Unfortunate, but not Unloved

I'll never forget one of the first times that I acknowledged my mother's unexpected pregnancy. Casually, I mentioned the fact that my mom didn't expect me and that she chose a tough life when she kept me. When I said so, she looked me in the eye, smiling, "Emily, you may have been unplanned, but you weren't unwanted." // This blog post is actually about my friend, Adrienne, who took her own life a few months ago. She had been struggling with her eating disorder, alcoholism and depression for years. Eventually, she left us. As I sat down to write this post, I struggled to name it...how could I adequately frame her story, and my perspective on it? // If you've been following this blog, you're probably aware of the last time Adrienne was in Denver. She visited me to attend my "Totally Rad Females Idea Party" and proceeded to have a devastating alcoholic relapse. We met when we were in treatment for our eating disorders and were instant friends. But I never knew about the depths of her alcohol addiction. In the end, I had to put her in a hotel room. Her mom flew out to pick her up. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye. Eventually, her mom sent my mom and I a couple of department-store gift cards and an apology letter. // The whole experience felt surreal to me. I remember looking at the creature with the same blond hair and beautiful, big eyes, and knowing that somewhere in there was my friend Adrienne. The week that I spent trying to get her healthy and home will be etched into my brain forever. Watching someone put themselves through Hell, literally throwing their entire physical and emotional self into a bed of filth, is one of the most humbling experiences that I have ever had. That's really how I felt the whole time: I wasn't angry, I wasn't scared, and I wasn't depressed. I was totally and completely humbled. The ability for the human mind to so pollute a beautiful life...it blew me away. All I wanted was for Adrienne to jump back out of that person and giggle again. // My mom found out about Adrienne first. As I mentioned before, Adrienne's mom was highly involved in getting her out of Denver. I called her early on in the relapse to let her know what was happening, and after that got my own mom involved. The only thing that truly angered me throughout the ordeal was the fact that Adrienne's mom consistently deferred to my mom, instead of talking to me directly. It hurt that while I mopped Adrienne's vomit her mom treated me like I might break at any time, too. So when Adrienne's mom told us, she emailed my mom first. In the email, she had a request: // She asked us to remember Adrienne the way she was "healthy," not the way she was when she came to visit. // And I wondered, how else could I remember her? // Adrienne was not that entity crawling around a hotel room with raw alcohol. Adrienne was the person that I fell head-over-heels in love with in the Einstein's parking lot, where we were allowed to stand outside 3 times a day for "fresh air." People, you listen to me: Adrienne was the epitome of a TOTALLY RAD FEMALE, and she had every right to be at that party. // Adrienne was one of the most unapologetic, genuine people I ever met, and she was also (thankfully) one of the most fun, gracious, and kind. She walked around this world wearing pink/ animal print/ heels/ gold, like every sidewalk crack was a shell on the shores of South Beach. She laughed all the time, at herself and you and that tree and at herself for laughing at all of that. She flit through this life like a butterfly, delighted, so apt to see the positive in any situation. Her bright, glittery makeup perfectly complemented her personality. Even if you were a Gothic Satan-worshipper you would be hard-pressed to admit that Adrienne wasn't the most charming 90's starlet on this side of the equator. The best thing? She didn't even know it. // Adrienne...Adrienne did Sodoku every night. She put on her pajamas and turned on some silly television show. She knew how to have fun. She knew how to relax. In fact, Adrienne coined the oft-used term, "mindlessness," that became our way of saying, "I am going to veg out and not feel guilty for it and IN FACT I'm going to enjoy every minute of it JUSTTRYANDSTOPME!" She had wit, that girl, and she used it with humility.// I was going through my phone today. Her name floated across my screen. I deleted it. Is that it, then? That's all? Can't she just come to one more party, do one more Sodoku, get kicked out of the dining hall for dipping her Oreos in her milk with me, just once more? // When I was young, I realized that a wrinkle existed in the fabric of my life. My mom told me just how important that wrinkle was: "unplanned, but not unwanted." My mom helped me through the wrinkle-- no, the rip-- that was Adrienne's last visit. Adrienne's mom requested that we remember the beauty in her. I can't help but do that. However, her life will always be creased by the fact that it ended so tragically. // Adrienne, you may have been unfortunate. But you were not unloved. // God bless you.

Hope!

A really good soup inevitably leads to soul-sharing, I swear it's true. After a particularly warming Ramen yesterday afternoon, I found myself listening to the love tales of a new friend. The guy had had a rough couple of years, to say the least; too young and too smitten, he had rushed into a marriage only to divorce a few years later. He retreated and bachelor-dom for several months until he eventually fell in love with a beautiful friend. Of course, the divine machine had other plans. He was offered a job in Denver. Alas, his love stayed back in Michigan, a mitten none too warm...The thing that hurt the most, we decided, was not the forced distance. No, it was the fact that he had just gotten a little taste, a tiny morsel, of hope. Real hope, exciting hope, the type of hope that doesn't just say, "things will work out in the end." It's the type of hope where you jump out of bed, feel surges of creativity, and want to act, want to move, want to sip that hope through a candy straw in a 1950's diner. He could love and be loved again.// Yesterday, we both recognized the power of this kind of hope. And today, a little spiritualism taught me why. // One of my favorite religious rituals involves going to the Sacred Retreat Jesuit services in Sedalia. I meet my grandparents there, eat donuts, then go back to their house to spend a good portion of the afternoon discussing the sermon and enjoying their company. I love the Jesuits because they bring a modern mentality to such...dated...stories. Every once in a while they deliver a sermon that tells me exactly what I need to know, perfectly illuminating whatever ideas were stewing in the dark corners of my conscience. Today, they talked about hope.// According to the man in the nice purple dress (it's the second week of Advent, folks), hope is made up of three main ingredients: desire, imagination and mutuality. // Desire is the ability to describe what it is that we want. He challenged the group to wonder, "Do I truly desire to walk in the path of Christ?" He explained that we have the ability to pave the way for Christ. It felt like the Hindu teaching of "attraction," wherein we put into the world what we want to get out of it. Or like when, at my job, we "prime the tubing," which means preparing our medical device tubing by running water through it before the actual medicine. You know, stretching before a big game. // Then comes imagination. So many self-help books evoke the idea of "visualization," instructing us to imagine our desires achieved. Really, isn't that just a lot like prayer? One good idea, said our priest, was to imagine yourself walking in the path of Christ with someone else. Maybe even someone that you don't particularly like. Imagine being with them in that blessed state, without any addendum to your relationship ("I could walk with them if they just..."). A little good hopeful empathy.// Finally, there is mutuality. Mutuality is "excitement," the stimulus to act that is inspired by our relationships with others. Mutuality, said the priest, is where the spirit is.// All this talk about hope walked straight up to the front door of my heart and entered without knocking. You see, I could (and will) apply this hope-help to all the aspects of my life that I value: my spirituality, my career, my personal motivations, my friendships. But in that moment all I could think about was my open, aching heart.// Because it was hard to listen to my friend talk about the electric hope of a new love, since I felt that same hope-- about him. Yes, ye loyal readers, my newest love interest was telling me all about his love interest. I was completely blind-sided. In fact, I felt like I had been led-on. The point was that it hurt. Like mistaking Wasabi for guacamole. // Today I pulled my aching heart out of bed and into the hands of a gray-haired older couple and a man in a white and purple dress. And they told me about hope. My Grandma gave me a hug. The sun poured through the stained glass windows. The pine trees smelled like Christmas. And I felt love, love, hope and love. I sat in church desiring to love and be loved, to form the type of hope that would persist despite Amandas and Evans. I imagined myself finally writing again, putting all of this creative inspiration into the form of words, something I truly love. And then I saw my Aunt and my Grandma, their husbands, and our mutual bond.// Hope. Full.