Overture

I’m the first to admit that I can be as over-dramatic as The Phantom of the Opera overture. I own that about myself, but sometimes I surprise myself with how far I go.

Last weekend, for no reason whatsoever, I felt a weight press down on my body and soul. I was alone in my dad’s truck and I put “Roses and Violets” by Alexander Jean on repeat as I started driving. Without really thinking about it I started singing and driving…I can’t even say aimlessly, I knew where I was going.

Within 15 minutes I had my left turn signal on and was waiting to turn down the hill of a place that was once my everything. Pike Creek Christian School/Pike Creek Valley Baptist Church – now no longer a Kindergarden-8th grade school and also no longer PCVBC but Pike Creek Bible Church (I still remember all the high fives and excitement in the congregation when the name change was announced) – was my home from the womb until I was 14. It was my church and my school; and I probably remember more from that time of my life than most people do…or should.

This is the first time I’ve ever driven down the sloping hill by myself. I chuckle through the tears that have started to flow, because I always said there was no way I could drive on that hill myself.

As I drive down the first thing that wrenches my heart is the sight of the playground.

Grant it, I expected there to be some changes – it’s been 16 years after all; however, I wasn’t prepared to see a locked fence around it. How times have changed. I see that the yellow, red, and blue, part of the playground is still there. I start crying harder as I remember the unveiling of it. We were all so excited. While I did love the wooden part of the playground with it’s bridge and how high up it felt on top of it, I always got splinters on it. I remember how excited we were as we slid down the plastic twisty slide and held hands at the bottom of it to see how many people the static electricity shock would travel through. I remember the concrete red tube things that we used to crawl through and hang out in when it was hot. I remember rolling down the hill and laughing. I remember all the field days and ice cream socials and the kickball games (that I surprisingly wasn’t bad at) and the monkey bars (that I unsurprisingly was bad at).

I moved the car to face the church/school itself. I remember how my mom-mom always brought me to school 20-30minutes early. We would sit in the parking lot and talk while listening to WDEL; unless it was during my Sandy Patti or Donny Osmond phases (don’t ask) then we would listen to those cassette tapes. I remember being shocked when one particular morning my name was announced on WDEL for my birthday and they said I won a free Dairy Queen ice cream cake. She sent in my name to surprise me, she was so happy that my name was picked…I think she was more excited than I was. Those front doors I had been in and out of a million times. I sat in the car and just cried as the melancholy piano in the song just fueled my grief even more. I had so much going on back then, and I was so afraid of messing up and letting my grandparents down. I had overheard people say all the time how badly they felt for my grandparents…to be saddled with a child in their golden years. I didn’t want to be a burden, and they never made me feel that way – but that’s still how I’ve treated myself and how I’ve lived my life.

As I turn my head my grief is replaced by dry laughter. If you’ve never been to this place before, let me tell you there are woods right next to it. Growing up I had gone into those woods, sometimes on my own and sometimes with my class. The way to get in was so awkward and I always seemed to slip and trip and fall on the somewhat steep way down to the trail. Guess what’s there now?

A pathway in. They leveled out part of the hill, put in a map, and a put in a bench! A bench! Are you kidding me?! Where was this 20 years ago?!

My laughter quickly dissolves into tears as a million memories start flooding my brain; and at the center of them is not just my place, but my mom-mom. My chest gets tight and I know I should leave. As I make the drive up the hill, I take one last look at the playground before breaking down into sobs. I begin to sing in a cracked voice to the song that’s still on repeat. When the lines “Right when it’s good, time it messes it up” and “There’s something on my mind: You’re miles away, I’m so sick of goodbye” come on I scream sing them with all my grief poured into it.

Life goes by so fast, and it can change course in the blink of an eye. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in what’s happening around me that the grief of what I’ve lost just gut punches me out of nowhere. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully get over it all. After I get home and put the truck and park, I sit in silence for a good 20 minutes.

I feel better, and I realize that there’s a good side to my dramatics. I can move forward with the gusto of The Trans-Siberian Orchestra now that I’ve allowed myself to pour out my emotions in my own special, over-dramatic way.

There will be no wallowing.

There will be no inability to get out of bed.

There will be no lashing out at others.

I got it all out of my system, for now…until it bubbles out again, and then I’ll do what I need to do.

I’ve accepted this about myself.

I’ve accepted myself……finally.

My only regret is, I wish I had done this sooner.