Me too, me too!

My Heritage
My Celebrity Look-alikes

Scarlett Johansson 74%
JoJo 61%
Heather Locklear 59%
Reese Witherspoon 57%
Rachel Bilson 57%
Dannii Minogue 57%
Jamie Lynn Spears 56%
Britney Spears 56%

I took down the actual image of this because it was messing up the whole page.

What To Do With a Day

Someone somewhere had a brilliant thought--Mother’s Day Out. Love it. For a few months of motherhood, I thought I didn’t need this luxury, but I’m here to tell you, it’s awesome! For just a few hours, two days a week, I’m able to indulge in my thoughts, get a manicure, play a video game uninterrupted or even catch a movie! It’s shockingly easy to lose yourself in motherhood—to find yourself in paraphrased pajamas day after day, to forget how to apply mascara and learn your hair is in dire need of a trimming and worst of all, to forget you have independent thoughts outside your role as a parent. I’m relieved to discover that I don’t actually find Jager’s transition from stage 1 carrots to stage 2 carrots as exciting as previously assumed. I’m still me, just generally dirtier.
Currently, I’m sitting in the corner of a coffee shop with Wifi drinking a coffee and shivering with the speed of my thoughts and the fact that I’m sitting next to a huge window and it’s cold outside. I’m happy right now.
Later I’ll pick up my orange headed son and we’ll goof around until we have to be somewhere tonight. I’ll be happy then too.

Eulogy For a Sister

I've debated whether or not I wanted to post this for a few weeks, but I want to get it off my hard drive and put it out there again. I need to do that so I can start writing/thinking about something else.
This was the eulogy I wrote for my sister and the song that inspired me to write it.
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Rain
by Patty Griffin

It's hard to listen to a hard hard heart
Beating close to mine
Pounding up against the stone and steel
Walls that I won't climb
Sometimes a hurt is so deep deep deep
You think that you're gonna drown
Sometimes all I can do is weep weep weep
With all this rain falling down
Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
But I'm holding on underneath this shroud
Rain
Its hard to know when to give up the fight
The things you want that will never be right
Its never rained like it has to night before
Now I don't wanna beg you baby
For something maybe you could never give
I'm not looking for the rest of your life
I just want another chance to live
Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
But I'm holding on underneath this shroud
Rain

(Thank you Jay for recommending the song)
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I have tried to write so many things for and about my sister in the last week. My hands have barely stopped scribbling; typing or gesturing since the moment the nurse told me that my sister’s heart had finally stopped beating.

I will never be able to listen to a piano in quite the same way. Her soft hands lightly pressed those notes like no one I can recall. Her voice ringing over that sound is forever etched in my mind. The sweetness of my sister is something I cling to and will hold dear until the day I die.

It’s so easy for me to slip into deep grief about my sister’s circumstances—circumstances she chose for herself. Even now, I would give everything I own just to lie next her in that hospital bed, just to sing California Dreamin’ to her one last time. But as the song says, “It’s hard know when to give up the fight, the things you want will just never be right. It’s never rained like it has tonight, before.” The years of seemingly unanswered prayer, sadness, loss, grief, anger, frustration and bitterness came to a sudden climax and in an instant she was gone from our lives. To be honest, I am broken hearted and joyful at the same time.

I’ve been thinking about art lately. My mom pointed out that the scenery one views near the shoreline is what most people would find as an ideal subject for an artist’s efforts. It’s calm, symmetrical, without description and simply overwhelming. Having just returned from the mountains, she told me of the huge art community there and that she noted how many artists had found their muse in the rugged, multicolored terrain of those mountains and foothills. They saw the beauty of all that asymmetrical chaos. I’m sure her metaphor isn’t lost on any of you. Melanie wasn’t like me, she wasn’t like anyone I’ve ever known. She was meant for another life—her life could never be that shoreline, she reflected the mountains instead. God adored the glory of that chaos and always sought her beauty like a jealous lover.

I keep thinking about how many times in my life I’ve questioned the existence of Heaven and hell—about the existence of an involved and benevolent God. During painful times I have wished I could simply abandon this persistent belief and just react without regard, but God has spoken to me over and over again. The cynic in me is silenced by the voice of God. Melanie experienced that same annoying persistence in her tumultuous relationship with her savior-to-be. Her innate defiance put her at odds with the ultimate authority and she challenged God as perhaps Job challenged God. Many times she pushed Him, but He was unmoved. She cursed Him, and He spoke words of love. She raged against Him, and He listened to every word.

Melanie’s struggle with addiction was no secret, or at least, it shouldn’t have been. From the age of 12, this war waged within her—an epic battle between substance and love. In the end of her life, LOVE won out. God never left her side, he never stopped wooing her and he proved a jealous and faithful lover. I know that God didn’t let her slip into eternity until he had her safely in his arms and today I say with no small amount of joy that she has been delivered by the fire directly into his loving arms. Without her flesh, her faith has been perfected.

They say the artist never finishes his work, but simply abandons it. Thankfully God is a creator and not an artist. His work is finish-able and He is faithful to complete it. We prayed for my sister’s salvation from her demons, from addiction—we prayed for total and complete rescue from the torture she had made her life. In the most gallant gesture, her Creator has completed His masterpiece and she now plays her beautiful, otherworldly music for Him.

That's When I Miss You

The official grieving events are now over. Today, we held my sister's official funeral/memorial. The first service was in Florida where she passed away and were held the day we saw her. I still can't believe I went into that room. I saw her lying there and walked to her slowly. Normally, I'm terrified of bodies at funerals etc, but I couldn't keep my hands off her. I played with her hair, traced the line of her nose, fluttered her eyelashes, touched an old scar on her right hand, touched her feet and put something into her hands. After a while, I even asked to be alone with her. There I was, in a room alone with the body of a deceased person... not just any person either, my sister. I think that's the best chat we've ever had. :)

I wrote her eulogy on a whim one morning, but couldn't find it in my heart to recall every memory I had of her. Instead, I wrote something very uncharacteristic for me. But now that the funeral is over, I keep thinking about the good memories. What a crock! We didn't even have that many great memories and those are the only ones my crazy mind is choosing to recall?! With that said, I keep remembering the songs we would sing together, the silly moments that turned into outrageously hilarious moments, her sitting on me until I would go get her a glass of water, her daring me to do things that would most certainly get me killed, our clandestine stroll along a beach of the Mediterranean Sea in Tel Aviv when we were 8 and 11 at 2am! She was nuts and I was gullible. She took me to get my first tattoo and lied to the guy for me about my age (I was 17) and even held my hand. We had the same tattoo in two different colors. My only defense as a small child was something I called "baby bites." Basically, I would just whole-handedly grab entire fistfuls of skin and fats and pinch lightly. She would laugh hysterically and eventually run away from me. I was small, but crafty.

Inevitably, I end up remembering the bad times too, but with much less zeal than I would have two weeks ago. It's like her sins against me are forgotten and all I want now is to have that one person back with whom I shared a childhood. I'm not lonely, but something about me feels abandoned and alone in the world. She was paired with me and we were meant to share something in this life with one another. Perhaps, we have. I just wanted so much more.

The memorial was beautiful and I'm so relieved that it went well and is now over. Jason and I planned the whole thing and I just wanted it to be a big deal for her. She always did love a fuss over her.

If you don't know me very well, you may have begun to notice that I tend to linger on subjects for long periods of time. Apparently, I heal by writing. That's one thing I've learned. Just rest assured that I will most likely find something else to write about in time. Until then, if you have the patience to keep reading, you'll learn more about this girl called Melanie and her silly sister than you might have wanted to.

I'm So Sad

I keep thinking I'm going to look up from burying my head and see my sister standing next to me. It's creepy and comforting at the same time. This sucks. She missed so much of my life, but I can't help but feel like a huge piece of me has died and will never return. All my hopes for a "Bennett sisters" relationship with her are dashed and I'm grieving as much for those lost hopes as I am for her. What's wierd is that I'm not even crying that much. Well, except for right now. I'm sure in 15 minutes I'll get a glass of water and watch a Tivo(ed) episode of Futurama and forget about this wet nonsense, but right now it just hurts... so badly.

You, Who Were My Home

It's funny how often you write about the same thing but in different ways.

8/29/06
Such a long road we’ve been walking on
And I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
With my sister standing by
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, in your love, in your love
But sister you know I’m so weary
And you know sister
My hearts been broken
My mind is too strong to carry on
When I am alone
When I’ve thrown off the weight of this crazy stone
When I've lost all care for the things I own
That's when I miss you, that's when I miss you, that's when I miss you
You who are my home
You who are my home
And here is what I know now
Here is what I know now
Goes like this...
In your love, my salvation lies

8/14/06
3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? Three days ago, on the phone with my sister.

12/14/05
So many things are still unresolved: my sister’s fate still seems so uncertain and her insistence to pretend like her life could suddenly become normal never ceases to amaze and annoy me. If I’ve learned anything in from the death of three people I adored in the last two years, I’ve learned that there is something beautiful about finally facing the harsh reality you’ve been dealt. My hope for her in the coming year is that she can bravely stare down her demons… and overcome them. Maybe then, her life can become normal in the way hers has the nature to be.

10/19/05
To add to our drama, my sister, the one who has recently been spending lots of time with “Kiki from the penitentiary” is set for release in about a week. My mom is driving there to “claim” her and take her to her next destination—a non-mandatory thing that I don’t fully understand.

10/11/05
She has been in and out of jail for about three years. She was released on a probationary status a little over a year ago and sent to a half-way house. Shortly after that, our grandmother died and I assume she hit bottom (again). She disappeared on a Thursday and we filed a missing persons report within two weeks. My mother had to negatively identify two bodies over the phone before my sister finally resurfaced (alive) three months later. At one point, we believed she was dead. This disappearing act was in direct violation of her parole so while she contacted us, she continued to hide from her fate. After several months in relative hiding, she was turned in and is now serving the rest of her parole time in a prison outside this state. She will be released later this month.As long as I can remember, my sister has had issues that I didn’t understand. I won’t go into the details because they are her’s to share, but suffice it to say that I have always hoped for the best and been forced to face (close to) the worst. In fact, it’s quite remarkable how your definition of “the worst” can change. :) As long as she breaths, their will be hope in my heart for my sister.

5/06/05
During these past two years, fate has had it’s ironic payback—I lost my uncle and mentor in 2003, my grandmother in 2004, my sister in 2004 (in a different sort of way) and a twin pregnancy at 11 weeks. Something about loss and sadness permanently changes you.

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On Wednesday, September 27th, 2006, my beloved but tortured sister was taken to Heaven. She was only thirty years old. Hers was an epic battle between substance and Love. While substance played a part in claiming her body, Love won the war that always waged in her soul.

She was the living personification of Snow White. Her eyes were big and blue, her skin pale and soft, and her hair was long and dark. She was enormously gifted in music and words and wrote hundreds of love songs to her Savior-to-be. I believe she knew how her suffering had to end and she was just ready to go Home. Her music was strange and lovely, like it belonged in another world. Like her music, she belonged there too.

I’ll never fully understand her struggles, desire or demons, but I will always cling to the lessons she has taught me about life, persistence, expression and the Love of God. Her legacy will live forever in my heart, because I will never allow that light to fade.

I know where she is now and she is more beautiful than she could have ever hoped to be. She is forever young. She is innocent once again. But most importantly, she is finally Free!

We loved you all your life. We will miss you all of ours. Kisses.