Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.... Psalm 23
Walking , moving through, not sprinting or sitting in. This bright beautiful spring is overshadowed by May 24: Carolyn Louise Tye’s 28th birthday.
Mayday:
My mayday of grief began in an unexpected place a little tucked away Eden in a nearby neighborhood. We wander over there, my little toddler and I, towards old unkept trees framed by wildly reaching weeds. A gravel path follows a small cloudy creek. The crowning jewel of this rustic oasis: a creaky wooden playground with majestic long sturdy plastic slides. My one year old grasps my hands to walk up and giggles down those slides repeatedly. Here, here the sorrow comes.
Why? Why God have you forsaken me?
She suffered. She was externally silent and smiling, but internally voices shouted until the bullet turned them off. So as the surprising cool spring breezes rustled the freshly green trees, my heart hurt: the lost of life: a sister to suicide, a society either sick or socially distance. So, I carry my sorrow.
Walking in the Valley:
Thoughts about her in my waking and slip in and out of my mind like dark foliage with blurry shadows as I carry onwards.
I dream that Carolyn alive and I squeeze her with tears of joy saying, “You are alive! I am so happy you are with us!” Then my mother and older sister look at me like I was crazy for being so overly dramatic! Then I wake up to the nightmarish reality- she is gone.
I play with my son on our screen porch. HE jumps on the red seat cushions that belonged to her. I look up and see her paper-cross made by African artists. Then I daydream, Carolyn is pregnant. I share my maternity favorite items and how to stay calm at the thought of giving birth- sharing the unsung strength of womanhood that sustains life. Us, comparing our little ones in the most competitive manner. “My son would walked first” I say. “My daughter sleeps longer!” Carolyn retorts. Of course, both of us would not so secretly want to be the better mother according to our innate childhood competitiveness! Apologizes and empathy would of course follow with sweet words and dry wine before we start the whole cycle over again. I fantasize about her bridal shower, her wedding, her baby shower, and even just a family dinner with old-fashion sibling bickering. The missing feels empty and heavy.
My my most wishful state of thinking, I desire to live in two paradoxical worlds. One in the past, being a girl again and bickering with my older sister as we play “survival” in the backyard. Carolyn and Christine would hunt with sticks as I gathered wild strawberry salad. The other world towards the future where I am walking in our neighborhood with my toddler saying “hi” by whacking the pine or magnolia leaves. Of course, my present ideal reality consists of my son Matthew with his Aunt Carolyn alive playing with him. But, my present situation makes me yearn for two lives, one in the past with her and one in the future with my son and other children. A paradox of joy intertwined with sorrow. Aunt Carolyn will be a story for my son and any other children God blesses us with. A part of the past, a sad tale and not the beautiful complicated passionate experience of a person she was.
So I stroll with my sorrowful shadows today on her 28th birthday on Earth, first birthday in heaven. I am open to be shaped by pain, carrying the cross of her while looking to my Savior, the Man of Sorrows. No solutions, or lessons shared yet, just sadness like a song that must be sung. Thank you for listening.
You are not your own. Carolyn was someone’s daughter, sister, girlfriend, and friend. Her pain becomes our pain just like the joys she shared were ours as well.
Happy Birthday big sis, I miss you.
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