What a week, what a year

We survived. That's the phrase that best sums up the last week, and frankly sums up the last year. 

I know it's a trite and over-used expression, but the last couple of weeks have been a roller coaster ride. In the last week alone we have survived the anniversary of Emma's death, her birthday, and her would-be graduation date. In between those dates, we watched proudly as Sarah received several awards at her middle school award ceremony and watched her "graduate" from 8th grade, capping off a year of remarkable accomplishments under the worst possible circumstances. Peter put together the "Celebrating Sarah Lil" video that's posted on the blog. Watching it, I was struck by Sarah's ability to continue to find joy and laughter in each day and how, because she was able to do that, she illuminated the darkness for all of us.


There are a lot of trite phrases that are not so trite for me anymore. Over the last year, I've learned what they really mean. The night that Emma died, I remember saying to one of our pastors, "Now I really know what it means to be heartbroken," and in this past week  I experienced the truest meaning of the word bittersweet. The anniversary of Emma's death was bittersweet, bitter for the obvious reason, but sweet because our church hosted a lovely but simple ceremony in the Memorial Garden where Emma now rests. In the beautiful and serene setting of this garden, friends and family gathered and shared prayers and poems and very personal memories of Emma. It was comforting evidence that each of the people gathered continued to carry Emma in their hearts. It was sweet.


And on her birthday, a bitter occasion because she is not with us to blow out candles and make wishes, friends and families gathered to celebrate the birthday we didn't get the chance to celebrate last year. We feasted on her favorites: sushi and s'mores, and we tattooed ourselves with butterflies. We wrote notes to her that we burned in the firepit, letting the smoke carry our messages to her. And we lit sparklers, a tribute to the note sent to me by a friend after Emma's death that likened Emma to a sparkler: "She burned bright and fast, like a sparkler, and you could not help but stare right into it's fire. But before you knew it, the flame was gone...much too fast...much too fast." And though there was sadness in each of these gestures, there was sweetness and joy, too, as we remembered Emma together.


But perhaps the sweetest part of that evening was seeing and hearing Emma in her friends as they enjoyed each other's company. We saw her in her friend Chelsea who made sure she took in and enjoyed every part of the party that was planned. We heard her in her friend Chris, as he insisted that his mispronunciation was just his unique way of pronouncing that particular word. We saw her in her friend Allie as she held Andrew's hand when he got upset. We heard her voice among those belting "The Time Warp" in our living room. And we caught a glimpse of her as her friend Dan got magnetically pulled from a group mid-conversation when he heard the singing erupt in the other room. She was bitterly absent and sweetly present all at the same time.


And it strikes me that this word bittersweet, will forever characterize our life now that Emma is gone. We will never experience life with joyful abandon. The bitter taste will always be there.  But so will the sweetness: the sweetness of memories new and old, the sweetness of friends and family, and the sweet presence of Emma when we connect with the many people who carry her in their hearts.