Kara Green

When I think of Kara I think of the color green. It was my favorite color before I met her, and it was her color when we met. Now, it makes me think of her and know that we both had excellent taste. ;) Green is the color of life and growth. Grass. Leaves. New buds.

Lately it feels as though Kara is slipping away. Like she once was and is no more. I'm grasping for her. I don't want to give her up. I wonder if this is healthy. Life moves on, and memories become faded. It's like she's just beyond my fingertips. I want her to come back though I know she can't. And she wouldn't want to. Isn't that the craziest part of it all? She's so happy and joyful. She doesn't miss me like I miss her. It's kind of annoying, that. But I am happy that she's whole and healthy and perfect and joyful and without pain. So there is that silver lining in the window to Heaven.

I don’t think it’s unhealthy to miss her. She was altogether fantastic. Snarky and witty and wise at the same time. It was an excellent combination. It still is.

Kara might have left us for Heaven, but I've decided I don't have to give her up. I can still remember the good. I can give thanks for that. I can talk to her children about her. About how much she loved them. Such a big love she had for them. I can hang on to my love for her, for the friendship we had and the ones still in my life that she helped to create and yet still move forward, if that makes any sense. It's a dance, I guess, as are most things in life. Back and forth. Forward. Falling. Upright again.

I'm not done loving her, nor will I ever be. And that's okay. I have a lot of room for love. Life can move forward while love remains. I'm okay with where I'm at in the weirdness of grief. I'm okay with what was and what is. I'm good with hope and laughter and memories. Grief often seems like something to accomplish. To finish. But I'm starting to see it doesn't have a beginning and an end. It has hills and mountains and low valleys. It has storms and calm seas. It might not end, but it does change.

Grief doesn't need to get checked off a list. I don't have to leave it behind. It taught me so much. Kara taught me so much. And I'm okay with all of it. Maybe that's today's dance. Just to know God is with me. He gets my weirdness and the rambling of this post. He gets grief—after all, he died for us and rose again. He was separated from his father for three days. He wept for Lazarus.

In the turmoil of today, in the wash between yesterday and tomorrow, God is with us. As we grieve. As we put one foot in front of the other and choose joy in each new day.

Kara entrusted this blog to Blythe for a reason—because she knew how gifted Blythe would be, how big she would love, and how much she would bless others. So as we move forward with yet another step, to a new time, I'm filled with hope. We can love Kara and move forward at the same time. I'm excited to see where God and Blythe take us next. And I'm along for the ride.

Thank you, Blythe, for navigating these waters for so long. We’re incredibly grateful for you! Let's move forward and at the same time, never let go.