I've Seen Angels Without Halos.

Tonight is Christmas Eve, and for me this one is very bittersweet. It's the first one that I've spent not inpatient in a long time. While ED is furious and insists that I'm a failure, I'm doing my best to look the beast in the eye and reply with a confident "No. This means I'm strong for having come such a long way." The holidays always make me a bit nervous too. It's morbid (would you expect anything else coming from me?) but there's always a nagging fear in the back of my mind that I won't be around next year to celebrate.

The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone.  ~George Elliot

So here I sit, surrounded by cards splashed with Christmas trees and angels. I have angels on the mind, one in particular. The heavy weight of guilt spreads behind my eyes as I am flooded with memories of last year and think of those who are no longer here to celebrate. You see, I made friends while IP with a girl who I'll call Sara. We initially bonded over being the two patients with tubes on the unit, complaining about the constant leaking and beeping of pumps. Sara was truly one of the most amazing people I have ever met. Despite the severe medical complications that plagued her, she radiated love and kindness. In the face of overwhelming difficulty she always put on a brave face and never complained. I remember when she learned that she'd have to be transferred via ambulance to the hospital over Christmas. She replied with her usual positivity and good humor that it was okay because the EMT who rode in the ambulance was really cute. And she never complained about having to spend Christmas in a medical ward, saying it wasn't that bad because she could watch "Mamma Mia" (her favorite movie) and receive visits from family as much as she wanted. She remained optimistic and hopeful, affirming next Christmas she would be healthy and everything would be different. For Sara that next Christmas never came. She is now in heaven, I hope karaoke-ing "Dancing Queen" to her heart's content. 

I miss her and am filled with guilt. I am ashamed to admit it but most of our conversations took place at the supplement table. Sara would struggle to drink her ensure while willing her body to keep it down, simultaneously pleading with me to at least take a sip of mine. Meanwhile I sat there, stubborn and defiant, angrily refusing to even look at the cup. Yet I'm still here and she is gone. I don't understand it at all. I know how lucky I am to still be around and feel all this pressure, like I have a responsibility to do something in order to warrant being alive. Sara deserved it more than me. She wanted and fought for it more. She brought so much joy into my life alone during the short time I knew her, and I know that she touched everyone who was blessed by her presence. I don't think I do that for other people. She's needed here more and her being gone is a greater loss. I believe Sara would forgive me. I just don't know when or how I'm going to forgive myself. 

We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another.  ~Luciano de Crescenzo

I'm sorry for being so negative lately. I really don't mean to be a Debbie Downer. I'm so grateful for all of your support. It's been the greatest gift I could ever ask for and didn't even come in a box. I'm wishing you all magical Christmas eves and hope that Santy Claus brings you everything you wanted. As for all my fellow non-Christmas celebrators, lets hope he comes down our chimneys by accident... Except my apartment doesn't have one. I guess I'd better bake some really awesome cookies to lure him in here!