Today, while the blossoms still cling to the vine

I awoke this morning with sweet Georgia by my side, as she always is when my heart is heavy. 

Yesterday evening we learned that a fellow W&L alum, nearly six months pregnant, passed away after being swept off a sandbar in North Carolina. Her husband fought mightily to save her from drowning and remains in critical condition. Though I have friends who knew her well, I hardly knew her at all, but such a loss reverberates around the country through the strong ties of the W&L community. And while I know that kind of pain well - the pain of a tragic, sudden loss - I would never begin to know how her family is feeling, or how they will cope with the loss of both Jill and their baby girl, who they had named Olive. It's an almost unthinkable tragedy and she and those who loved her will be on my mind often in the coming weeks.

Today would be my brother Andrew's 28th birthday; it's always a hard day. I have little traditions I do to celebrate and remember him, like buying lunch for a homeless person, because that's something he would think is cool. I do not do anything to mark the day he died, because it is very close to his birthday and seems quite unnecessary after celebrating his life.

Last year I started a new tradition with E; each year on his birthday we will go and pick out one of his favorite children's books to add to her library. He was a voracious reader, and I like that it's a little piece of him she will know as she grows. I've made special bookplates for those books; last year it was the Cat in the Hat, which some of you may remember was a very early favorite of hers. I think this year it will be Richard Scarry.

One thing I know for sure is that your heart is marked forever by those we love and lose too soon. It took me many years to come through the fog; I'm not sure it lifted entirely until well into my late 20s. Even in the fog, life marched on, and I was carried with it, finishing my senior year, graduating from W&L, beginning my first job, getting married. I grappled with depression off and on through that time, understanding and processing the loss, regaining perspective as an only child, and overcoming the toll it took on my ability to cope (I'm sure the high-stress, long hours job I had didn't help matters - but lordy I had some crazy lady moments back then!). It took years. And moments like our wedding day, or the birth of my daughter, are truly perfect except that he is missing. And that is always, always there. But somehow, I know, so is he.

The only thing that these unthinkable tragedies do is radically alter your perspective on life; hopefully for the better, though understandably sometimes it's very hard to come through the pain. For me, about five years down the road, I finally zeroed in on the most important thing, which was that my brother and I had two hour-long conversations in the two weeks before his sudden passing, one of which was on the same night that he died. They were the only lengthy phone conversations we had ever had since I'd gone away to college.  We talked about the wonderful, haunting Johnny Cash album that had just been released. We bonded about stuff. We were growing into adult siblings, and out of snarky teenagers who merely acknowledged one another's presence. I'm so glad I answered the phone that night.

Coming out of the "fog," I made a conscious decision to slow down and live more in the present. I awoke one day, four and a half years into my career and knew that I would never be happy with my current job as my "career." I would one day look back with deep regret, realizing how much of my life it had consumed.

We had an opportunity to go to London for a semester of Miller's law school - throwing down payment money, my job, and savings irresponsibly down the drain - and while it felt like such a gamble then, it's an experience I wouldn't trade for anything. My brother, I knew, would be proud of me for chucking it all in favor of an enriching adventure, because, though two and a half years my junior, he was an actual genius and wise beyond his years. Going to Beijing for the '08 Olympics on a week's notice whim was another of those "chuck it" moments, as I truly thought they may fire me but we bought the tickets anyway. Staying home with my baby girl is time I'll never get again - babies don't keep, and for me personally, it's exactly where I want to be right now. I am so, so fortunate to be able to do it. I want to work again, someday, hopefully pursuing something I am passionate about...but for now, this is where I want to be. Living in the present, enjoying my family. I don't ever want to have any regrets. What a gift that is.



"Today, while the blossoms still sing to the vine" is a favorite old camp song of mine, and I've sung it to Eliza as a lullaby since she was a teensy little thing. Now she knows it is the cue to snuggle in and take her thumb before I put her down to sleep. It ends with, "a million tomorrows shall all pass away, 'ere I forget, all the joys that are mine - today." Even on the tough days, it centers me as a reminder to slow down, count my many blessings, stop worrying, and enjoy this moment. This moment, as they say, is your life.





XO
lmm