Sunset Revelations

Do you ever feel like a sunset was designed just for you? This sunset was one of those for me, and it happened in the most unlikely of times.

Halloween day. It’s a celebration in many respects, but that all changed for me on October 31, 2000. With excited anticipation, I dressed in my costume to show it off to all my classmates. I was a unicorn of course! After celebrating with sweets and a mini parade through my elementary school, I went home to show off my costume to my grandparents. However, when I arrived I was faced with an unexpected sight. There was an emergency vehicle parked right outside of their house. I soon found out that my Grandpa Ray had passed away from a sudden heart attack. I was in shock. How could this happen? How could he be alive one minute, and then gone the next? I was only 8. My child brain did not yet understand the concept of loss. This was supposed to be a happy day, not one of sorrow. I remember trying so hard to cry, but I just couldn't make the tears come. What was wrong with me? It was as if my emotions were frozen. I was frozen. At least not until….

Halloween night 2018. I just needed to breathe. I needed to escape the chaos around me so that I could hear myself think again. I was at a friend's house, and his family is huge. Every time I come around, it seems as if there is yet another face and name to memorize.

This becomes a challenge when you have social anxiety. If you don’t know what that feels like, well you're lucky. I will try to explain. It’s a sense of nervousness that floats around your heart, mind, and stomach. Especially when you’re faced with a new set of faces that you’ve never seen before. It’s the wondering whether you will be loved for who you are. It’s the race of thoughts, “What questions do I need to ask to appear interested?” It’s the testing of boundaries, “Are these new people safe to be around? Are they safe enough to let my true self come out? Will my true self even be accepted?”

I'm an introvert/extrovert. Meaning I enjoy being around people, but I gain the most energy by having a significant amount of “alone time”. However, this night had a little different feeling to it. I didn’t know why, but the anxiety in me was encouraging me to remove myself from the party to spend some time alone.

It's funny what you find when you’re not looking. On a whim, I parked my car right next to an elementary school, on the side of the street. As I sat reflecting, I started thinking about my Grandpa Ray. He was a quiet man, who always had a gentle air about him. I remember wondering how on earth he could get so tan, when my only shade in the sun resembled that of a red apple. He was the silent type, with the exception of when a Chicago Bulls game was on. I will never be able to smell a classic cherry chapstick without thinking of him. I only wish I could have gotten to know him as I became an adult.

Something about this holiday, the celebration of death, seems too hard for me to swallow. How can I celebrate it when the act of celebrating seems so interconnected with his premature death? I missed him. For the first time, my frozen emotions began to unfreeze and I felt tears roll down my cheeks. I grieved the loss of what could have been. I allowed myself to feel all the feelings next to that elementary school.

In my silent remembrance of my Grandpa, all of a sudden, I looked behind me. The sun was beginning to set. Although I was feeling the pressure to return to the party, something inside of me told me to wait. It told me to be still, and enjoy that moment.

Right then, the sky decided to burst into a celebration of colors. It was as if my Grandpa Ray was celebrating with me. It felt as if he was encouraging me to not feel guilty about celebrating on this day. More importantly, there is no reason to feel guilty about who I am. Which is a: still, reflective, and grounded woman... and that is wonderful!

In those stunningly bright colors, he was letting me know that he was there to witness the wonderful woman I was becoming. This beautiful sunset along with my grandpa’s presence, seemed to vanish just as quickly as they had appeared. Teaching me that each moment is so fleeting, so appreciate them while they last.

How beautiful it is to be still.