You've Gotta Look for the Laughs

If you can wrap your head around this concept, I'm about to provide you with just about thee most heartwarming story of post-divorce drama you've ever heard. And, yes, I just said that. And, no, this isn't a case of me taking my divorce lightly (as I've oddly been accused of by people who act like they have no clue as to who I really am, which is true, but you'd think after 8 or 9 years of so called "friendship" they'd catch a freaking clue at some point). ANYWAYMOVINGONOOOOKKKKTHEN.....

This is me looking at memories of this year and changing my perspective. Yes, there were dark days as you all (well, most of you normal, nonpsychotic people) know. And, yes, there were battles fought. But in the midst of it all, I now see hugs given to me during times of need...I see kisses and hands that reached out to me during moments filled with tears. I see words of hope spoken, emailed, messaged, commented, posted, sent to me when I was hurting. I see laughter and smiles from some of you in attempts to make awkward jokes about the situation in an effort to force a smile out of me.

So I'm about to share with you what has now become one of my most precious memories of this year and I hope it reminds you to look for these little rays of sunlight during the dark, twisted days in your own life. 'God knows' (pun intended) we all have them. So if you're in the middle of something trying right now, I ask you to examine your perspective and the thoughts drifting through your brain and perhaps there's room for change.

After spending a couple of weeks in Seattle after I returned  home from Thailand, I had the pleasure of spending the remainder of the summer at home with my parents and siblings in lovely Coeur d' Alene. It was a healing time for me, though at times it didn't seem like it. I was able to catch up with old school, bank and church friends. I spent several weekends in Spokane with a couple of my closest friends and there were tons of tears and laughs and lots of girl talks and discussions about the future.

When this little moment happened, it was midsummer and my best friend was visiting from the west side. Now, if any of you have seen/read Twilight (and if you haven't, I can't catch you up on the epicness of this comparison right now as there simply isn't time), you all know the scene in the second film in which Rosalie is describing how she became a vampire and her bitter attitude toward the life she could have lead, had it not been for the actions of her ex fiance. (For those of you who don't know--briefly, her ex fiance basically raped her and it was as she was dying that Carlisle found her and 'saved' her by turning her into a vampire). Anyway, as she describes the ways she got back at her ex and his other guy friends who also mistreated her, she explains with a crooked smile, 'Back then, I was a little theatrical.' (And she basically killed each one of them violently dressed up in her would be wedding dress...creepy, but kind of awesome as far as tales of vengeance are concerned).

My point with that tangent was that I, too, am also a bit theatrical. And I'm not ashamed of it anymore--no way. And many of you know that earlier this year as I was packing up "our" old apartment (and my ex was out at coffee with two of my supposed 'close friends'...haha um yeah) I shattered my wedding toasting glasses, through books at the wall, ripped up gifts from his family, and burned all of my wedding pictures. Hey, I believe you have to do what works for you to get past things. And for pete's sake, after I came home from Thailand, a country in which there are ceremonies for LITERALLY EVERYTHING, I have become even more of a drama queen. And now I can justify  it much more logically by chalking all the drama up to deeper acceptance of cross cultural heritage.

I had a discussion yesterday with one of my professors over coffee about the fact that in our American culture, there is no way of handling grief. We have no rites of passage to get us from one time of pain, through suffering, and into the adjustment of life afterward. We have no ceremonies, other than funerals and/or a couple of bereavement days off from work, right? Even 'getting help' through counseling is sometimes joked about or looked down upon in our society! Grief is an awkward topic that people shy away from, don't know how to speak about or handle. My discussion yesterday centered on the loss I felt from my divorce and the loss my professor felt when he and his wife lost a child. He discussed the ways in which friends of his began avoiding them, and avoiding the topic. He and his wife were very open about their loss and still are today, years later, and they found their transparency made others uncomfortable, tense, hesitant, visibly shaken. Why is it that we have these types of awkward conversations here when grief and loss and pain are an integral part of the human experience? The experience of it transcends culture, language, borders. Why is that that here, we are so afraid of dealing with our problems? (I could get into a commentary as to how this specific problem was what ended my marriage, but I will save that for later when I begin writing on this blog more detail about what actually happened in my life this year and why my marriage ended).

So for those of you who say I'm too dramatic and only act that way to get attention, I have two words for you and they aren't appropriate to post on here. Heck, I'll even give you a couple clues--the second word is 'you' and the first word begins with an 'F.'

Clear enough? Ok, then.

Me shattering wedding glasses in the privacy of my apartment as my life was literally falling apart at that very moment was for no one but me. Me ripping up and burning wedding pictures--that was for me, too. It was a ceremony, a transition from one stage into the next-a conduit, if you will from pain into whatever was to follow.

So this little adventure takes place on a sunny afternoon in CDA. My parents were gone and I was at home with my sisters and best friend. It is imperative to note that my parents spent the summer re-landscaping their back yard. It looks absolutely beautiful now with a pond and even a fire pit. (The fire pit is particularly key here). I was working away happily in the basement, unpacking and repacking boxes of stuff before I moved back to school. They had all been hastily packed before my parents happily came to move (read: rescue) me out of Moscow and home quickly before I left for Thailand. I was attempting to get rid of more stuff I didn't need and de-clutter before I moved back to school. During this process, whistling happily away on a quiet, sunny afternoon when a folder slipped out of a box and fell on the floor. In it was a handful of wedding/honeymoon photos that I apparently missed somehow in my burning rituals of early spring. It was as if everything stopped as I saw photos of my ex's arms wrapped around me, me smiling blissfully. Undoubtedly, this doesn't seem odd to many of you as this is how you've known me--how you used to know us years ago. But for me, there's been this gigantic rip that's happened between then and now. Make sense? So it shocked me. I remembered then that I literally could not burn some of the pictures in the spring..some of my favorites, you see, because it was too painful and I'd tucked them in a completely unrelated folder and forgot about them.

And I became very angry very suddenly--red in the face angry. So I marched upstairs, mumbling under my breath to myself, searching angrily for matches (picture me going through kitchen cupboards knocking stuff over, etc). My littlest sister, Hannah, could tell that I was upset and started following me around, practically nipping at my heals wondering if I was ok. For those of you that don't know her, she is thee most vibrant, hyperactive, energetic, sweetest 9 year old you'll ever meet. She looks like a mini version of Audrey Hepburn and she is probably  my biggest fan--I've never known why. I started to burn the pictures in the sink, but there were a lot of them, and by that time I'd attracted the attention of my 15 year old sister, Beckie--the practical, no nonsense, brilliant, clever, snarky, hipster sister of mine. She calmly stated flatly that I would set off the smoke alarm if I attempted to burn that many pictures inside. By that time, my best friend had also followed me upstairs and was also trying to calm me down, asking if I had to burn them at all.

"Can't you just throw them in the garbage?" I just stared and the girls seemed to try to send looks that implied that was the stupidest question anyone had ever asked. Beckie, ever the mischievous one, suggested burning them in the fire pit where we could get the hose if anything got out of control. I thought that was brilliant.

So outside I went. And outside came the girls and the best friend after me, half entertained, half concerned for my safety and sanity. So with a little newspaper and kindling and tons of wedding pictures, I set the match in the fire pit--and nothing happened. Why? I didn't know. It wouldn't burn. The pictures just wouldn't burn. The newspaper did and fizzled out, but the pictures wouldn't. I was yelling and kicking things at this point, wondering why the universe wouldn't even allow me to destroy my wedding pictures in an appropriate and satisfying fashion. In the middle of a dramatic monologue aimed skyward, my best friend asked, jokingly if we had any gasoline. Beckie immediately lit up and said that we did in the garage. So I ordered her to go get it. (Haha 'ordered'...hardly...she is a sucker for entertainment and adventure just like I am).  She came back and I dumped the gasoline on the fire pit, (and some of it trailed off behind when I tossed it and this is important later).

So now that I had my gasoline and the garden hose at the ready, I lit the match  and dropped it in. Needless to say, it went POOF and not only did the newspaper and kindling and pictures start burning, but a quick trail of fire lit up behind the fire pit in my parents nicely and newly manicured lawn that initial splash of gasoline had landed. Smoke was everywhere within minutes. The fire remained contained in the pit and only lasted about twenty minutes before it burned out, and I was satisfied because all of the pictures were black chunks of memories, ashes.

But there was smoke everywhere. Once it died down and I doused it in water, I went back into the basement, traces of black ash on my face and hands and hair in a friz to continue unpacking and repacking my boxes. Beckie continued to giggle, amazed at my insanity and very entertained by it, mumbling that nothing exciting ever happens around the house when I'm not there and Hannah was a mix of excitement and extreme concern.

My parents returned home from their errands to puffs of smoke all over the backyard and hadn't even gotten in the door before they were approached by their lovely next door neighbors who were (quite sensibly) inquiring as to whether or not something had caught on fire. My parents had no idea what was going on and replied they had just returned home when Hannah, after overhearing their conversation, ran out onto the porch and began her heartfelt, and in her mind, logical explanation as to what happened.

She was convinced her explanation would convince everyone that everything was fine so she came outside screaming, "No!!! Everyone, it's ok!!! My sister is home from college and she just got divorced and it was bad--like a super awful divorce!!! So she was just burning some of her old wedding stuff!!!!  But don't worry, guys, because everything is ok!!!!!!" And with that, she raced back inside the house, leaving my parents to stare awkwardly at the neighbors who stared awkwardly back.

This story--how it began, happened and ended--has given me so many laughs this year, trust me. And honestly, it's weird that this has become one of those prized family memories. But it is. I'm amazed at all the smiles and laughter and amazing memories and experiences I've had this year in spite of everything else.

And I think pain makes the smiles and happiness that much more special, yes? It makes us more appreciative and more compassionate. Cheers to looking for the laughs in the midst of this crazy, insane journey that is life.