After he left us, tiny miracles occurred for his beloved. Blue dragonflies began to show up in tender moments - at his funeral, at the tournaments, trips to his favorite spots, in our sad moments. It is healing to think that Paul is somehow with us, bringing us his love and checking up on us from time to time. Dragonflies have become some small connection to him. For these tender mercies, we are grateful.
In the months following the accident, I went home to recover. I went to physical therapy and talk therapy. I regained use of my right arm completely and healed physically in every way. I went back to finish school at NC Sate and to be closer to Paul's family and all the places that reminded me of him.
I slowly started dating again, and years later regained a desire to be married and have a family. I lost my faith but it came back slowly, in a slightly different form. I lost a few friends who didn't know how to talk to me anymore and just stopped, but I also saw true friendship in many loved ones who called, wrote, visited, and prayed. It felt like most things in my life reset completely.
I planned and helped with a memorial bench and tree at North Carolina State in Paul's name - in front of the biology building, as this was his major and his alma mater. It was a labor of love and somewhat cathartic. His best friends used the leftover funds from the bench and began an annual, memorial golf tournament. All of this funds a scholarship endowment for the Paul Elam McCarthy Memorial Scholarship. The yearly scholarship goes to a pre-dental or pre-medical student at NCSU. There is also a scholarship in his name at Boston University's Goldman School of Dental Medicine, where Paul had just completed his first year. Attending the golf tournament each year is a bittersweet experience. He is there, in spirit, in his friends and family, in the dragonflies.
In a few days (June 8), it will have been 10 years since Paul died. This anniversary has brought many thoughts and feelings with it. Honestly, I can't believe it's been 10 years. He is forever 23, I am now 30. The sorrow is still so deep. Thinking of this loss has also brought back memories of the loss of our nephew, Evan. Sweet, bouncing, beautiful Evan was almost two when he accidentally drowned. His angel day happened a few months after Aaron and I married, in 2008. When I was searching for Evan's obituary, I came across this moving post by his Aunt Kiera. She quoted a favorite book called The Prophet, and I wanted to re-post her excerpt here:
Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."
And he answered: Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven? And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater that sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater." But I say unto you, they are inseparable. Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy. Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced. When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
I reflected on this after reading it...I do think that joy and sorrow are interlinked. The dual nature of the human soul and the human condition has always fascinated me. We all have bad and good within us and around us.
My sorrow for Paul runs deep because the joy was so full and the love so great when we were together. For me, it is too difficult to say that his death and the circumstances that surround it will allow me to have more capacity for joy in this life. Although.... I do think that this sorrow can be met with equal joy if I was to see him again in the next life, a reunion. Perhaps this is why heaven is such a salient belief for so many. I do not think that the accident was destiny, I think it was only an accident.
I would take his place gladly, but I cannot. Sometimes I like to think that Paul had some sort of choice. Perhaps in his final moments, God allowed him to see the series of events that would happen if he was to die and everyone else to live, or the events if I was to die and he was to live. Perhaps he chose this path in some sort of wisdom I don't have access to. That thought gives me some small amount of peace.
Unlike many things in life, I can not correct this mistake. Typically, if I hurt someone, I can apologize or make some sort of restitution. In this case, the consequence of me falling asleep was so immediate and final. In an attempt to correct it, I prayed often and intensely to atone for Paul in some way. That is - if his entry into heaven depended upon his deeds and character during his life - that God would also give these same good parts of my life to him as well, extra help for his afterlife. He was a beautiful soul, so I don't think he needed my help, but I wanted to give this to him regardless. This prayer to "take what is mine, and give it to him" was my mantra for some years afterward.
Later I met Aaron and relayed these thoughts. It was Aaron who said "...that sounds like Jesus." The analogy had never dawned on me. Aaron's moment of clarity (he has many of those) was the spark that started me down the path to joining the LDS church. Over time I've come to believe Christ will make that atonement for Paul. It is not my place to save, it is His.
How have you dealt with loss? What has helped you in trials and sorrow?
