Just Keep Walking

“Please both of you recognize that God is with you and trust him. I know both of you are going through your own struggles right now, but you will always be going through something-really. Just keep walking.”

I found this in an email to my sister, Genny, and I from mom in September of 2008. To tell you the truth, I really can’t remember what specific crisis either one of us were going through during that time. Whatever the issues were, I’m sure we were both using mom as our sounding board, and she was serving as our ever present cheerleader and number one supporter.

She’s not here anymore, and the reality of that truly bites. However, she’s left us with so much (wisdom she’s instilled in each of us, personal letters, 50 years worth of journals), that it would be foolish for me to collapse, fall apart, and say I don’t know what to do. She’s not here to talk us through this one, but I’m quite certain I know what she’d say if she were, “Recognize that God is with you and trust him. Just keep walking.”

So walking I go.

Last week I completed the first five days of service training. Prior to heading back to the states, I had already completed four of the days, so much of the week served as a recap for me. We do most of our training inside the Cabin Service Trainer (CST). The CST looks just like a real section of the aircraft cabin, and is complete with a working galley. We’ve been learning the proper Emirates’ technique for serving drinks, offering croissants, and collecting waste (not “trash,” as I’ve been corrected for saying multiple times). We’ve been learning the various services that are conducted on each flight, depending on the time available and the specific route. We’ve also been memorizing which destinations have bans on alcohol and gambling so that we do not accidently serve alcohol or offer our customers playing cards.


I also had to finish up my required vaccinations this week so that I am clear to fly. During this visit they chose to stab me with tetanus, yellow fever, and diphtheria vaccinations. I’m aware that I have been known to be a baby and slightly dramatic when it comes to dealing with physical pain, but holy crap! It’s been three days, and my arm and neck are still sore! Given the option, I’d rather take my chances with getting a small case of yellow fever than enduring the pain of that shot!

Besides the stupid shots, everything else work wise is going well. I was very fortunate to be moved into such a friendly and welcoming new training group. I’ve gotten to know several of my new batch mates over the past week, so it’s nice to now have groups of friends from my previous group, as well as my new one. The only downside to my new training group is that they are a part of the morning session, which begins at 7:30 A.M. I don’t do mornings. Woof.

The biggest highlight of my weekend was spending yesterday afternoon at the beach. Even though I’ve been here for two months, the stars had never aligned for me to go during the daylight hours. The water here is very calm, not a lot of waves, but it was clear and fairly warm. The ocean always has a way of making me put my life into perspective and realizing my place in this world.


Grieving is weird. My cousin Lindsey, who is a social worker, has been jokingly inquiring during the past three weeks about which category of the five steps of grieving am I currently falling into. I’ve actually thought about this, and I can honestly say that my feelings about the whole situation don’t seem to be fitting into any of the textbook options. Kelsey, not being a classic textbook case, SHOCKER!

I haven’t been crying very much during the past few days. Of course, the most random things are the ones that bring tears to my eyes (seeing Sherbet ice cream in the grocery store, watching a family wrangle up their million kids at the beach, putting on the running shorts she got me for Christmas). Overall, the breakdown sobs have stopped. And I don’t know how I feel about that. Part of me knows she’d be proud of me for being strong, and continuing to live life to the fullest. Part of me feels like a horrible, emotionless rock for not being able to blink out one single tear less than a month after my own mother died!

With each day that passes I get a little bit prouder of my family; for the way we’ve all relied on each other and have become even closer as a result of this tragedy. And with each day that passes, I get a little bit sadder, knowing that from now on everyday that goes by propels us all even further into the future. A future that my mom isn’t a part of.

Back to my five stages of grief, I would not say that I’m angry. I’m not allowing myself to play the what if game, or even get mad at God because it’s useless. I know that no one ever knows the right thing to say to someone who is grieving, but the “your mom is always with you” comment from well meaning people is starting to piss me off slightly. I know my mom is still with me in spirit because I feel her and know it’s real. But she’s not here physically anymore, she’s just simply not. We can’t meet up in New York next month, and we can’t take our trip to Germany this summer, and she can’t make me Salisbury steak next time I come home, because she’s not here anymore! And it sucks! So Kelsey’s tip of the week: when people are grieving, just listen! I appreciate people's kindness, but cliché statements are usually not helpful. Now that I got that off my chest I will step down from my soap box. :)