And my throat felt tight, but I still managed to say, "No.  Not Sara D."  But my friend smiled wider and said, "Yes, that's her last name, I couldn't remember..."  Blessedly, she stopped.  Because my eyes blurred and the horror that I felt in every inch of my body must have been evident on my face.  Because she then gently asked, "Did you know her?"  And after struggling for a minute or two, I managed to say, "She was my roommate."  For the next hour, while we continued to wait for our flight, I was shown a corporate memo confirming what I had been told, and a middle-aged "dirty boy" gave me some tissues and showed me into a utility room where I could weep without freaking out everybody else in the boarding area.  Somehow I managed to get on that plane, and work a few flights, but the whole time it felt as though my eyes were a faucet that wouldn't turn off.  I'm sure I really scared some passengers; really who wants to see their flight attendant cry (or blubbering, or basically looking like a hot mess) in the years immediately following 9/11?  When I called the scheduling department to get time off for the funeral, I was told that they couldn't have the whole company take a day off, and so I said, "Then I'm sick," and flew back to my parent's house so I could lay in bed and cry in peace.  The Bible says there is a time to mourn, and for several months, I did.  I went through the "Stages of Grief" over and over; just when I thought I had felt everything I could possibly feel, the anger or the disbelief would come crashing back through.  I couldn't listen to music.  I couldn't have a conversation with most people.  My life was too full of sorrow to make room for anything else.

That's why I will never forget being in my car, driving to Columbus, and suddenly looking at the sky.  It was one of those beautiful days, with the perfect blue sky and the puffy white clouds.  The sun was shining and I heard a voice say, "Life goes on."  Everytime I see a beautiful sky, whether its a pink and purple sunset, or powerful gray storm clouds, or that same blue I saw then, I am reminded that I am alive.  Sara is gone, she is never coming back, I miss her so much some days that it knocks the wind out of me, but I'm still here.  The Bible also says there is a time to dance, and I do.  I danced when I married Chris.  I danced with my sons when we watched Sid the Science Kid.  I danced with my best friend when we turned 30.  I dance when I hear the Black Eyed Peas and NSync and David Crowder.  When this summer is over, I will dance for the advent of autumn.  Because sorrow lasts for the night, but joy comes with the morning.