the parent trap

Singing Christmas songs at the Shane & Shane concert was particularly hard for me. I never realized how fast Christmas was coming and how unprepared I am for its coming. As we burst into a joyful chorus of “O Come, Let Us Adore Him”, a song that is always sung on Christmas Eve at my church, complete with booming organ blaring behind me, it all just hit me at once – the realization that Christmas is never going to be the same again. My favorite holiday, shaped by my family’s traditions, will never exist in its familiar context again. And I just wish there were some way that I could have known that last Christmas – that it literally was my last Christmas, in a sense. Sure, it’s been going downhill for a few years in terms of Christmas spirit, but never would I have guessed that it was all about to blow up in my face 3 months later.

I’m very aware of the true reason we celebrate Christmas and of the insignificance of our own cultural traditions in light of the meaning of Christ’s birth, but please allow me to explain a concept that many Wheaton students are beyond blessed to never have experienced: when Christ isn’t the center of your family, all you’ve got are your traditions. When Christ isn’t even a part of your family, and then your family decides to disband, and then it becomes very clear exactly how important your traditions were as the glue that held your dying family together, the loss of those seemingly insignificant yet incredibly significant traditions seems like the end of the world. And the realization of the very tip of the iceberg that is that loss for me and for my family suddenly and shockingly hit me on Saturday night.

The fact is that I’m grieving. I am just embarking on a long journey of mourning the loss of family, which ultimately for me translates into the loss of a sense of security, a sense of belonging, and a sense of being loved. My entire concept of “home” (not just the physical but also the conceptual) has been completely ransacked as my house that I’ve lived in for 17 years recently sold and as I receive text messages throughout the day from my family while they’re sorting through my stuff without me. My parents attempt to encourage me by reassuring me that I’ll always have a home, that there will always be a place for me… but the truth is that providing a roof over my head does not and cannot replace what it means to have a “home”. Sometimes Wheaton can feel like a home, but at the end of the day, it’s every man for himself. At the end of the day, I return to my single room at Williston 314 and am alone without a family. I don’t return to traditions, to unconditional love, or even to the green door with the little, barking corgi in the window.

It pains me to have finally accepted the fear that’s been looming over my head since that day in March. I’ll never have a family again until it’s my own – my husband and my children. I’ll never have a “home” again until it’s a place where I can open the door at the end of a long day and find a sense of unconditional love and a true sense of belonging, sprinkled with meaningful traditions yet founded and grounded on the rock that is Christ.

I used to watch the old movie version of “The Parent Trap” when I was little, getting so excited for the part where the twins put on a dinner show for their estranged parents, and they sing that catchy song that goes, “Let’s get together, yeah yeah yeah”. However, the one thing that I never understood about the movie was why in the world 2 kids would even try to get their divorced parents back together again. What a ridiculous, impractical idea! That never happens in real life, and when their plan actually works at the end of the movie, I was amazed every time. Now, as I move through this season of grief, no longer a child yet mercilessly caught in the middle of nothing less that a tragedy, I find myself yearning to believe in “The Parent Trap” and longing to see a ridiculous, impractical movie miracle happen in my own life. I stand in the midst of tragedy with a childlike sorrow in my eyes, wishing with all my heart for a miracle that can’t happen.

You swear your whole life that it will never in a million years happen to you… but the truth is that you’ll never know.

everything is ending

my devastation floods me, as do my tears. eighteen years of life, MY life, are packed into boxes all around me, casually strewn aside. these walls, MY walls, are the color of sea mist, not lavender. MY room WAS lavender. i will, from this point on, forever hate sea mist with all of my being. my stuffed animals are in a trash bag. the air smells like paint fumes.

this room has held my life and breath, my laughter, my tears, my fear, my anxiety. these walls have witnessed my deepest pain and my greatest disparity, and now, all of the sudden, they are being torn away from me without my permission. this sacred space that has held me and always taken me as i am is being violated as i stand by, looking on helplessly. there is NOTHING i can do.

everything is ending. eighteen full years of a family struggling and fighting to survive have been sentenced to death. never more will i trust my mother blindly because never before has there been a time when mother most assuredly has NOT known best. never before have i seen my father in a state of such helplessness, such powerlessness, such sadness. any dreams i ever had of a happily ever after are gone, crushed by the weight of a broken family forever, even if it won't always be my immediate family. i find myself asking simple questions like, "what will my wedding look like?" "what will christmas be like?" and bigger questions, like, "who do i love more?" "what do i do with my anger?" "how do i love my mother when she is the root of such tragedy?" she makes me want to tear my clothing and scream -- out of pain that can't be numbed, out of confusion she won't resolve, out of complete despair and loneliness and longing to be genuinely loved in such a time of utter need.

my wheaton friends are all gone & back with their happy, healthy, and godly families while my family stares uncomfortably as i pray a silent prayer over my food, something i have never had enough courage to do before. i miss my 3 west girls who have a knack for easily taking my mind off the situation, yet i also miss my nashville friends, many of whom are not a part of my life anymore because they have chosen to remove themselves from it. the few faithful ones are the ones who have watched me grow and struggle and mourn and laugh and thrive, and they know me at my core -- they know the girl who always asked too many questions for her own good and spent way too much time interested in the minute, seemingly unimportant details of their lives. now i long for these friendships, but in their old contexts -- before they got married, had babies, moved half way across the country for college, made new and cooler friends, changed their morals, and fell out of love with god.

and where is my god anyways?? where is he while my world is crashing down around me, while my walls are being painted sea mist and my friends are leaving me for three months? where is he when my dad is trying to assure his daughter that it's going to work out, yet inside, he is panicking because he has no idea? where is he when my closest friend isn't sad to leave me behind, but i'm trying to pick up the pieces?

i wonder if mary ever felt like this. did she ever feel abandoned by god, her family, and her friends all at the same time? if so, i got just what i asked for. maybe i should stop praying to be like mary.