After I wrote this, I realized that it is really an extension (or explanation, if you will) for some of the things that happened in Part I of the one year anniversary story.
Firstly, while my parents were in La Paz in 2006 I was able to take a trip to New Orleans and spend 10 days with Dave. This was the first time we had seen one another since he left back in September of 2005 so it was much needed. We had time to reconnect. I also got to see New Orleans; not at it's best and most colorful (or so I've been told), but 6 months after a devastating hurricane and flood had wiped out most of the old areas in the city. I was there in time for Mardi Gras. I've had people tell me that "New Orleans is a sinful city and Mardi Gras is a dirty party where everyone shows everyone else their body parts", but truthfully? That is not the Mardi Gras I witnessed.
There was death all around me in New Orleans and I was consistently reminded of my own mortality. Dave drove me through what was left of the Fifth Ward and Lake Ponchartrain. I cried and cried. Everywhere you looked, on the front of the house was a mark, much like a cross. In each section was a number that notated these things: upper left = number of residents; upper right = number of dead bodies; lower left = number of pets; lower right = number of dead pets. These numbers were on every single solitary house throughout the city. It was how the dead were noted before the water receded enough that the bodies could be collected and accounted for. I cried. The entire time we were driving through the city, even through the relatively untouched French Quarter, I couldn't stop. This was not a loud sobbing but more a constant stream of tears running down my face. I didn't even bother wiping them away because more would come as soon as my face was dry anyway.
At one house, one on the lake that had a dock/garage, the power of the water had drove a large power yacht up the floorboards of the 2nd story and out a gigantic picture window area at the front of this massive two story house. The entire house was a loss. I cried more. But then Dave took me to a small Lutheran church he was attending while he was there and I met some beautiful southern people. The pastor and his wife had us over for a bar-b-que. Imagine ... these people had just lost a great deal of their earthly belongings yet they extended hospitality to us. Wow. Talk about radical hospitality. They lived it.
The Parades at Mardi Gras were indeed something to behold. The floats were very imaginative and very creative and the people were the nicest I have met in a very long time. Everyone was personable and chatted. Not a single person talked to us about how bad they had it; in fact, they were all actively trying to help others who had lost more than they had themselves. I have often thought back and wondered *how much of nothing is more than nothing?* I mean, where do you get the strength, faith, grace, love and servant's heart to serve others "less fortunate than you" ...when you ARE the less fortunate?? These people, to the very single person we talked to, never talked about their own loss but said instead things like "Oh my lordie, did you hear about Marie over on C Street? She lost everything but her house. Let's go over there and see how we can help her out." Again, showing God's love for the downtrodden, broken and despondent. How much more like God's love can anything be?
I had a wonderful vacation with Dave. One that was free of paying bills, running a business, caring for a 'tween daughter, daily errands and honey do lists, and mostly free from the weight of always trying to be someone I was not. No one knew me here so I didn't have to be happy. I could cry at the drop of a hat or at absolutely and surrounded by all of this devastation, it didn't seem remotely out of place. In fact, I almost felt at home in New Orleans. I can certainly tell you that is where the healing began. That is the time where several moments of realizations hit all at once and made a gigantic ball of memories that I will never forget. I thought of Danny often and knew that he would have loved New Orleans because he was a pretty colorful young man himself and he would have loved the flamboyant style of Bourbon Street and the French Quarter. I know that I did. The blues bars, the jazz clubs and the food were all as good as I heard they were and I enjoyed them to the fullest. My eyes were opened to how blessed my life truly was. I mean, in the great scheme of things, I had lost a son. Some of these wonderful people had lost everything and everyone that was dear to them. I can only imagine a loss so devastating that it must have left some rooted to the spot and unable to gain any forward momentum. I mean, truly, without family and seemingly without anyone to care, why bother moving forward? Who would there be to move forward for? To? I have thought about this long and hard and, quite frankly, these people will always be the heroes of this story to me. They picked themselves up by the bootstraps and got on with life ... got on with living. Which was more than I was able to do on some days.
Secondly, when I returned from New Orleans, I found myself in a more active and vibrant role as part of the worship team at our wonderful little church. Did that mean I didn't question God? Nope, it sure didn't. Did that mean that I was "all better"? Nope, not even close. Did that mean that I was learning to trust in a God I had thought had forgotten all about me for 25 years? Yes, it did. It meant taking a huge leap of faith and trusting that God wanted to use me in this particular way. Was it hard? Of course, but some rehearsal days were worse than others, just like some Sundays were harder than others. My heart was still missing a piece and God was showing me, in little pieces, that the puzzle could be put back together, it would just be missing a corner piece. My life could still have purpose, if only I'd allow God to use me.
Next, Mother's Day of 2006 came and went without major incident. I say without major incident because what I remember is that we went to church, worshiped and praised a wonderful God, listened to a tremendous teaching and sharing on moms, and then had a brunch. At no time during the teaching time was I in the sanctuary. In fact, I was in the outer terrace area sobbing. And my heartache did not simply vanish overnight because I was walking hand in hand with my best friend Jesus again. In fact, there were days and nights that I didn't even get out of bed. Dave had come home at the end of April, so this enabled me to simply "quit life" or "check out" when I felt overwhelmed. This happened all too frequently. On top of feeling overwhelmed, I lived in constant debilitating fear that C would be taken from me all too soon. In fact, I had to leave all decision regarding where she could go, who with, etc up to Dave. I knew it was irrational, some would say silly, but it was a very real fear nonetheless. I know now that satan planted that fear but at that time of my life, it didn't matter why or how it was there ... it was real to me.
It was during this time that I believe I came to realize how much Dave truly loved and understood me. Not one time did he question my inability to move and when I was paralyzed by fear of something C was proposing to do, he quickly took over and made decisions for us. I never doubted that he had mine and my families best interest at heart. He is a terrific dad, husband, counselor and my best friend. Forever. I could not have made it this far, even, without him. Second only to Jesus, he is my *earthly rock* and I thank God for him each and every day. Without hesitation. I do not know what I would do without Dave in my life. It is that simple.
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