What A Year

Today was my mother's birthday. My father has been dead just a week shy of 9 months and tomorrow, she will have to bury one of her dogs. I keep thinking back to last Christmas, and I can't help but notice, how different everything is. I woke up one day a completely different person, with a completely different life. 2011, what a year.

I would be lying if didn't acknowledge that 2011 has been a year of loss. Life-altering loss. When my father died, I changed. I don't laugh as easily, and everything is serious. Those pieces of charm that once softened my sharp edges are harder to muster, and get spent more quickly than they used to. Loss isn't totally an abyss. It's not like that hole in your dreams, full of nothing but limitless decent. Loss brings change and change brings many blessings.

I've learned so much about myself. I did things I'd never thought of doing before. New job, new hobbies, new me. I just wanted to escape, not feel. But you can't hide, you can't stop feeling and you have to get up and keep going everyday.

Change is a funny monster. Not comic, but sly, a wolf in sheep's clothing. Change doesn't always feel good, and there is no stopping it. Change makes you spend a lot of time looking back, because it's hard to see what's in front of you. Change makes you question who you are and where you're going. And change usually feels like being water-boarded (this is really just a metaphor, I have no actual knowledge of what water boarding feels like). It's grueling and constant, and it breaks you down.

You persevere. You keep going because the only other option is to give up. I was not raised to curl up and die. God does not make us that way. Eventually I think, you keep going until it doesn't hurt as badly anymore. It's not that things are any less painful, you just get used to it. Make not mistake I'm not clutching my like some teddy bear. It's just omnipresent. I've learned that I can survive it.

Change isn't all bad. I've learned much about myself. I'm stronger than I thought I was. I can carry much on my shoulders. I was made to keep going, so that's what I'm going to do.

You Have to Live by Faith, Not by Sight

Before, I never really thought about my faith. I don't mean that I took it for granted I just didn't think about it, didn't wear it on my sleave. I still don't. I find that presumptious, tacky, vulgar even. I have always thought that people who talk about their faith are trying to convince themselves they believe. Before, I thought I had it tough. Before, I didn't realize I had it easy. I had a complete family and firm ground. I didn't realize how little my faith has been tested. How little adversity I'd had to survive.

Sure, I wondered about "The Plan." Any time I faced an uphill battle or had a bad day at work, I wondered what the hell God was up to. In the past six months, though, I realize that faith is more than just believing that everything will be OK. Faith is trusting even when you don't see any light at the end of the tunnel. Faith is not having all the answers and keeping your head up. You aren't going to get answers to your questions, you aren't even supposed to ask.

I can't help but think that at the end of the day, everything will be OK, if I keep going. That repeats in my head, "If you can just keep going it will be OK." the problem is, most days "keeping going" means just getting out of bed and making sure that my pretty girl face doesn't crack too much. Lately I find that I just want to know when I'll feel like it's going to be OK. When will I feel like myself again? When will I be untouchable? When will i just be able not to feel like crying when I feel anything?

So for me lately, faith is just keeping going. Faith is realizing I don't have all the answers, and I'm not supposed to. Faith is holding on to whatever Is left of my very-deepest-insides and just remembering to breathe. You see, when all you have left is different, you just have to believe that the decisions you make; a new job, new this, new that are going to be good ones. You have to believe that even if they're the wrong decision, you're going to be alright.

The Only Constant is Change

I haven't written in a long time. Anything I feel like writing about cuts too deep. I've never been much for sharing and that goes doubly for what happens on the inside. To me most of the time, sharing what's inside is just another way for someone to exploit you. Sharing your inner most thoughts and feelings gives someone else ammunition to use against you. So I just haven't written.

I haven't written how broken I am on the inside some days. I haven't written that broken isn't really the word because the word itself implies that there is something to fix, and in my case, the damage is far, wide, catastrophic and irreperable. And along with irreperible damage comes change. Irreperable, never-take-it-back, change.

A long time ago I had a living father, and a different job, and different heartaches and concerns and problems. I had different insides. Adjusting to all the differents is I think more than I can bear. I miss knowing what I was doing, I miss saying something and being an expert, I miss being able to call someone and feel like no matter what, just because they were there, it would be ok.

And all of this is ultimately selfish. People survive worse, and grit their teeth against much heavier weights. So I just keep it in and grit my teeth, remember my breeding and keep going. I guess that's all there is, keeping going. Change means you're still alive. Without change, all you have left is death.

Legacies

I drove home from Mom's yesterday, and sat in the driver's seat with only the voices in my head keeping me company. For the past week I've been trying to put into words all these jumbled feelings. Much like finding the perfect Christmas present, this takes time and the ability to realize nothing is perfect. Including Dad. He knew this, and worked hard at trying to prove that he could be. I think this is where so much of his anxiety came from was never feeling good enough, and since I'm my father's son, I've been plagued by the same feeling in trying to eulogize him.

I am and will always be grateful for the fact that my dad made sure we could take care of ourselves, that we think about others and that we work hard to take care of ourselves and those we love. We don't lie, cheat or steal. Even though we bitch, complaining doesn't do any good, and just shouldn't happen. Crying doesn't solve anything, but it sure does make you feel better. Take care of your brother and sister, they're all you have in the end.

I see some things from the past week more clearly than others. Everyone pitching in on Wed., when Ben woke up late and needed help with the BBQ. Take care of each other, that's all you have.

This week I saw each of us doing the best that we could. There wasn't any complaining or great gnashing of teeth or tearing of clothes or utter colapse. There was grace and dignity and the resolute squaring of our shoulders and doing what needed to be done. My dad very much lived by the fact that "The price of greatness is responsiblity" and he made sure to pass that on to us.

I firmly believe that the Almighty gives us each of us only the load we can bear. When my Dad didn't have to carry his any further he went to rest. I think he could do this because he knew that he'd given each of us the tools that we needed. He knew we would be able to take care of ourselves, and make him proud.

No words can describe

If you asked him to write his own epitaph Bob Bitner, 54 of Georgetown would have said there was nothing to write about, greatly underestimating his impact. Some would say he led an ordinary life, and certainly from the outside looking in, he did. Bob raised three children with is wife Colleen calling Round Rock home for many years. Bob was a born leader, who led by example and held himself to an unyielding high standard. His example taught his children the value of dedication, honesty, compassion.

Bob was President of Sam Bass Baseball for many years, where he was an example to many, most especially the players. He was a long-term employee of Sieko Instruments and recently held a position with DelStar Industries and was recently promoted.

Bob Bitner did lead an ordinary life, but one full of passion, intensity, love and generosity. What he may not have realized in life was how much of a presence he was for so many. People who find themselves saddened today because he is gone too soon.

Born February 13, 1957 in Galveston, Bob called McAllen, “home”. He is survived by his wife of 30 years Colleen, of Georgetown and their three children Steven, of Dallas, Ben of Round Rock and Erin of Round Rock, also by his parents Bob and Carol Bitner of McAllen; sister Penny Gearhart and husband Mark of Round Rock,; and brother William and wife Sandra of Mission, as well as numerous nieces and nephews and their children.