The Paleo Mama

Homegrown and Handmade

loss

Memoirs of a Sister: Day 3

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She’s gone. But she’s everywhere.

I can still smell her. I still hear her laugh, see her gestures; the way she used to play with her hair. Everything about her is still so close, within reach.

Sometimes I can almost hear her talking to me. I close my eyes and can feel her around me and indwelling me.

I try to remember the shape of her hands. Hands that I looked at my whole life. Hands that held me when I needed a hug. Hands that fought for me when no one else would. Hands that wrote beautiful stories and quirky poems. Her hands touched many lives and she probably didn’t even realize it. When 500 people showed up at her wake and memorial, I was reminded that it was impossible not to love Dinah.

I miss her.  I miss everything about her. Even her imperfections were beautiful. She loved voraciously.

She was spirited.

She was creative.

She was luminous.

She was Dinah.

Memoirs of a Sister: Day 2

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Today, my husband and I are packing up our house. We sold our home and are, temporarily, moving into a rental home till we finish out the next few months with the Army.

I found this as I was packing.

My sister wrote this letter to me when I was serving a year in Thailand.

Chokes me up reading it. I miss you my best friend.

 

 

Memoirs of a Sister: Day 1

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I’ve decided to dedicate this next month of my blogging to my sister. Each day I’m going to post a random memory of Dinah until September 23, the day she died. I figured this might help me as we approach the one year anniversary mark of her passing. You see, I don’t want to forget Dinah, I want to celebrate her beautiful life.

And so here I begin…these memoirs of my sister…some may be beautiful. Some may only make me laugh. Some may bring you to tears. This is her life.

Growing up me and Dinah were just like most sisters. When we fought, we fought hard. When we laughed, we laughed so hard that our abs hurt the next day. And when someone disrespected us, we defended each other’s honor.

Dinah was arrested once. This makes me chuckle just thinking about it. Dinah and I were going to the movies one night and as we were standing in line for tickets, a really tall and muscular man was standing behind us. It was our turn to go buy our movie ticket and we were being loud and laughing (like we always were). I guess he was annoyed with us and he butted us in line and went up to the ticket counter. I said, “Excuse me, sir, it’s our turn and you just jumped in front of us.” He didn’t like that so he started yelling at me and walked over to me and called me a bitch.

I looked at Dinah and said to forget him. Then this man proceeded to come in my face and call me a “cunt”. Something in Dinah switched into protective sister mode and she ran over to this giant man (who we found out later had a black belt) and starting punching the living poo out of him. She ended up ripping his shirt and went all cat-woman crazy by kicking him where it counted! Oh my, this just makes me laugh.

Thankfully, the man didn’t raise a hand to Dinah. I ended up peeling Dinah off of him and the cops, who were already on the scene, separated us. The douch-bag pressed charges and Dinah was hand-cuffed and driven away in a cop car. I stood there in horror as to what I was going to tell our parents. I think Dinah was still in highschool and I was in college. We were both still living at home, so I drove home and had the honor of telling our parents that Dinah was just arrested. LOL…oh Dinah.

She was released later that night but went through years of community service and anger management! We never let her live the anger management part down!

I hold this memory close to my heart. Dinah protected me. She defended my honor even though the offender was HUGE.

She was fearless.

She was brave.

She was impulsive.

She was Dinah.

 

When deep cries out to deep…

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I’ve never understood the verse from the Bible that says, “When deep cries out to deep.” I’ve never known deep. What is deep? Is it the bottom of a sinkhole? Is is the deep end of the pool? Or is it the way someone describes a wound? A wound; cut so deep to the bone…piercing pain, severed and bleeding; a wound so deep that nothing seems to heal it.

My father cut his leg 2.5 months ago and it doesn’t seem to heal. His leg has become an allegory for my emotions and aching that I feel. Maybe his leg won’t heal because his heart won’t heal. The pain that the Dinah-wound has left hasn’t even began to scar over. I feel left open, bleeding, and infected with lies. You see, my Dinah-wound is big. My Dinah-wound is cut to the bone. My Dinah-wound is infected with lies that have been whispered into my ear over and over and over again. “This is your fault, Jackie. You could have prevented this.” “Where were you for her.” “Didn’t you see the pain and anguish that she was feeling.” “You could have stopped this.” What kind of sister are you?”

My ears have heard these lies for too long. My heart has believed them. I can’t live like this. I know these are lies but yet I turn my ear to them. It’s so easy to blame yourself even when things are completely outside your control. You see, blaming myself has only pushed the grief farther down. It’s only made me angry and doesn’t let me get to the part where the true healing comes. My Dinah-wound is just beginning to heal. I see the tissue begin to repair and rebuild. I see the infection begin to disappear. I see the blood drying over and the scab beginning to form.

Dinah left without saying goodbye. The devastation that she must have felt must compare to the devastation that my family and I feel with her loss. They say that at a year you should be getting over your grief, but I feel like mine has just begun.

The crushed and pierced hands of my Savior are fixing me. They are reaching down into the deepest parts of my wound and with each “stitch” they are grabbing the flesh and pulling it back together.

My Dinah-wound will never look pretty. It will never look like it did before. The scar will always be there to invite questions from strangers and glances from people who knew what happened.

Dinah took her life and with it she took everything. Everything that I once was.

Dinah & I on my wedding day

This last year I have buried myself into my own personal cocoon. It’s comfortable in here. The walls of my cocoon protect. The walls of my cocoon keep me from moving on. My walls keep me from accepting that my sister is gone. Gone forever.

However, my Savior is with me and has reached His wounded hands into my walls and is forcing me to come out. The patterns on my wings tell of my story. The scars on my body tell of my hurt.

There will be no open wound when He is finished with me. My Dinah-wound will heal into a perfect scar and will only add to the beauty of the butterfly that God is creating out of me.