Andrea

A condensed version of some things I wrote. 

I was in 5^th grade when Kyle was a freshman at BYU and started dating Andrea Hastings. That probably puts me at about 11 years old when I met her. As a 23 year old, that means I have known her for more than half my life. How I hoped that was how it would be back then. How we all hoped everything would work out for she and Kyle. How I wanted her for a sister from the moment I met her. Because all who met her wanted her to somehow be in their lives long term. She was just like that. Scatter Sunshine, might be how she described it. And once she left a little of her light on you, you’d understand.

Maybe you were never a little girl, or if you were, you just don’t remember, but all little girls think and dream about what they will be like when they’re older. When you meet older girls, you automatically pick out the ones you hope to be like, look like, act like, sound like, etc. That is just the way it is. As a little girl on the eve of no longer being a little girl, I met Andrea and immediately wanted to be like her. I wanted to have a bright white smile that showed my entire top row of teeth and a little bit of my gums, like her. I wanted long, shiny hair, like her. I wanted a beautiful, clear whistle, like her. I wanted a full, contagious laugh, like her. I wanted the ability of easy conversation, like her. And my sweet brother, who I so looked up to, approved of and loved her, which to me was further proof that she truly was something incredible. And she was.

But I hate saying “was,” because even though it is 12 years later now, and I have known her more than half my life, and even though I did learn to whistle and I have accepted I won’t ever have her smile or hair or laugh or people skills, I can’t seem to fully grasp that she is not here.  

...

In a hotel room on our way to Las Vegas from St. Maarten, we try to distract ourselves with a movie. We end up the floor: me, crying hard, Matt holding me, rocking me, wiping tears on a path down my cheeks that's been well-traveled the past 2 days. He’s held me like this before: when I thought I ran poorly at a big race. He found me crying into the mud between two team tents and knelt down with me, grasping me as I shook. How silly I cried that hard over a race. How could I do this without Matt? How will Kyle do everything without her? 

...

 

Kyle explained their last week together. How so many things worked out. Going to her favorite places, seeing all her siblings, Kyle still being there when he was supposed to have flown back home for work while she and the girls stayed with family. We all let the tears climb down our faces and onto her bed, mine mixed with some of my selfish anger. I haven’t seen her for almost a year. We have been so far away.

Then the horror, the hospital, the irreversible truth. Her sisters have braided her hair and put a bow in it. Kyle has painted her toes, her perfect toes that she loved. He’s asked for extra blankets for his sunshine girl. She loved to be warm. He lets me hold her hand. It is warm, but not hers anymore. He lets me lean close to her face, kiss her forehead, and I tell her a few things I know I told her in real life too. I just sent her a mother’s day card a few months before. I’m so grateful I sent that card. 

As I whispered and cried, and then didn’t really whisper anymore, I knew I was talking to her, but not really to her. She heard, but not through the ears I was directing my voice towards.

Doctors are coming in the room now, it's time to leave. In the hall, I can’t stand anymore. I find a corner and sink down, I let the shaking sobs come out, again. Matt is there, again. How dare I cry like this in front of my brother, while I have a spouse to comfort me? I cry harder at the thought.

Home, Love, Family

I guess we'll just skip the obligatory part about how I haven't blogged in months. If Jess were reading this, I'd say, "You knew what I was when you picked me up."

Anyways...

If I were an organized kind of person, this blog could be broken up into little sections, neatly labeled with pictures to help illustrate what we've been up to. In no particular order, the topics might cover:

1. Matt becoming a 4th semester med student, and a few of the miracles that got us there (the last 10 days of 3rd semester. I NEVER WANT TO REPEAT THEM. And I'm not even the one taking the tests)

2. Home with Mom and Dad Lew: Sleeping in, Lots o' Chinese food, Disneyland, and Newport Beach wedding

3. Rediscovering my love of ultimate frisbee

4. Rediscovering my my ability to enjoy lifting weights

5. Rediscovering that I do like summer, just in California and not the Caribbean

6. In which I become an aunt to my 7th beautiful niece, watch her birth from start to finish, and witness my sister being a wonderful mother

7. In which I play enough guitar to finally develop calluses on my fingers...and probably annoy my neighbors

8. In which I brag about our awesome best friends on the island: the Crookstons, Michelle, the Wrights, the Atteburys. We love hanging out! Beach, pool, church activities, dinners, movies, etc. (Daniels, McGlues, Wightmans, we miss you!)

9. My excitement to work with the Young Women of our LDS branch here in St. Maarten (and yes this is me putting in a plug for any great youth activities you would like to share with me. Thank you in advance)

10. Andrea Hastings Lemmon, my dear brother Kyle, and all of my amazing family.

Yeah, it would go something like that.

But Matt and I are back to living life on the island: Matt in classes, me doing ICM (that thing where I act as a patient so students practice interviewing skills for when they really are doctors); Matt studying for hours on end, me reading an obscene amount of books. And for goodness sake, how many times have I read the book Hunger Games and watched the movie Hunger Games, and wished it wasn't so hot here so I could dress up as Katniss for Halloween while simultaneously using that as an excuse to buy an excellent pair of boots? Too much information? I thought so.

Now, for Andi, who asked Michelle when I'm ever going to blog, (and the answer should be that no one really knows and possibly something about how my blogs come like a thief in the night...) but I want to give a special shout out to you, so here it is: I love your name. I have an older second cousin who names all his cars, and four wheelers and trucks - all the trucks are named Fred - and that influenced me to name my own first car. It was a bright red Dodge Neon and I loved it. At first I picked the name Delilah, but then that "Hey There Delilah" song by the Plain White T's came out, and I don't know it felt overdone. So I picked Andi instead. We sold that car right before we moved here and it was harder than I thought it would be. The point is you have an awesome name.

Well, since I'm not organized, this blog is without a cohesive ending. Instead, I'll bring you home with some pictures. Loves. 

 Jason, Jessica and Emaline moments after her birth. Precious.

 I didn't smile in time, but I really am so happy to be at Disneyland!

 In line for the Matterhorn

Poor Jake had to ride with the boring married's

 Oh, Space Mountain

 Indiana Jones round one

  Indiana Jones round two

 Ryan in fanny pack. Me with sweatshirt tied around my waist. Nerds who are way too excited.

 Car's Land!!!

 Love Matt's face. So much.

 Attempting heel clicking on Main Street in Disneyland.

Matt took me on a surprise date to a cute little park he used to go to as a kid

So excited for a train ride!

Matt really loves this train.

I found two treasures at the rare and used book store in Glendale: a cookbook for Olympians, and a 1953 print of a collection of short stories by Roald Dahl. 

 A typical day at the Glendale Galleria: We saw Nicole Richie as she introduced her new perfume at Macy's

Dad Lew waiting for our car to be brought to the hotel, all tuckered out after wedding partying.



It's over!

Reflection

Alright, so it's not a secret that I'm not great at keeping up the blogging. It's not that I don't love writing. It's not that it isn't possible for me to regularly blog (refer to www.rerunrunning.com). The real reason is that good blogging really requires pictures. So, I don't love to take pics and transfer them to my computer for hours on end; so shoot me.

But the thing is that this little ol' bloggity blog of mine was recently discovered by a friend here on the island, and it prompted me to come take a look around my old blog stomping grounds. It makes me sad that I'm so irregular (with blogging, with sanity, etc), so I decided I'll just throw something out here and whether I decide to add pictures or not, well, at least they'll be something here. And even if it's only fun for me to come back and look at in 10 months or 10 years or whatever, then that's okay.

So...Matt and I have officially been on the island of St. Maarten for 9 months. NINE MONTHS! You could grow a human in that amount of time! What is the deal?! We have less than a year left! We've already had to say goodbye to dear friends who have moved away! Nine months.

In true Cecily style, I love looking back on what was going on in my life at whatever moment it happens to be, one year previous. So, a year ago now, we were still in Provo. We were graduated. I was writing at Utah Valley Magazine. I was getting ready to run my last race in the BYU blue. But what's really funny is, we were about to flip our lives 180 degrees, completely upside down.

All I'd ever known was school and running. (And church, and fam, and Matt of course). Put me into an environment where I rush from class to class to running, to more class and more running, then fly me out every other weekend to other states and tell me to race my guts out and then do it all over again; then I can thrive. I know exactly what to do. The chaos was comfortable.

But move me to paradise, to heat and humidity, to breathtakingly blue water less than 5 minute walk away, to next to no responsibility besides supporting Matt in his schoolwork and dream to be a doctor, and putting dinner on the table each night, and I felt lost. I didn't know what to do with myself. Add to that the guilt from feeling lost when I'm living "the life," and you've got a Cecily who doesn't know quite how to function.

Coming to the island was easy and hard. Easy because I came with my best friend. Easy because we've been so blessed while we've been here with a great place to live, great friends, a job for me, beautiful views, etc. Hard because Matt never stops studying, because I no longer have my teammates, a present coach, a job in writing, easily accessible family. Not to mention running alone in the humidity made every day a struggle. My favorite pastime of running became the loneliest, hardest part of my day. And just when I started coming to terms with that, injury struck my life again. But I'm through the worst of that and after a slow return (still returning), I am back to daily running that resembles something real to me.

Here's a little something I jotted down after a run this week:

"Lonely is my running partner now. Lonely laces up its shoes next to me each morning and steps with me into the heaviness of humid island air. Lonely and I stumble through our first steps together, trying to shake off the sleepiness that followed us from the bedroom. It's just Lonely and I, dodging cars on the narrow roads, twisting our ankles on the uneven ground. And Lonely talks a lot; tells me when it's clear to cross the street, when to jump over this puddle, or that rock. Lonely talks about the good ol' days when there were teammates to run with and coaches to tell us what to do. Lonely will go on and on if you let her." --Cecily, post-run

It's not necessarily a bad thing. It just is.

Here's what's funny though. I am going home to Vacaville soon to hopefully be there when my dear sister Jessica has her baby girl. Yes, of course I'm excited. But I love being on this island right now. I do have an awesome life here. Sure, running and school or a writing job are not my main focus anymore, but they don't have to be. That's what I'm learning. I love our friends here. I love watching Matt get excited about something he's learned, something that typically ends up grossing me out. I love that when I get home from a run, I'm okay with it only being 40 minutes long and that I had to play Frogger with the passing cars and narrow, sidewalk-less roads. I'm okay with my drenched tank top and socks that squish in my shoes from sweat. I'm okay that there aren't any big races around the corner, or any annoying writing deadlines to meet.

You know what I've been up to lately? I'm being a pretend patient at Matt's school. I get a case, memorize a character, the symptoms that character is complaining of, their whole past medical history, family history, and social history, everything about them. Then I go to various classes here and the students practice their doctor interviewing skills. I get to give feedback. It's a program most medical schools have. Would I ever have guessed I would do something like that? No. Do I love it? Yeah, I do, actually.

I've also helped tutor our friends' children the whole time I've been on the island. (Friends is plural because semesters 1-2 it was the McGlues, and now I get to help out the Crookstons.) It's a blast. Right now, I get to make up writing assignments to go along with Little Women and Huck Finn. It's awesome! I run 30-40 minutes in the morning, just at a steady pace, and it's refreshing. No fartleks, no tempo's, no thresholds, no second run in the afternoon. I don't even use an alarm clock here. I go to bed when I'm tired and I wake up at the same time every morning on my own. Who gets to do that anymore?

The point is, my life is super different. Different from how it was a year ago. Different from what I ever thought it would be. I guess there are times in your life when you redefine yourself a little. That is certainly something I've been trying to do/fighting against/accepting/and still trying to do.

More to come, I hope.