It's been awhile since I shared a memory that actually occurred during Mandi's life... I've been so wrapped up in the brand-new experiences surrounding her death and coping with it that her life, sadly, has not been first and foremost in my mind.
I'm overwhelmed. Memories are chasing each other in circles through my mind. Little snippets: Mandi being pulled down the slip-n-slide by a four-wheeler. Mandi tackling people off the raft in the river. Mandi sitting up against the wall in dance class... talking to her when we were supposed to be dancing, about everything from boys to her latest vacation.
Mandi was a joy. Is a joy. I'm just so full of little moments I find myself virtually unable to complete my thoughts... well, I suppose I'll say adieu; I can't convince my mind to focus.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Friday, July 12, 2013
Memories of Mandi- Day 4
"Hey, how are ya?" I was ringing up a co-worker for a few things at the end of his shift. I pressed Cancel on the Credit Card machine without asking if he wanted his receipt- he never did.
"Eh. This day's gonna be bad." He signed his receipt and handed it back to me with a sigh.
"What's bad about it?" I asked, curious. I realized a moment too late that the question was probably a nosy one, but he responded without a qualm, listing a few annoying tidbits, and then adding: "... and I have a funeral tomorrow."
My head snapped up. "Mandi?" I asked. He nodded.
"She was my friend's best friend." He said briefly.
Immediately two of Mandi's best friends popped into my head, and I asked, "Which friend is that?"
He surprised me by coming out with a name I only vaguely recognized, and I thought, How many best friends did this girl have?
I thought about it for the remainder of the day. I thought and thought and thought, and I came to this conclusion: Everyone was Mandi's best friend.
There was never a person Mandi wasn't kind to. She was always surrounded by all kinds of people. She was a Cowboy boots and Four-Wheelers girl, and her friends were that and everything else.
Mandi was known everywhere. Not by everyone, the way a Student Body President or other such person is known, but everywhere. There wasn't a corner she didn't permeate. There wasn't one kind of people she missed.
She was everywhere.
I thought on this all day, and still I didn't truly realize the extent of it until I went to the viewing this evening. As I walked out of the building, wiping tears from my eyes, there was a line of people sitting outside, reminiscing and talking quietly... and I thought to myself, I had no idea she even knew all these people... and they probably had no idea she knew me.
I saw a friend from school I'd met in a couple of my classes, and I went and gave him a hug. We talked for a moment, and he said, "You know, she's not hurting anymore."
"Yeah," I sniffed, "She's probably happier there than she would be here."
"She's probably on a Four-Wheeler-"
"In the mud-"
"In a hole-"
"Getting dirty." I supplied, and laughed.
"Exactly." He smiled at me.
And I realized that they really did know her. And love her. And wish her the best in all their ways, whether they be Christian, Jewish, Atheist, or simply non-religious. They all imagined her in their ideas of Heaven, with all the goodwill and love they could muster. And why? Well, because she's wonderful, of course, but I think, in large part, it was because every one of them not only loved her, but felt loved by her. There was never one moment when she said or did anything that made anyone wonder if she really cared.
Mandi has a gift. A gift for loving every living thing on this earth, human or not. Sometimes, the greater gift is loving humans; sometimes that is more difficult than anything else. But Mandi did it! Shamelessly and fearlessly, she did it, and we all felt it.
Take a moment. Can you feel it too?
"Eh. This day's gonna be bad." He signed his receipt and handed it back to me with a sigh.
"What's bad about it?" I asked, curious. I realized a moment too late that the question was probably a nosy one, but he responded without a qualm, listing a few annoying tidbits, and then adding: "... and I have a funeral tomorrow."
My head snapped up. "Mandi?" I asked. He nodded.
"She was my friend's best friend." He said briefly.
Immediately two of Mandi's best friends popped into my head, and I asked, "Which friend is that?"
He surprised me by coming out with a name I only vaguely recognized, and I thought, How many best friends did this girl have?
I thought about it for the remainder of the day. I thought and thought and thought, and I came to this conclusion: Everyone was Mandi's best friend.
There was never a person Mandi wasn't kind to. She was always surrounded by all kinds of people. She was a Cowboy boots and Four-Wheelers girl, and her friends were that and everything else.
Mandi was known everywhere. Not by everyone, the way a Student Body President or other such person is known, but everywhere. There wasn't a corner she didn't permeate. There wasn't one kind of people she missed.
She was everywhere.
I thought on this all day, and still I didn't truly realize the extent of it until I went to the viewing this evening. As I walked out of the building, wiping tears from my eyes, there was a line of people sitting outside, reminiscing and talking quietly... and I thought to myself, I had no idea she even knew all these people... and they probably had no idea she knew me.
I saw a friend from school I'd met in a couple of my classes, and I went and gave him a hug. We talked for a moment, and he said, "You know, she's not hurting anymore."
"Yeah," I sniffed, "She's probably happier there than she would be here."
"She's probably on a Four-Wheeler-"
"In the mud-"
"In a hole-"
"Getting dirty." I supplied, and laughed.
"Exactly." He smiled at me.
And I realized that they really did know her. And love her. And wish her the best in all their ways, whether they be Christian, Jewish, Atheist, or simply non-religious. They all imagined her in their ideas of Heaven, with all the goodwill and love they could muster. And why? Well, because she's wonderful, of course, but I think, in large part, it was because every one of them not only loved her, but felt loved by her. There was never one moment when she said or did anything that made anyone wonder if she really cared.
Mandi has a gift. A gift for loving every living thing on this earth, human or not. Sometimes, the greater gift is loving humans; sometimes that is more difficult than anything else. But Mandi did it! Shamelessly and fearlessly, she did it, and we all felt it.
Take a moment. Can you feel it too?
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Memories of Mandi- Day 3
Mandi loved watching movies.
One night, after Mutual, Cassidy and I went with Mandi to her house and watched Suits on the Loose with her. It was one of her favorite movies- she mentioned it multiple times in the course of my knowing her- and always with the comment, "I love this movie!" That, and Mobsters and Mormons.
It's a small memory, and there's not much to say about it, really. We watched a movie. When it was done, we talked about boys, and the problem she was currently having with a certain boy she was currently texting. We giggled and teased and then decided, since it was a school night, that we probably ought to go home and get to bed.
So we went home.
Ah, it was nothing, really. Right? Only one movie night among the many a teenage girl experiences in her lifetime. But for some reason it stood out in my memory even when Mandi was living a normal, healthy sixteen-year-old's life. But it wasn't nothing.
I'm glad it did stand out in my memory. I'm still not sure why it did; what was particularly memorable about it, besides spending time with Mandi, who I hadn't really spent time with in a long while and rather missed. But I am ever grateful that it did, else I likely would have forgotten it- set it aside in the memory files associated with all the other movies I'd watched- and I wouldn't have it here to bring so easily to memory now.
Today's lesson- cherish the little memories. They are every bit as important as the big ones.
One night, after Mutual, Cassidy and I went with Mandi to her house and watched Suits on the Loose with her. It was one of her favorite movies- she mentioned it multiple times in the course of my knowing her- and always with the comment, "I love this movie!" That, and Mobsters and Mormons.
It's a small memory, and there's not much to say about it, really. We watched a movie. When it was done, we talked about boys, and the problem she was currently having with a certain boy she was currently texting. We giggled and teased and then decided, since it was a school night, that we probably ought to go home and get to bed.
So we went home.
Ah, it was nothing, really. Right? Only one movie night among the many a teenage girl experiences in her lifetime. But for some reason it stood out in my memory even when Mandi was living a normal, healthy sixteen-year-old's life. But it wasn't nothing.
I'm glad it did stand out in my memory. I'm still not sure why it did; what was particularly memorable about it, besides spending time with Mandi, who I hadn't really spent time with in a long while and rather missed. But I am ever grateful that it did, else I likely would have forgotten it- set it aside in the memory files associated with all the other movies I'd watched- and I wouldn't have it here to bring so easily to memory now.
Today's lesson- cherish the little memories. They are every bit as important as the big ones.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Memories of Mandi: Day 2
This is one of my most precious memories: Mandi's thirteenth birthday. I remember thinking that I hadn't a penny nor an idea of what sort of gift to give her... and so I employed the use of the talents I'd been given: I drew her a picture of a horse. She awwh'd, thanked me, and set it aside, and to be honest I felt like a bit of a lousy friend. Every other girl there had bought her some cute something, and all I'd done was draw her a lousy picture, which she set aside without a second thought.
It was months, at least, before I next saw her bedroom; I expected it to be covered in horses, and so I wasn't at all surprised when horse model upon horse model unfolded to my view. We bantered back and forth, (both of us being horse lovers,) about who had the most models, who the most pictures, who the most calendars, and ended with the question: which of us had the most horse paraphernalia in general? I went home laughing, ready to count my horses and prove myself the winner, (though Mandi did, in fact, win by a landslide,) but the most memorable thing I came away with that day was a warmth that bubbled up, clear from my toes to the tips of my hair; for there, on the wall, of all the posters she owned that she could have been displaying, was the very drawing I'd given her, out of a wish to give a gift that mattered, all those months ago.
I'm certain she never knew the value of that experience... how important and touching that was to me. I'd been poor all my life, with never a penny to spend on birthday gifts, and the day I drew that picture, I was desperate to prove myself a worthy friend; an equal to all the rest. Not only did Mandi's proud display of my artwork give me a feeling of accomplishment and hope for my popularity status, it sent a message even more substantial: that my best was good enough.
I thank Mandi every day for that.
I love you, Mandi!
It was months, at least, before I next saw her bedroom; I expected it to be covered in horses, and so I wasn't at all surprised when horse model upon horse model unfolded to my view. We bantered back and forth, (both of us being horse lovers,) about who had the most models, who the most pictures, who the most calendars, and ended with the question: which of us had the most horse paraphernalia in general? I went home laughing, ready to count my horses and prove myself the winner, (though Mandi did, in fact, win by a landslide,) but the most memorable thing I came away with that day was a warmth that bubbled up, clear from my toes to the tips of my hair; for there, on the wall, of all the posters she owned that she could have been displaying, was the very drawing I'd given her, out of a wish to give a gift that mattered, all those months ago.
I'm certain she never knew the value of that experience... how important and touching that was to me. I'd been poor all my life, with never a penny to spend on birthday gifts, and the day I drew that picture, I was desperate to prove myself a worthy friend; an equal to all the rest. Not only did Mandi's proud display of my artwork give me a feeling of accomplishment and hope for my popularity status, it sent a message even more substantial: that my best was good enough.
I thank Mandi every day for that.
I love you, Mandi!
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Memories of Mandi: Day 1
Yesterday, walking home from a wonderful day at work, my sister met me partway and told me the news about Mandi.
It still hasn't completely sunk in. Like the part of my mind that controls my emotions hasn't realized the gravity of what has occurred here. It comes in waves... just moments when tears come, and the rest is a hazy mess.
The next few posts will continue to be Memories of Mandi. I don't see a particularly good reason to stop, so why do it? Besides, there are things she can yet do... lives she can yet change... through the legacy of her short, full, and beautiful life.
And so, today is day one again... a new beginning, if you will.
Today's memory skips a few years since the last one. Cass and I stopped at Mandi's after mutual one night and talked to her for hours... telling stories, talking about Mandi's Blazer she was fixing up. It was almost ready to drive, if my memory serves me.
We talked about boys, and friends, and the drama of teenage life. We talked about shared memories... Girls' Camp, mostly. Hikes. Late-night pranks. River rafting. We told silly stories, annoying stories, stalker stories... any stories we could think of. Occasionally, we even told inspiring stories, and got in deep, philosophical moods in which we stared dramatically towards the distant walls of the garage.
Mandi's dog licked our pant legs and tried to knock us over, which was hilarious to us.. of course. Late at night, with our bodies chock-full of sugar from our activity, what wasn't hilarious?
When the time came to go home, Mandi, knowing my house was a few blocks away, offered to drive me home. I told her no, no, there were streetlights, and besides, I liked walking... but all alone, walking in the dark, and scared, I wished with all my heart that she was with me.
I never thought I'd have to repeat the experience... told myself that next time, I'd take her up on the offer, and enjoy her company instead of wandering scared by myself.
I won't say I feel alone... I won't say that I feel hopeless or lost. I still know where I am and why I'm here. I know where Mandi is. I know that Christ is always here, and that I am never alone. But yesterday, walking the rest of the way home alone, beginning the long journey of realizing that she really is gone... I felt as scared and lonely as I did that night I chose to walk in the dark.
There was hope, though... hope that maybe, even for a little bit, she was with me after all.
It still hasn't completely sunk in. Like the part of my mind that controls my emotions hasn't realized the gravity of what has occurred here. It comes in waves... just moments when tears come, and the rest is a hazy mess.
The next few posts will continue to be Memories of Mandi. I don't see a particularly good reason to stop, so why do it? Besides, there are things she can yet do... lives she can yet change... through the legacy of her short, full, and beautiful life.
Today's memory skips a few years since the last one. Cass and I stopped at Mandi's after mutual one night and talked to her for hours... telling stories, talking about Mandi's Blazer she was fixing up. It was almost ready to drive, if my memory serves me.
We talked about boys, and friends, and the drama of teenage life. We talked about shared memories... Girls' Camp, mostly. Hikes. Late-night pranks. River rafting. We told silly stories, annoying stories, stalker stories... any stories we could think of. Occasionally, we even told inspiring stories, and got in deep, philosophical moods in which we stared dramatically towards the distant walls of the garage.
Mandi's dog licked our pant legs and tried to knock us over, which was hilarious to us.. of course. Late at night, with our bodies chock-full of sugar from our activity, what wasn't hilarious?
When the time came to go home, Mandi, knowing my house was a few blocks away, offered to drive me home. I told her no, no, there were streetlights, and besides, I liked walking... but all alone, walking in the dark, and scared, I wished with all my heart that she was with me.
I never thought I'd have to repeat the experience... told myself that next time, I'd take her up on the offer, and enjoy her company instead of wandering scared by myself.
I won't say I feel alone... I won't say that I feel hopeless or lost. I still know where I am and why I'm here. I know where Mandi is. I know that Christ is always here, and that I am never alone. But yesterday, walking the rest of the way home alone, beginning the long journey of realizing that she really is gone... I felt as scared and lonely as I did that night I chose to walk in the dark.
There was hope, though... hope that maybe, even for a little bit, she was with me after all.
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Memories of Mandi: Day 1
I met Mandi at Girls' Camp. It was her first year, and she was a tiny little thing; smaller than any twelve-year old I'd ever seen, but as chipper and excited as the rest of them combined. Mandi had no fear; she went at everything with contagious excitement and brought everyone else along with her.
At twelve, Mandi had platinum-blonde hair, that, though darkening later, seemed to me a trademark of her, since one of her Secret Sister gifts was a ponytail wig the exact color of her own hair. She wrapped it around her hair and wore it all day, and we got many a good laugh out of it.
We hiked to Minnetonka Cave that year, if my memory serves me, and Mandi fell behind fast. We stopped for her a couple of times, but she didn't like that, so eventually we just went on, slowing down as imperceptibly as we could.
As hikes, go, eventually we separated into two groups: the fast group, and the group who couldn't keep up. There were sub-groups in between; slightly slower than fast, slightly faster than slow. I was in one of those, and so was one of the first to see, coming around the corner, the Bishop's wife plodding along behind us, with Mandi on her back.
She carried Mandi until the latter could walk again, and then, when she got tired, she would be gently picked up again by the Bishop's sweating, grinning wife, and carried. I watched with tears in my eyes. I was unsure why I was tearful; except that I knew how hard it would be for one person to carry the weight of two, no matter how small the second. Now I know a little bit more: I saw that day the perfect picture of Christ. Mandi represented us: tiny, determined; but tired, not strong enough to make the whole hike. The Bishop's wife represented Christ: she walked alongside Mandi until she couldn't go on, and then, in the most Christlike and charitable way she knew, she carried her. The next year, not only did Mandi make the hike on her own, she kept to the front of the pack and enjoyed every moment.
In this way, Mandi taught me three great lessons: first, that Christ will carry anyone who cannot make it on their own; second, that that is okay; and third, that there is a next time, and that the struggle of the first time makes for strength and joy upon tackling the second.
At twelve, Mandi had platinum-blonde hair, that, though darkening later, seemed to me a trademark of her, since one of her Secret Sister gifts was a ponytail wig the exact color of her own hair. She wrapped it around her hair and wore it all day, and we got many a good laugh out of it.
We hiked to Minnetonka Cave that year, if my memory serves me, and Mandi fell behind fast. We stopped for her a couple of times, but she didn't like that, so eventually we just went on, slowing down as imperceptibly as we could.
As hikes, go, eventually we separated into two groups: the fast group, and the group who couldn't keep up. There were sub-groups in between; slightly slower than fast, slightly faster than slow. I was in one of those, and so was one of the first to see, coming around the corner, the Bishop's wife plodding along behind us, with Mandi on her back.
She carried Mandi until the latter could walk again, and then, when she got tired, she would be gently picked up again by the Bishop's sweating, grinning wife, and carried. I watched with tears in my eyes. I was unsure why I was tearful; except that I knew how hard it would be for one person to carry the weight of two, no matter how small the second. Now I know a little bit more: I saw that day the perfect picture of Christ. Mandi represented us: tiny, determined; but tired, not strong enough to make the whole hike. The Bishop's wife represented Christ: she walked alongside Mandi until she couldn't go on, and then, in the most Christlike and charitable way she knew, she carried her. The next year, not only did Mandi make the hike on her own, she kept to the front of the pack and enjoyed every moment.
In this way, Mandi taught me three great lessons: first, that Christ will carry anyone who cannot make it on their own; second, that that is okay; and third, that there is a next time, and that the struggle of the first time makes for strength and joy upon tackling the second.
Memories of Mandi
Today's story begins in a hammock on a lovely, warm Saturday afternoon. This particular hammock, though most of its brethren were located hanging from fences and trees in the surrounding yard, was hanging from the walls of a sweetly decorated bedroom belonging to my two cousins, Mim and Dee. I was attending the first annual family reunion of my mother's side of the family, and was sleeping peacefully. The Complete Works of Jane Austen lay alongside me, and my mind, though no longer perusing them, was lost in its pages.
A gentle touch awoke me, and I found my mother's face alongside my own, love and concern in her features. For a moment, between sleep and wakefulness, I wished to tell her I was fine and swat her away, but I came to wakefulness by the sound of her voice, softly apologizing for waking me, and tearfully bringing me the news that at around 4:00 the previous afternoon, a dear friend and neighbor of mine had been in a car accident. She and another passenger had been thrown from the vehicle; the boy was killed on impact, and my friend was later that day life-flighted to a hospital in Salt Lake, along with the driver, who, though not thrown, was also in critical condition.
I looked at the book at the tips of my fingers. Picked it up. Dropped it again.
My mind was, as cliches suggest, still digesting the information, and nothing, at this point, was more than fact to me. I wouldn't describe it as numbness- I wasn't hiding from emotion or avoiding it; rather, as my mother kissed my hand and left the room, I lay in the hammock, waiting, wishing for some kind of emotion to come. This didn't happen to regular people. This didn't happen to me.
And even as I unknowingly created yet another story of grief with yet another description of those ever-repeated sentiments, I found myself unable to grieve. In my mind these things were facts; in my heart they were but hazy shapes, unable to break the barrier and make themselves truly known to me.
I found myself climbing out of the hammock; walking out of the room and to the computer I had formerly determined never to touch so as to turn my complete attention to my family. Logging into Facebook. Scrolling through the notifications and messages about normal things; clicking 'like' on silly pictures on my newsfeed. And always, always, reminded of the reason I'd logged on:
"Greatest sympathy for the young man who lost his life; prayers for the other two and their families."
"I don't know him personally, but from all the posts I've seen I now know how great of a person he was. His friends and family can rest easy knowing that he left behind such a great legacy. Rest in Peace... you will be missed."
"Ah man. You were the coolest and funniest kid. I remember sitting next to you in seminary, trying to keep a straight face... unsuccessfully, I might add. I'm gonna miss that, man. I'm gonna miss that a lot...."
And then, on another track:
"I love you very much; I'm praying for you doll and I'm coming to see you soon, I know you won't see this but for the people who do, keep her in your prayers."
"Life is fragile. Life is precious. Life is short. Please wear your seatbelts..."
"If anybody can pull through this, it'll sure as hell be you."...
I spent the next few days trying to forget that there was any reason for tears. It was not a forgettable fact; it lingered and still lingers through every moment; the constant question seared on the back of my eyelids: What can I do?
And finally, I've found something.
I have memories.
I have memories of this girl that nobody else has in quite the same way; I have love and experiences that can be shared- written down and spread around to rejoice in the beauty and joy of this beautiful daughter of our Heavenly Father. The next undetermined space of time on this Blog, whether ended by death or recovery, is dedicated to this cause.
In the highest of hopes and most faithful of prayers:
Memories of Mandi.
A gentle touch awoke me, and I found my mother's face alongside my own, love and concern in her features. For a moment, between sleep and wakefulness, I wished to tell her I was fine and swat her away, but I came to wakefulness by the sound of her voice, softly apologizing for waking me, and tearfully bringing me the news that at around 4:00 the previous afternoon, a dear friend and neighbor of mine had been in a car accident. She and another passenger had been thrown from the vehicle; the boy was killed on impact, and my friend was later that day life-flighted to a hospital in Salt Lake, along with the driver, who, though not thrown, was also in critical condition.
I looked at the book at the tips of my fingers. Picked it up. Dropped it again.
My mind was, as cliches suggest, still digesting the information, and nothing, at this point, was more than fact to me. I wouldn't describe it as numbness- I wasn't hiding from emotion or avoiding it; rather, as my mother kissed my hand and left the room, I lay in the hammock, waiting, wishing for some kind of emotion to come. This didn't happen to regular people. This didn't happen to me.
And even as I unknowingly created yet another story of grief with yet another description of those ever-repeated sentiments, I found myself unable to grieve. In my mind these things were facts; in my heart they were but hazy shapes, unable to break the barrier and make themselves truly known to me.
I found myself climbing out of the hammock; walking out of the room and to the computer I had formerly determined never to touch so as to turn my complete attention to my family. Logging into Facebook. Scrolling through the notifications and messages about normal things; clicking 'like' on silly pictures on my newsfeed. And always, always, reminded of the reason I'd logged on:
"Greatest sympathy for the young man who lost his life; prayers for the other two and their families."
"I don't know him personally, but from all the posts I've seen I now know how great of a person he was. His friends and family can rest easy knowing that he left behind such a great legacy. Rest in Peace... you will be missed."
"Ah man. You were the coolest and funniest kid. I remember sitting next to you in seminary, trying to keep a straight face... unsuccessfully, I might add. I'm gonna miss that, man. I'm gonna miss that a lot...."
And then, on another track:
"I love you very much; I'm praying for you doll and I'm coming to see you soon, I know you won't see this but for the people who do, keep her in your prayers."
"Life is fragile. Life is precious. Life is short. Please wear your seatbelts..."
"If anybody can pull through this, it'll sure as hell be you."...
I spent the next few days trying to forget that there was any reason for tears. It was not a forgettable fact; it lingered and still lingers through every moment; the constant question seared on the back of my eyelids: What can I do?
And finally, I've found something.
I have memories.
I have memories of this girl that nobody else has in quite the same way; I have love and experiences that can be shared- written down and spread around to rejoice in the beauty and joy of this beautiful daughter of our Heavenly Father. The next undetermined space of time on this Blog, whether ended by death or recovery, is dedicated to this cause.
In the highest of hopes and most faithful of prayers:
Memories of Mandi.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)