One Is The Loneliest Number

"The most terribly poverty is loneliness

and the feeling of being unloved."

- Mother Teresa

      Last night, I was blessed to a. have time in my schedule to get together for dinner with two very close friends, b. be able to afford such luxuries such as eating out and c. having two very close friends with whom I could enjoy such luxuries. Nothing is quite better than being together, laughing together, eating together and sharing stories together for over two hours with people one loves so dearly. As we were talking, my blog came into conversation. I haven't written since right before Thanksgiving. I could blame it on busy-ness, I could blame it on laziness, I could blame it on lack of motivation. I started posts but didn't finish them and eventually deleted them. I thought about what to write, but nothing ever came into fruition. But this particular blog post has been on my mind for a while, I just haven't had any words to express how I feel. However, after last night's discussion, I feel like I should pick up where I left off.
      Loneliness. No one likes to feel lonely. People like to be alone but no one likes to feel lonely. I'm one of those people. I like my "me time." I like taking time away for myself. I like being alone. Well alone with my dog. Being alone gives me time to think, to pray and to recollect myself after a big event or party (I'm an introvert in that sense). In fact some of the best moments for me are when I finally get to curl up under all my blankets and not do anything. I just can think there. Being alone is great...once in a while.
      As much as I like being alone from time to time, sometimes there is too much alone time. Those moments sneak in and suddenly, I'm left feeling so lonely. At school it's easy to fall into this feeling of loneliness. I don't share office space with anyone so unless someone comes in or I go out, I don't necessarily see people. There could easily be days when I don't see more than five people a day, especially when I have my class of two. Of course, that's not always a bad thing, especially on days I'm feeling more anxious or stressed than usual. But sometimes, that loneliness creeps in. Especially after a week of after school activities with only my students and not having time to do much else when I get home. Don't get me wrong, I love my students, but they're not my friends. I'm a teacher for over 13 hours a day sometimes, and that's exhausting.
      In the past year and a half of real world experiences, I've noticed that some friends have gone while others have stayed, and not necessarily the ones I would have expected. There are friends who I was really close with in college that I don't talk to anymore and haven't seen in months except for on social media. Then there are friends who I had a few classes with and now I see all the time. Of course, the moving away from campus plays a part; suddenly I'm not right next door or five minutes away. I guess I always thought that if we were true friends, we would travel distances for one another. And that's proven true in some cases. But I've lost a good number of friends in the past year and half due to distances.
      Another factor is the fact that friends either have full time jobs like me but our schedules are too rigorous to have energy left at the end of the night to socialize OR my friends don't have full time positions and are still trying to keep a high-key social life whereas I can barely keep my eyes awake past 8 pm on a Friday or Saturday night. I can't keep up. So I guess, if order for me to socialize with a person, he or she must be willing to either put up with me driving to their house only to literally Netflix and chill (which means nap) or drive to me and be willing to Netflix and chill. On a school night, that is. Fridays and Saturdays, I'm good up until about 8:00. Wherever I am at that moment, I will start falling asleep. I can't help it, I have a rigorous full time job that lasts longer that 9-5, M-F. I'm tired.
      Now, of course, that doesn't mean I want to change my job. Absolutely not, I love it. And given the choice between socializing and doing my job, I'd choose my job. I love my students, I love my co-workers, I love my ministry. But sometimes, just sometimes, the concept of not having a social life other than with my dog, is disheartening and lonely. It's when I'm snuggled up in my blankets at the end of a long day that I get to thinking: well, I left the house when it was dark today and I didn't get home until it was dark again. I haven't seen my family since dad is already in bed and Lizzie and Mom are busy. Gee when was the last time I talked to someone other than Joe on the phone? And even that it's usually a conversation of yawns and tired conversation that I fall asleep in the middle of. When was the last time I saw so and so? Yeah...it's then that loneliness settles.
     Studies say that winter causes more people to be depressed or feel lonely. I get that. When it's dark, we're more hesitant to go out. When it's dark, we want to go to bed and are tired. When it's dark we tend to not see people for ages. The holidays can make people feel lonely, too. Feeling lonely in a crowded room is the worst. Isn't there anyone at any family party other than my sister who understands that I hate conversing with so many people around; that it makes me anxious? I would rather find a quiet place in the house and have a quiet conversation. But at large parties, finding a quiet room is rare OR once you find that quiet room, you're basically invisible. Seems that way in my experiences anyway. Of course, this leads to insane inside jokes with my sister because we can keep ourselves occupied for hours. So, sometimes it's hard to complain.
     There are many times and places I've experienced loneliness this past month and maybe that's why it's been hard to write. Loneliness creeps in and suddenly you doubt everything - will anyone actually care what I write? Is it worth it? What should I even write? Where are my words? Why can't I use them? So at the end of this self-doubt, I snuggle up, make my puppy love me by bribing him to come upstairs with a bone and watching hours upon hours of Grey's Anatomy. Yes, everyone has had those days. December just seemed to bring a lot of them for me. I thought too much about the pain of losing friends, not dramatically but slowly and surely slipping away (that's the worst kind of losing friends...). I thought too much about how I literally never see the light of day. I thought too much about how I never see people. I thought a lot, probably too much, but that's okay.
      After last night, after spending two and half hours with two beautiful friends, I realized a few things. The friends who wouldn't drive distances for me or even make effort, maybe weren't the best friends for me. The best friends can always pick up where you left off despite long gaps in-between and also might be willing to literally watch movies in-house and order pizza. Sometimes it's okay to be alone but when loneliness starts creeping in, go find those friends. It's okay to want to snuggle in bed after a long day. It really is. And finally, get rid of the negativity that surrounds you on social media a.k.a. people with other full time jobs that somehow still manage to have an exuberant social life that you can neither afford or keep up with :)
       One is the loneliest number, but everyone feels lonely sometimes. We just have to make sure we don't let ourselves get too lonely. Yes, the seasonal changes might be helping that loneliness seem like a giant cloud overhead, but we can do things to help us out! I'm thankful for my friends who, it seems, have finally helped me get out from underneath that cloud of doom. Sometimes all it takes is a two and half hour dinner date with friends to keep you going.

 

What Color Is Red?

"I can't remember my exact reactions. I know they were varied - 

a mixture of surprise, disappointment, awe over horror, 

but also contentment - resignation and even joy."

- Sister Mary Avellino, IHM

     "What color is red?" or in Spanish, "Que color es rojo?" was a phrase that essentially summed up our trip to Peru. Whether we were red with embarrassment, red with laughter, or red with sunburn, our white, American faces were almost always red and Sister Marie never let us forget. She would always ask sarcastically, "What color is red?" and we would all laugh. Even driving to the airport on Thursday night we were still repeating the phrase over and over with every new adventure in the car. However, the final time we asked the question, it was serious. What color is red? We all said together and I answered, "Red is the color of our eyes and cheeks after we have been crying so hard and so long." And that was the truth. 

     After finally checking in for our flight and checking our bag, we joined the sisters for some last Quatro Day (that is, 4D ice cream...the best) in the airport before heading into security. Eight of us sat around one tiny, little, round table and laughed our last laughs together and took our last pictures. My heart was melancholy and yet, rejoicing in the goodness of God. Finally, it was time to go through security ... and time to say our final goodbyes to the sisters at the gate. One by one we each hugged each other and my eyes, the eyes that never, ever cry in public, began to water. There was no escaping it, no avoiding it, not forgetting to cry. No, with each hug, my face got wetter and wetter. And there was no embarrassment. I just cried, because it was like a band-aid: my heart had been operated on, fixed and made for the better. The sisters put band-aid on to help it heal and now, I was able to go home with a brand new and transformed heart. But, I couldn't leave the band-aid on. So, as my big Sisters, the ripped it off and smiled and as they saw how my heart had grown. Gee wiz. Thanks, that hurt. But I knew, I had been changed for the better. And the saying goodbye was just the ripping off of a bandaid. It stung for a while, but now, I can smile and say, I'm glad they changed me.

    Our last week in Peru was a hard one. I realized this while on the bus Monday morning: Grief is so hard when you have to live for the moment even though it is inevitable that something painful will happen soon. For me it was the hardship of having to walk into my classrooms with a HUGE smile on my face despite the fact that I knew in a few days I would be leaving and my heart was already so sad. But, I have had practice hiding my feelings, so for two days, I went in and out of the classrooms smiling and loving each moment. At night, or on the bus when I was able to really think and reflect, I would feel the inevitable pain of knowing I had to leave soon. I am, as I view myself, a person who lives in the moment and so, with each and every moment I was given, I lived it up. 

     During the last two days, all of our students were gradually saying goodbye. Out of the four of us, I was the only one in the secondary grades, that is high school level, as per my major! While it was hard for the others to leave, I am sure, their students were not as upset as mine...so it seemed. For little kids, they are sad for the moment, and then they keep going on with life. While yes they miss those they have met, their comprehension of what would be happening in a few days was little. For my students, they knew what was happening and their hearts were pained by the experience. Each grade had planned some sort of goodbye for me, whether it was a giant card, a song, a speech or a party, each said goodbye in their own way...making it easier and harder for all of us. They had given me the opportunity to have closure and yet, made those last moments more unforgettable than all the rest. 

     Each of the little speeches told me how important I had become in their lives. Some had even gone as far as to say that I was not just a mentor or a teacher for them but a friend. I was almost in tears every time. Some were even wise enough to say that goodbyes hurt more when you do not know when the next time is that you will see each other and isn't that the truth. When it was finally my turn to thank them, from the bottom of my heart I told them that there was no way I could eve forget those days I spent at CSA in Callou. I told them how much they had changed my life by their simply living each day to the full with me both in the classroom and out. I told them how blessed I was to have had the experience of having students and friends. But the most important thing I told them, for me and for them, was that they had become more than students and more than friends; they had become my little sisters.

     Thursday, the day we were leaving, was of course, the hardest. It was the feast of San Antonio, the patron of their school. So, of course, they had an assembly, and a special day. The day before they had adoration all day which I was so blessed to spend some time at. The assembly was fantastic but what was even better was the free time (or not so free time....pretty sure my girls were all skipping class) we had afterward to simply say our goodbyes. While I absolutely loved every moment in the classroom, I loved being able to just hang out with the chicas. We took tons of pictures, had lots of laughs and told even more stories. In fact, we even found a name for ourselves: the Quiet Llama Chicas. Yeah, we are that cute. We spent time just sitting on the floor of the classroom, eating causa and loving life. I wouldn't have spent my last moments with them any other way. Saying goodbye was so hard. 

      We found ourselves back at EIC soon enough and eating on last lunch with the sisters in our house. After lunch, the girls went upstairs to finish packing, but I had some other things to do first. First of all, I had to meet Cesar, the infamous fourth grader at the school and second, I had to go visit Sister Eileen. On my first day in EIC I found myself in her office, so it was only right to go there on my last day. I had wanted to simply give her the "nun mail" from CSA and have a little chat, but God had something else in store. Yes, in fact, He blessed me with one of the most beautiful conversations I have ever had. Sister Eileen, I then understood, had read me like an open book. Amid our tears, she told me how grateful she was for our being there in their convent, the new life we brought to them and all about the ups and downs of religious life. I never cry openly in front of people unless I have known them for a very extensive amount of time, yet there I was bawling my eyes out with this woman of God who so honestly loves Jesus and the work He has asked of her. I was in awe of her, from the very moment I met her (she drove a mean stick shift), at that moment and even now as I think about it. It was certainly a moment in my life I could never, ever forget. And if she ever gets around to reading this, I hope she knows how much I appreciate the color red in our eyes and on our cheeks! 

     I did meet Cesar after that and then quickly headed off to finish some last minute things, like packing and writing. Before we knew it, we were all smushed in a car, just the way we arrived, headed to the airport where we then checked in and had our ice cream and tears. As I sat on the airplane, I looked out my window honestly and cried. I cried because I knew in my heart I had been so blessed. I had been blessed with so many angels and like my girls had said so truthfully, the hardest part about all of these goodbyes was not knowing when I will ever see them again. Leaving everyone was so hard, but I know that because I knew them, I had been changed for good. I can't thank God enough and I can't wait to go back again! Here's to the tears and the laughter that will once again ensue when American me steps foot on Peruvian soil! 

Saved On The Way Down

"On the way down, I saw You and

I won't forget the way You love me.

On the way down, I almost fell right through, 

but I held onto You."

- Ryan Cabrera, On The Way Down

    Because of my English major nature, I have a tendency to find poetic ways in which to describe myself and my feelings. As I was reading for my classes last week, I felt complete solidarity with Gilgamesh as he traveled through 12 leagues (which is 2.4-4.6 miles long) of darkness and the Puritans who mourned death constantly in their poetry. I began to read The Shack for the second time and felt complete solidarity with Mack's ultimate heartbreak. Often, when I know I need to cry, I compare myself to a bubble of tears getting ready to burst if even the gentlest brushes me with their touch. However, this time, the bubble seemed too weak a comparison. So, I found a better one instead.

    Sometimes I think emotional pain is so much worst than actual, physical pain. However, that could easily be because I have such a high pain tolerance. For a whole week (and I know I am not alone in feeling this way), since Mike's passing, I've felt like an emotional earthquake. I felt that as the minutes go by, I was cracking more and more. I felt like the emotional earthquake was breaking the stability. But it wasn't doing it the quick and painless way, it was taking it's good, old time to break me down. At any moment, I felt like I was going to crack fully and then the tears would just flow without stopping. But I didn't break; not yet.

     My wonderful Daddy (seriously, he IS the best) picked me up from school late Wednesday night after my class ended at ten. The drive home was not like my usual rides home filled with laughter, loud conversation (we're so Italian sometimes) and tons of singing, but rather quiet, dazed and tearful. As we drove, I watched the sky from my window as silent tears flowed down my cheeks. I was almost home in my bed where I could finally let out the sobs I had been holding in all week. Suddenly, my dad told me who would be celebrating the Funeral Mass: our previous pastor, Fr. Larry. I could say nothing but, "Oh great," dreadfully. Just earlier that day I realized that the last time I had cried that hard was almost three years ago when he was transferred out of our parish. I knew instantly that if I even glanced his way at the funeral, I would crack. 

      Within hours I found my stomach churning as I mentally tried to prepare myself for what I was going to have to go through with my family and dear friends. I headed the church to practice the psalm and Ave Maria, songs I knew like the back of my hand. I didn't cry. I went to the funeral home and silent tears fell down my face as I hugged my Parish Family. I went back to church and prayed with the other members of my parish family; shed barely a tear. Mass begin and my heart continued the process of breaking. I realized Mike was a person I never thought I was going to lose. As much as I know that all earthly life comes to an end and everyone dies, he was that strong, fatherly figure who just couldn't die. It seemed impossible. As I sat in the pew barely listening to the first reading, I felt the emotional earthquake starting in full force. I felt sick to my stomach as I said over and over and over again, "Jesus, please. Help me." 

     I walked up the aisle, bowed at the altar, and began to sing the traditional psalm 23. Having sung the familiar verses so many times, I could easily close my eyes and sing from memory. For some reason, closing my eyes made singing so much easier. Perhaps because I couldn't see the beautiful members of my parish family. However, for the last verse, I opened my eyes. I sung so loud and clear and then suddenly, I cracked as I tried to sing, "I shall dwell in the house of the Lord all my days." I was done. I lost my voice in the cracks the earthquake was setting off. The tears exploded, and what would normally make any other person want to runaway and hide, I stood there, listening as my parish family sang what I was meant to sing. When the piano stopped playing, I turned to make my exit off the altar, but suddenly was engulfed in arms so big and loving. Fr. Larry had crossed the altar, pulled me into a giant hug and that's when the sobbing started. You know, sobbing where you can't breathe, the kind of sobbing I described last blog post. Right there, on the altar, wrapped in a giant hug, I sobbed. 

     He had always been the one who made everything else make sense. He was that crazy uncle that I just loved and loved. He made fun of me playfully, knew when he had to listen, made everything wrong that ever happened seem ok and always, always, always stood up for me. When I found out he was being transferred, I cried so bad for so many days. I couldn't believe he was being taken away from us. And yet, things were ok for a while once he left. He kept in touch, called me every so often to see how school was going, to see how the family was, you know, casual. Then life got busy for him, and life got busier for me, and until yesterday, it had been almost a year since I talked to him. Now that's not to say I didn't think of him or pray for him, but I almost came to the peace of knowing things would never be the same and the distance was growing. Yet, there he was, holding me in the tight teddy bear hug as I sobbed over the loss of our friend. 

      As my Daddy read the second reading with his strong voice, Fr. Larry sat with me and told me how good it was to cry, how healthy it was, and if I didn't cry, he'd be worried I didn't care, that I had lost the loving sensitivity I always had, that he loved. Within a few minutes, the earthquake had happened, the cracks were opened, the tears had flowed out and he had poured in the cement in the cracks to put me back together. It was literally like he hugged the pieces back into place. He cared enough to break away from the traditional priest stereotypes so many times, and this time was no exception. You see, I was headed down, down, down, into the cracks of a deep sadness, but He saved me by sending someone who always seemed to have saved me before. I am so blessed to know not only beautiful sisters and religious, but also some kick butt, sincerely caring, superhero style priests!

      As I've told many who've asked today, things are still going to be hard; how can they not be? However, I've had closure, I'm at peace and I've been put back together. I can't thank all of you enough for all the prayers you've said for my Parish family and for me. The spiritual support is immense. I truly am so blessed to know such great people. Especially those who are willing to save me on my way down.