In the United Methodist Church, the first Sunday in November is All Saints Sunday. It’s a day for the church to honor and remember those who have passed before us. More specifically, each church honors those who have died in the past year during the worship service, and every part of the worship is geared towards remembering anyone we loved who left this Earth.

Last year’s All Saints Sunday was such a blur filled with my attempts to distract by being overly involved on top of the intense grief I experienced with Emily’s name being included in the list of those who had died. This year, on the other hand, I was fully aware of every word I heard from both of the sermons I heard today — one in-person at Emily’s childhood church, and the other from my home church, which I played through the speakers of my car as I drove home.

It’s Both a Blessing and a Curse

Walking into Fountain City UMC will always be an emotional experience for me. It’s the place where I first realized just how connected Emily was to her faith, which ultimately restored my own. It’s filled with so many friendly faces who have stories about Emily that date back to her early childhood. And, unfortunately, it’s also the place where we mourned her loss with so many who knew her and loved her.

So, needless to say, I already cry at some point every time I’m there. And today was no exception.

As I listened to Rev. Crickenberger tie Matthew 5:1-12 in with a personal story of a loss he experienced, I could relate to so much of what he shared. At one point, he mentioned how it is “both a blessing and a curse” to be present when someone takes their final breath. As my brain processed the words, all I could think about were the final moments Emily and I shared. Moments which, quite possibly, were the last ones she experienced in full consciousness (or at all).

Moments that will forever be both a blessing and a curse.

From the moment the doctor at St. Thomas said they were going to transfer Emily to Vanderbilt, I told her I was not going to leave her side. I pretty much told the ambulance driver that I was riding too whether he liked it or not. I walked alongside the nurse as they moved her from the ER to the cardiac wing. I only left to get food in the cafeteria, and even then I texted her while I was walking there and back. I stayed as close to her bedside as possible during those last few hours, and I was there when she spoke her last words as the doctor who delivered the “final news” explained that they never really revived her long enough to get a response out of her after they forced me out of the room.

Those final moments will always live inside my mind, haunting me anytime I close my eyes or think about it for just a minute. It may be the most traumatic experience of my life, which my therapist would agree is saying a lot if you know the full story of my past. That memory in and of itself is a curse that I would never wish on anyone.

And yet, at the same time, it is somewhat of a blessing, too.

I told Emily over and over again that I loved her during those final 36ish hours we spent in the hospitals. I was there by her side each time she “came to” after the first two episodes in the middle of the night. I held a puke bucket for her, tried my best to comfort her, and called her mom. Anything I could possibly do for her in those final days and, more importantly, final hours, I did it. And, I feel like the fact that I was able to be there and show her the amount of love I have for her in my words and actions was a blessing because she left this world knowing (or at least I hope she knew) that I was there with her every step of the way. She was not alone, and I wasn’t going anywhere.

A Part of Her Will Go on With Me

Although being present in Emily’s final hours was both a blessing and curse for me, having her in my life was never for a single moment a curse. It was blessing from beginning to end, and I continue to see that blessing even as I continue without her.

About halfway through my drive home from Knoxville yesterday afternoon, I decided to listen to the sermon I missed that morning from my own church, a church that I would likely not be attending at all had it not been for Emily. I spent nearly the last hour of my drive thinking about everything Rev. Durham had said, and more specifically about the ways in which the people we interact with leave lasting impressions on us, no matter how little or how much we know them.

I thought about all that I shared about how she helped me grow and become a better person during her funeral. But, as I thought about it more, I realized her impact goes far beyond that, and will continue to do so for the rest of my days.

Emily and I were both highly anxious people. And yet, when I was with her, I always felt calm and at ease. I think part of it was because Emily was one of the few people I felt like I could genuinely trust, and I knew that I could be my most authentic self with her. But, even more than that, I think I felt that way because she had a gift that helped her break down barriers with others.

Her smile radiated a type of joy and contentment that could break through virtually any level of sadness or fear. She could make me laugh even when I was on the verge of tears. Every word she spoke felt genuine and sincere, making it easy to trust her and talk to her about anything and everything. She wanted to help people, and it showed.

Through my relationship with Emily, I learned a lot about what it means to love and be loved unconditionally. I think I’ve spent a lot of time since her death explaining that in a positive way. However, the reality is that every relationship comes with its share of pros and cons, and ours was no exception.

For example, helping Emily clean her car or her apartment was an act of unconditional love within itself, and it was an act that I performed countless times in the time I knew her. Sometimes it tested my patience in ways I never knew possible, and it definitely helped me develop a stronger stomach. But, it also provided an opportunity for us to bond, for her to see that the right people will love you despite your flaws, and for me to learn that everyone deals with their own demons.

Also, as you can imagine, putting two highly anxious, conflict-avoidant people together to share a home makes for some interesting moments to navigate together. But, thanks to the love we shared (and a lot of patience on both of our parts), we learned how to both communicate our needs more effectively without assuming that the other person would become angry or say no. Sometimes I did get frustrated when she’d jump into social worker “fix the problems” mode, just like she sometimes got frustrated with me when I would insist nothing was wrong because I didn’t want to “bother her” with my stuff.

I could go on and on, but I’m sure no one wants that, so I’ll try to get to my point.

Between August of 2018 and October of 2022, I grew and evolved a lot, and I believe that Emily did too. And while I won’t take credit for her personal development, I will 100% give credit where it is due in my own transformation. Yes, my therapist and some other people helped, too, but Emily was definitely a constant force in all of it.

There’s a reason why I named this blog “Because of Emily,” and that’s why: I am who I am and where I am today because of her. And, although she’s gone from this life, I firmly believe her impact will continue.

I see so much of it in my day to day interactions with others. I see it in my children and in our home. Heck, I even saw it as I drove home yesterday and dealt with ridiculous amounts of traffic. As Rev. Durham said, a part of her will go on with me, and I am so incredibly thankful for that.

I know that our time on Earth is limited and eventually comes to an end. I also know that none of us our saints when we’re here; we’re human. But, I know that I am a better human because of Emily and that her soul is now surrounded by all the other saints who have gone before us because she of her faith and because of the kind of person she was during her time here with all of us. Because, deep down, past her love of curse words and her inability to clean anything ever, Emily was one of the kindest, most genuine people I have ever met.

I’ll be honest, I’ve felt more than a little lost lately, and grief has been all consuming. But, as I think about what All Saints Sunday means and, more importantly, think about my love for Emily, I believe that by carrying the part of her that remains in me and sharing it with the world, I will eventually figure it all out. Her death was a curse, but knowing her was a blessing. Because, without her, I wouldn’t be me.