I Never Want to Say Goodbye, But If I Have to, I'd Like to Have Time to Say It

Last night I dreamt the worst dream. My Gramma had died and her funeral was being held in England. I was playing the piano for her, weeping through the whole ceremony. It was a closed-casket funeral and I kept saying, she's not really dead, she's not really dead. And everyone kept telling me, yes she is. I asked to see her. I wanted to see proof because I knew, I knew she couldn't leave like that. It couldn't end like that. She's 80, yes. But she's very much alive and kicking. She's not sickly. She's sane (mostly). She's an essential part of my life. She will not just die. But in this warped reality, she had. And dream self could not handle it. I tossed and turned and sweated and cried and it was devastating. And you know how in those first seconds after resurfacing from a serious dream you can't remember what's true or not. If that really happened. It felt real. It felt terrible. And I just wanted to sleep to erase the horrible idea that my beloved Grandmother could leave me ever.

My eyes closed and the onslaught continued. This time I was late for the funeral and they wouldn't let me play the piano. I told them over and over that she would want that. She would want to hear me play. She loved it when i played. But they said they had the ceremony under control and I wasn't needed. Even mom told me to stop. I cried and wept and then I realized the casket was closed again. It was as though I'd had a dream within a dream. My dream self remembered the previous dream in this reality and was horrified that it could be true that Gramma was dead again. I told them to open the casket. I still thought they were lying. Playing tricks on me. And that's when they told me... no, she wasn't dead. YET. But she was scheduled to drop any minute. They were getting the funeral out of the way now because there might not be time for it later. This was a chance for everyone to say goodbye. Gramma appeared next to me out of nowhere like the ghost she was about to become. I told her that this was her funeral. She said, yeah I know. It's time. Laughing and smiling and giggling like this was the best idea ever. I said, but you're not dead yet. And you're never going to die. And she said yes I am. And at some point everything shifted and I realized that this was not just her funeral. It was her euthanism. At the end of the ceremony she was expected to crawl into her casket and be buried. Alive. I freaked out, naturally. Insane people. I yelled at everyone as they sang hymns. It was as though I was invisible. I kept telling them, this is not how it happens. You don't bury people alive because it might be inconvenient to bury them after they're dead. No, you wait... and you spend every possible minute with them while they're alive. you celebrate their life. You don't take it prematurely. I stopped Gramma from her singing and dancing and shook her. Do you know what they plan on doing? I asked her. Do you understand? they're going to kill you! And she smiled and said, I know I know. I'm old. It's better this way. I freaked out again. How could she be so cavalier about being murdered. This is not how it happens.

I woke up desperate to hear my Gramma's voice. I called her. She's fine. But the nauseous feeling clawed at my insides for a long time before I was ok again. I'm not ready to lose my Gramma. She's been hugely influential in my life. I love her so much. One day, I know, I will have to say goodbye. (The very thought of that puts me in tears). But when that time comes, I hope I have time to get used to the idea. I hope I have lots of time. I pray my Gramma lives to see my children and their children at least. But I prefer forever.

Hi Mom

I love you super super much.

October 17th: a Retrospective on Self-Discovery and Change

Today is my favorite day of the year. October 17.

No. It's not my birthday. Or anniversary. And nothing truly spectacular has ever happened to me on this date. Last year on this date I held a Jane Austen Movie Marathon Night in the student center at my college for my fellow students in Literature of Jane Austen. Four years ago, I flew from my home in England back to my home in Florida after graduating high school. I was welcomed back to the US with Hurricane Wilma, which left me and my Gramma without power for about a week.

Anyway -- I don't know how this become The Favorite Day. But it is. I wait anxiously for it all year long. For no good reason. I just love it. Maybe it's the season -- the fall. The change in the air, the trees, the feeling in your bones. I've always been a die-hard summer appreciator. But there is something poetic about autumn. Symbolic.

This October 17th - I'm picking up my husband from the airport after a month-long absence. 33 days to be exact. This is not our longest separation by a long shot. But still... it was... interesting. This time, I learned a whole lot about myself while he was away. My road to Self-Discovery is riddle with tears and heartache and excitement and fear and agony and angst and love.

So here goes...

I learned I'm really independent. That I don't really miss him while he's gone but when he comes back I remember what I was missing and it's like I miss him in retrospect. I learned I sleep better when he's gone (because I'm a bet hog and a quasi-insomniac), but in the morning I wish he was there. I learned that I have friends here. Lauren. Lindsay. Shavaun. Michal. Vince. Eric. Chad and Linsay. Tim. Jonathan. Kyle. Etc. There are people here that I care about. And they care about me. I learned that I am an artist. Not an intellectual. And I learned that that's ok. I learned that Kings, Day Break, Kyle XY, and Six Degrees were all shows canceled prematurely and I wish I'd been there to support them while they was still airing (but The Listener deserved the boot). I learned what an equinox and solstice were (besides really cool words). I learned I love to shop (who knew?), but only if I get to buy something. I learned that it's easier to be someone's friend when they want to be yours too. If you have to force your way in... maybe it's not worth it. I learned that electronics hate me. Just ask my cellphone, TV, and GPS (all of which are not working right now)... I learned that I am a good writer... or could be. I learned that I'm a good musician... or at least passionate. I learned I have some depth, some things inside me that want to be let out -- in music, in story, in blog... I've been bottling up all of this stuff and it makes some great creative material. I made decisions - hard ones. I let go of my pride. I acknowledged my weaknesses -- and there are many. I found joy in sorrow. I found inspiration in depression. I found hope in stress. And strength in weakness. Glory in suffering. Poetry. Laughter. Longing. Beauty. I learned I like make-up... now if only i could figure out how to use that eyeliner... I learned I seem 25 but I can act 15. I learned that miracles happen -- even the ones we wait for and hope for and give up on. I learned the days that start the worst usually end the best. And the best inspiration hits you at 2 o'clock in the morning (it's 1:54 am right now...). I discovered new bands: Seabird, Jason Gray, Danyew, and Our Heart's Hero (in order of greatness). I realized I'm truly the least domestic wife of all time - I barely cleaned. I rarely cooked. I had only the tiniest inkling to decorate after seeing Linsay and Shavaun's immaculate spectacular homes.... but it passed like Thanksgiving indigestion. I met new family. Made new friends. Stared at strangers. And created new characters. I dreamed weird dreams. I woke up late. I woke up early. I learned that sugar free RedBull tastes just as good as regular Redbull but its only 10 calories! I learned to count calories. I learned I love to drive. I learned that I must have a guardian angel to keep me from getting into serious accidents all the time. I learned I have cute toes and weird eating habits (oh wait, I already knew that last one) and I'm quirky. But that's a good thing. I learned that some people know me better than I thought they did. And others don't know me at all. I learned that love and limerance are two different things. I learned that love is not just a choice and people who say it is are idiots - according to my dad. I learned how to make a good apology. I learned that it's still fun to sing Bohemian Rhapsody in the car, even if you're by yourself. I learned that roadtrips can be the most relaxing and enjoyable experiences in the world, even if you're by yourself. I learned that I need to have my own calling... I'm still waiting for that. Praying for it. I learned I am inconsistent, faithless, emotional, dramatic, selfish, angry, bitter, youthful, and changing. I learned that God is ... more. Than me. Than life. Than what I thought I knew before. I learned that life isn't always what you plan. It doesn't always go the way you want it to. Sometimes the path you choose takes you to a different destination than you thought. And the decisions you make are irreversible. You can never go back. You can only go forward. And the person you were before becomes.... something else. Something other. I learned...

I'm not who I was...

I'm not who I thought I was...

And that's ok. Whoever I am... Jesus still loves me anyway.

And so does Ray.

(And so does Carrie.)

Restlessness

I am awake. I am in agony. It's 5 am, and while many people deliberately get up at this God-forsaken hour, I am not one of them. I've been up for about 45 minutes. Contemplating what a restless night feels like... How can I explain this in a way you understand?

For me, sometimes restlessness is like reading a book. And I get to this line and all the words are jumbled, like they're in the wrong order. And the sentence doesn't make sense. So I read it again.

And then I forget what I just read. So I read it again.

And then I realize that something is terribly wrong and I must have missed a lot of information. I realize I'm 50 pages ahead of where I left off. But instead of going back, I just read it again.

I try sounding out each word slowing. I say them in a different order on purpose. I try to suss out every possible meaning of this horrible sentence.

And then I read it again.

I read it until my mind goes numb. Or fuzzy.

I read it until I get angry in my sleep because I don't know what it means.

I read it until I get so frustrated because I keep on, keep on, keep on trying and everything is useless.

And for hours, my life is a circular riot of evil in my mind. I spin in my bed, 'round and 'round and 'round... I spin so much I feel kinda nauseous. And time is always always corrupted, disrupted, interrupted. I spin for what feels like hours without end, and realize I've been half-awake for only and hour. I spin and feel like I just having trouble falling asleep, like it's only been a few minutes of torture, and realize I've been half-asleep all night.

And sleep becomes of word of many meanings. I "sleep" but feel like I've been awake all night (that's how I feel now...). I call this half-awake. And half-asleep is what happens when I'm definitely asleep but my mind is trapped. I'm clawing at my consciousness and my dreaming is a reflection of my mental anguish. When I wake up, I feel like I've been awake all night. So maybe there really isn't a difference. But it feels different. And sometimes when I'm half-asleep I'm unconscious enough to the point that I keep my husband up with my spinning and my restlessness, but I can't shake out of it. I'll persist to disrupt him all night, giving us both a bad night's sleep...

I am aching for real sleep. But it seems the only times I sleep are when I'm under the influence of something sedative. Tylenol PM and Advil PM are my most frequently used drug. The doctor also prescribed me Benadryl because it's a safe, non-addictive drug that will knock me out. But I have to take two. Just taking one is like asking for a night of spinning. Anyway, I'm out of those, I'm gonna call for a refill tomorrow. Today... because it is today now.

Anyway, the Prolific Nocturne writes again. At least I always have that. If I can't sleep, I can write. Which is pretty much all I do...

Worst. Day. Ever.

I literally want to crawl under a rock and cease to exist.

I don't think I'm strong enough.

I am EPIC FAIL.

The Year I Turned 16…

...was invariably the best year of my life. It was 2004. My family was still traversing the U.S. Visiting every Independent Baptist Church that would take us, raising support for our impending missionary endeavor in England. I was a junior in High School. My brother was 7 years old. And, I didn’t know it, but life was good.

I was a baby Christian and the whole world seemed alight and alive! I started experiencing - for the first time ever - true joy. Freedom in Christ. A relationship with God… not just religion.

On the day of my actual birthday, my parents drove several hours out of their way to take me to my favorite city in the world: CHICAGO! I have no idea why I chose this as my #1 spot. It’s cold and windy and has the worst winters ever (3 things I utterly despise). But there is something about it that completely enchants me. One day, I hope to live there. For 6 months, a year. Whatever. Anyway, we went to Ed Debevic’s (I know - total cliché!) and drove around the city. It was wonderful. My parents had thrown a mini-surprise party for me a few weeks earlier at a little church in Dothan, AL. And while I loved the people there, they weren’t close friends. The day in Chicago was truly a special treat. The real celebration.

The year was, by no means, perfect. In August, we were back in South Florida packed our bags as these were our last days in the U.S. I went on my last trip with my friends in the youth group to Universal Studios and Islands of Adventure. Just miles from home, our church bus was hit by an SUV and landed in a nearby canal. Three boys died in the accident. It was tragic. But that night my best friend trusted Christ as her Savior. And for that alone- it was all worth it. That happened Saturday, August 7, 2004. And Monday, August 9 - we flew to England.

My year in England was amazing. Completely life changing. I made some of my best friends and memories here.

Miriam: She was the greatest, godliest example and friend to me - who even now puts me to shame. I was in her wedding last Christmas.

Steve: Mr. Down to Earth. He made me smile on days I didn’t want to get out of bed.

Mike & Becki: both good friends, as a couple and as individuals. Mike’s testimony and faith completely blew my mind. And Becki’s passion and adventuresome spirit fueled mine.

Amber: we were supposed to travel the world together. Next year - 2010! But she got married Saturday. And I’ve been married over a year now. And that doesn’t really allow for uprooting oneself and backpacking the globe for months on end. Shame, too. It would’ve been fun!

Mrs. Gritts: an inspiring woman if ever there was one. I am thoroughly convinced there is nothing she can’t do. I spent the majority of my time there saying, “When I grow up, I want to be Mrs. Gritts.” She pushed me outside my comfort zone to achieve above and beyond anything I could imagine.

Nathan: the coolest, deepest, awesomest kid and now grown-up I will ever know. I thought I’d be ministering to him in the youth group, but he totally ministered to me. His passion and zeal brought more people to Jesus than anyone I’ve ever personally known. He rocked my world.

Dakota: my baby brother, this kid strengthened my prayer life. The fear - the absolute terror - that we would lose him was an ever present battle of faith until he was probably 6 months old or a year. A very complicated pregnancy. A complicated infancy - I have never loved a human being more. Getting to watch him grow and learn with mature eyes (which I didn’t have when my other brother was growing up) has been a huge highlight in my life.

Damian Jr.: This kid - my other brother - had the misfortune of being born while I was in the throes of mastering my only-childness. He was cursed with being a boy and being born the day before my birthday. Our early years together were marked by resentment, strife, and a lot of hostility. But in England, we grew a lot in appreciation of one another. I walked him to and from school everyday. I learned to be a better sister. I am still learning. But truly Dazza is awesome. :)

My Parents: Damian and Ruth Ann Pickett are the best parents I could ever have asked for. But this became increasingly evident during my stint as an MK. My dad was a good guy, but now I started hearing him preach from the Bible. There’s a whole lot of pride that accompanies seeing your father behind a pulpit. He is one of the best preachers I ever had. And trust me, I’ve heard A LOT! He was a great counselor, advice-giver, teacher, movie date, dancer, TV show marathon partner, and scrambled eggs maker, particularly during this time of my life.

My mom is my hero. She got saved as a missionary on deputation. She is brave and strong and wise about so many things. If it weren’t for her, I’d still be deceiving myself with guilt-riddled religiosity and no relationship with God. Her testimony is publish-worthy. The world should hear about my great mother and her great God. Seeing how awesomely God has worked in her life challenges and encourages me daily. It took us a long time, but today I can say she’s my best friend.

I love my parents.

My 16^th year was a year of learning and growing for me spiritually, socially, musically, culturally, academically, and who know how many other ways! I got involved in my church - working in the youth group, teaching Sunday school, discipling kids, hosting families and friends in our home, organizing music for church. Heck - this is when I started writing music!

It was a beautiful year, my Sweet Sixteenth. I long to recapture those days. To bring my love for God and passion for ministry back to where it was then. To feel the joy of life coursing through my veins. To look out at my future with eager anticipation. To be hopeful. Happy. Young. Brace. Fearless. Dreaming. Innocent. It was the best year of my life, and I doubt anything could ever top it.

Oh the Weirdness

My life is weird. I know everyone thinks their life is weird. But mine is. Tonight I got into a humungous fight with my husband about the word y'all's. Don't ask. All is resolved. But is that ridiculous or what? (And it was mostly my fault.) Also I'm a little bit mad at my parents and I miss them so much. But I feel like I'm in the rebellious wild part of my life where I question everything they ever told me and wonder if it's their fault I'm such a screw up. It's not. And I love them. I just think I realized that I am of an entirely different generation and I think I finally started thinking for myself. This is what I call gaining a personality. As it was, I was borrowing my personality from the people around me. As well as my opinions, likes, dislikes, core beliefs. Finally I realize -- Screw That. I'm sick of not having a mind of my own. Of course, this makes me kind of a pain the youknowwhat because I'm almost constantly questioning. Anyway... life is weird. Every time I think, "this is it" and settle down -- havoc immediately ensues. I'm in San Antonio now. I've finally recovered from my first entirely DE semester of school and from my summer school trip to Colombia (yes, the country, and yes, it is spelled with two O's and no U!). I've finally switched my doctors here so that I can get my stint with braces finished and my surgery done. I was thinking late January because I'm going home to England for Christmas and getting approval for these things can take months. And despite the fact that I know I won't be graduating on time, I have a plan. I found a church. We probably going to get to be involved with organizing and leading a connection group. I want to play in the band. I'm making friends -- I have my first lunch date with some girls here on Thursday. I've done nothing without my husband here in six months! This is exciting! I'm getting a life! And next year I'm supposed to keep doing school and my family is coming in April. I'm gonna take my brothers to the zoo and SeaWorld and Six Flags and Port Mansfield to see the deer and the circus. They're gonna see my church and realize how far from the trodden path I've wandered. :) And they'll see my apartment which is finally fully furnished except for the lack of dining room chairs and real TV and anything on the walls whatsoever. Life is great. And guess what --

There's a 50/50 chance that Ray is going to leave in February. Leave for a year for work. With his job, I knew it was coming. But They said (and by now we should know better than to believe a word They say, but They sound sooo convincing, sooo positive that we do believe They) that they would be going around June! JUNE! So I could get my surgery and recover. And do school. And chauffeur my parents around SA. And make friends. And build a ministry. And enjoy a nice quiet time of life. AND THEN move back to Springfield for a year to finish my bachelor's degree with the college of my choice while he deploys. It was a flawless plan. If he goes in Feb, I'm going in January. Basically, when we leave for Christmas, I'll have to be all packed up, because when we get back I'm moving to MO. In winter. I hate MO winters! I won't get to have my surgery (AGAIN!). My parents will have to rearrange their plans to visit me in MO. I'll have no where to take the kids except Branson (which sucks). And I'll get to watch all of my friends finish their final semester of college like I should be except I'm gonna be an eighth year senior before I graduate. And while some my say, why go back, wait until after your surgery -- I can't! It's this or graduate with the class of 2016. My degree is only offered at BBC and I've taken all of the classes I can take Distance Ed. We've been waiting for him to do this traveling stint so I could go back. It's just frustrating. You can't plan for anything. Not even six months. I'm tired. And I want life to be normal. Not weird (or whatever you call this).