Easter Reflections

If I had to pick my favorite holiday it would be Easter. I delight in the activity surrounding it--candy, coloring eggs, egg hunts, family gatherings, an excuse to buy a new dress and get dressed up, sightings of new lambs in green pastures, mom's potato salad at Easter dinner, and the fact that it takes place in Spring, my favorite season. This year I've been reflecting on Easter just one short year ago and all that's changed since.

Last year, as I frequently do, I spent Easter in Colorado. Amy, Julie and I hit the road with our traveling circus of three kids, one large yellow Lab, and assorted luggage and headed to mom's house in Pueblo for the weekend. That Saturday brought a house full of people, as my three stepsisters, their spouses and all of their children came down for a party. We had an egg hunt for the kids and a cookout. A picture taken of me that day with my sisters captured my happiness and contentment. At that moment I was surrounded by things that make me happy. The sun was shining, family was all around me, our kids were laughing and playing, my sisters were by my side. Life was good.

That evening was spent like most evenings when we gathered at mom's -- in the family room in front of the fireplace with the dogs, Phoenix and Buster at our feet. Julie and me shared a bedroom that trip, sleeping in twin beds just a few feet apart from each other. I remember that night, drifting off to sleep in mid-conversation with my sister, loving that feeling of returning to childhood with mom down the hall and my sister sleeping across from me barely an arm's length away. It was that familiar, cozy feeling of being home, which was funny because I didn't grow up in that house. None of us did.  But home is all about the feeling of a place, not the actual location. 

On Easter morning, the entire household was up and gathered in the living room in our pajamas, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. The kids were eating chocolate eggs from their Easter baskets. Julie and I eventually roused ourselves and went for a run, 7 miles if I recall. It would be the last time we ran together, but of course I didn't know it at the time. We ran through the streets of Pueblo, her old stomping grounds. As we ran, she talked about her time there during high school. I asked her a lot of questions about what it felt like to move to a new town as a high school student. Was she scared? Did she miss her friends? How hard was it to make new friends? She told me things about that period of her life that she'd never shared with me before. I learned so much about her during that run.  Our route took us past many places that had meaning to her. She explained all the happy memories she had of running on the cross-country team, and of the really good friends she made at East High. She talked about her gratitude to our stepdad Jim, and how he'd made the transition so much easier for her.


Later, after Easter dinner we all headed back towards Boulder. Julie and I ended up driving together, while Amy took all the kids in her car. Our good chat continued. We talked about so many things we'd never talked about before. At Castle Rock we pulled off for a pit stop and got ice cream cones and fries at McDonalds. We giggled at our unhealthy snack and the silly satisfaction we gained from giving in to such a ridiculous craving. When we got home to Julie's apartment, I once again drug my suitcase up three long flights of stairs. We both lamented the fact that despite being runners, the climb to her apartment was always hard on our quads! We quickly changed into warm jackets and took her dog Phoenix to a nearby park to chase a tennis ball. Looking back on that evening, I'm struck at how such a seemingly inconsequential moment in life was filled with such pure joy. There I was swinging on a swing set, talking to Julie in between her laps around the park with Phoenix. The wind was blowing and cold, but we were laughing and happy. Inside I felt light-hearted and free from worry. Being in Colorado with my sisters always had that effect on me.


The next day, Julie went off to work and I headed back to Utah. Our goodbyes were always matter-of-fact. "Goodbye. Thanks for coming out. I love you. See you soon." Of course we would. We just took it for granted. At least I did. Little did I know the next time I'd be back in her apartment, it would be to empty it of her belongings after her funeral. That time the climb up those stairs didn't hurt just my quads. It broke my heart.


This Easter is different for me. Instead of joy, I'm reminded of all that I've lost. Going home to mom's for Easter is a thought I can't even bear. I'm afraid of how different everything will be. Julie is gone. Phoenix will no longer be a part of our road trips, and even my mom's dog Buster is gone. He died four days after Julie. So much has changed. Having a sister missing from our comfortable group of three leaves an unfathomable void. Her absence is always there, just under the surface. Amy and I carry on, but now when we're together things seem   off-kilter. We haven't adjusted to our new dynamic of only two sisters.


Eventually I'll go home again. Just not this year. We'll all make new, happy memories of Easter at mom's. For now, I try to focus on the memories and the good feelings they bring.  I've realized that happiness in life is made up of so many simple moments. Times that aren't planned. Conversations that just happen. Cravings that are indulged. Laughter that comes for almost no reason at all. Those are the moments we carry in our hearts. 

Three More in Six Million

The most common, and nearly unanimous reaction from people upon hearing I was taking a trip to Bangladesh was "Why are you going there?!" The surface answer was simple. "I'm going to visit my brother and his family." The real reason was a bit more complicated. First, some background...

My brother Jon, his wife Sam, and their son Atticus temporarily relocated to Bangladesh in the summer of 2009, and soon started blogging about their experiences there. I was quickly sucked in, and their every blog post left me eagerly anticipating the next one. Most conversations with my family usually involved us discussing their latest post. We were all enjoying living vicariously through their experiences.

Late last year my dad planned a visit to Bangladesh. As his trip drew closer, my sister Julie and I talked about joining him, or taking our own trip there together. We spent hours discussing the pros and cons of going. In the end, both of our pragmatic natures won. We both had bills to pay, Julie was saving up to buy a house, I was training for a race, and there were work obligations. We couldn't just throw caution to the wind and go traipsing off to a third world country! So, dad took his trip, and when he returned I listened to his stories and poured over his pictures, wishing I'd been there. Julie and I still talked about going later in the year, but didn't do anything serious about making it happen. Then, in May, the unthinkable happened. Julie committed suicide, and the bottom dropped out of my world.

During the week following her death, fourteen of us stayed together under one roof. All four remaining siblings, plus our kids were together for an entire week. Jason was there too. It was Jason, Julie's dear friend, former boyfriend, and confidante, that had the courage to confirm our worst fears, finding our beloved sister and daughter, and staying with her during those awful hours while the police and coroner did their work. We'd all loved him before, but now he was part of the family. Most evenings that week were spent on the deck, talking, reminiscing, laughing, and crying. It was during one of those evenings that the idea of going to Bangladesh was brought up again. Sam issued an invitation, and the seed was firmly planted.

Life carried on, and I functioned through a dense shroud of grief and confusion that permeated nearly every moment. As I worked through my grief, there were lots of in-depth discussions with friends and family about life, its meaning, and what really matters when it's all said and done. It started to dawn on me that my well-ordered, safe little life hadn't protected me at all. The worst had still happened, and nobody had checked with me first! My good friend Aimee and I talked a lot about losing loved ones, and how important it is to make memories with people you love. Because when they're gone, the memories and experiences are all that remains. One day in early July, as we talked about my longing to see and experience Bangladesh, and to spend time with my brother's family, we looked at each other and said, "That's it. Enough talking, we're going." Since Jason was already about 80% convinced of going, he was ecstatic when I sent him the text saying "We're going to Bangladesh baby!" or something of the sort.

The next few months were a flurry of passport and visa applications, immunizations, planning, stressing about what to wear in a mostly Muslim country (for Aimee and Keicha), and detailed emails from Sam explaining everything we could expect and exactly what we should do every step of the way. If she ever decides to throw in the towel on being a historian, she definitely has a shot at a second career as a travel agent/tour guide.
Finally, the big day arrived. Off we went on our big adventure. It all still seemed a little surreal that I was traveling to the other side of the world. The reality of it started to set in at the Abu Dhabi airport. There were the three of us, tired and a little dazed after 15 hours on airplanes, standing in line to board the plane to Dhaka. Nobody spoke English, and an endless line of women in black burka's with only their dark eyes showing, accompanied by men in traditional Muslim dress, streamed past us. We weren't in Kansas anymore! We boarded the plane, and found ourselves unexpectedly, delightfully, upgraded to Business Class. Aaahh, now this was the life! There couldn't have been a starker contrast than when we left our comfortable Business Class bubble and stepped into the Dhaka airport. I really felt like Alice when she fell down the rabbit hole.

Jason & I giddy with excitement at our upgrade.

Jason & Aimee enjoy the comforts of Business Class.

So there we were, in Bangladesh. Thanks to Sam's instructions we made it to the immigration counter and placed our passports in front of the clerk. As he took forever doing whatever it was he did (we still think he was clueless, and just spent several minutes keying random things into the computer in an effort to appear official), I looked up and saw Jon waving at us through the window. Here I was at 4 a.m., in a completely foreign, unfamilar place, feeling overwhelmed, exhausted and excited all at once. I'd made it, and Jon was exactly where Sam said he'd be, on time, waiting for us. I could relax.

We drove throught the dark streets of Dhaka to Jon and Sam's apartment. It was very early in the morning, but we stayed up sitting around the kitchen table chatting, and enjoyed our very first batch of coffee made using their makeshift, modified version of a French coffee press.

Where there's a will, there's a way. No coffee pot? No problem.

Our first day was spent exploring the area near where Jon and Sam live, and getting used to the sights and sounds of one of the most densely populated cities in the world. Dhaka is 59.40 sq. miles in size with a population of over 12 million. The energy of large cities has always thrilled me, and Dhaka was crowded, busy, colorful and loud. I immediately knew I was going to love this place!