Shireen's Favorite Things

I don’t believe in God, at least not in the traditional sense. I know that’s not a popular thing to say; in fact, it scares the shit out of me to put it in black and white and not because I care what people think… okay, I do care what my family thinks. A lot.

Most of them are deeply religious. Not in a creepy, zealot kind of way, but in the way you’re supposed to be: kind, loving, generous, supportive and all the things you’d expect out of a God-fearing Christian family. I was reminded of that this past weekend when I flew to Salt Lake City to mourn the loss of my beloved Aunt Josie.

She was pure magic. Her smile, laugh and oh, that sparkle in her eye— I’ll never forget it. She was one-of-a-kind, but I guess a lot of people say that about those they’ve lost. Everyone has their own story…

Mine started a long time ago, when Josie was a force to be reckoned with in my life. Strong, beautiful and spirited, I longed to be like her, but as an awkward young person, finding one’s footing in life wasn’t that simple. I would experience gut-wrenching tragedy in high school; losing my boyfriend in a car accident. A year later, my best friend died, too.

The religion that usually consoled me left me feeling empty, confused and full of questions that had NO answers. “Have faith,” people would say or “Everything happens for a reason.” No, no, no — I wasn’t having any of it: instead of feeling comforted by the words, they felt trite and unrealistic.

I believed bad things happened for NO reason, kind of like good things did, too, and even though I didn’t know a lot about physics or theology back then, Sir Issac Newton’s Third Law came to mind (for every action in nature there is an equal and opposite reaction.) That very thought would be the first glimmer of the person fate would raise me to be.

I bounced around in my college years, too, unsure of my true religious beliefs. I tried passing myself off as “spiritual” not “religious”, but deep inside it felt like a cop-out. You know, just in case this God Thing is real, I’d slide into the pearly gates on good intentions because I was spiritually chic. It sounded and felt stupid, so instead — I said nothing at all.

As the years passed, Aunt Josie would come in and out of my life like a fresh summer breeze, always full of unconditional love, deep compassion and hard-won wisdom. When she visited, I knew she could feel my discontentment, but she never judged me. In fact, she accepted me exactly the way I was and encouraged me to find my true calling in life.

Her positivity was like an oasis in a desert full of judgement and expectation. My family wanted me to get married, have children and dedicate my life to the Lord. I tried. Hard. And Failed. So, I tried again. Eventually my “inadequacies” left me running for the hills or in this case, away from them and into a life I had never known.

One that would gradually turn into an eye-opening journey of self acceptance, healing and ultimately, forgiveness. Forgiving oneself for not being all the things you thought you were supposed to be and what others hoped you’d be was a good place to start.

As the tight boundaries of religion loosened around me, I experienced something astonishing — happiness and success. That doesn’t mean it was all unicorns and rainbows; life is still life. I’ve experienced illness, loss and survived two divorces. Even my career in television has chewed me up a few times and spit me out, but the great thing about ALL of it? Making my OWN decisions: good and bad — without guilt, expectation or shame.

During my years of self-discovery, my aunt continued her true calling, too; ministering love to those who needed it, helping her kids (my cousins) raise their own families and most importantly, fighting the good fight against breast cancer for 25 years. Yes, 25 years and though distance and many years of life divided us, just knowing she was alive, breathing and smiling on planet earth made my world a better place and a lot of other people’s, too.

I’m not exactly sure when my Aunt Josie died, but the news trickled out of Salt Lake City and found me on Monday, April 2nd at 9:41PM. When I heard, my heart sank and my eyes filled with tears. I was at work, so I sucked it up and prepared for the task at hand: the 10 o’clock news. Afterward, I retreated to my office, turned off the lights and let the glow of my computer screen fill the room.

I closed my eyes and waited for sorrow to find me. It didn’t. Instead, my chest tightened, my breathing grew shallow and my mind raced with anxiety. I knew the feeling well and it had nothing to do with my aunt. For whatever reason, over the last few months, I had been suffering from debilitating anxiety. It was like an elephant on my chest in the morning, a ticking time bomb wrapped around my heart in the afternoon and a freight train steaming full speed ahead with both aforementioned symptoms at night. I had never experienced anything like it before. It was so bad, I could barely get through the day. I felt miserable and isolated.

My friends suggested therapy & medication, my family recommended a permanent vacation and Web MD said I should be exercising. Before committing fully to anything, though, I decided to white-knuckle it and do some serious soul-searching to find out exactly WHAT I was afraid of and WHY it was presenting itself as severe anxiety. The only problem: so far, my self-analyzation wasn’t working.

I landed in Salt Lake City to attend my Aunt Josie’s funeral on a snowy Thursday and my anxiety wasn’t doing me any favors. In fact, it was at an all-time high, but flying, making connections and finding my way to a strange hotel wasn’t exactly relaxing. Things got a little better once I met up with my immediate family.

As we pulled up to the church the next day, my heart was beating out of my chest and my palms were sweating. I couldn’t tell if it was my anxiety or the years of “Losing My Religion” that made me feel as if I were about to have a heart attack. Regardless, I needed to pay my respects to my aunt and I had long grown out of the suspicion that the church would burst into flames upon my entry.

The funeral was sad, because most funerals are and yet, it was beautiful at the same time. The outpouring of love and respect for my aunt made me realize that flying across the country and into a place I had tried my entire life to escape was the right thing to do.

I didn’t cry at the funeral, but I did hold back my tears. I wondered if my Aunt Josie could see me, in church, wishing for one last chance to see her and thank her for the positive impact she had on my life and career. I apologized for not being a better member of our family and asked her to forgive me for letting my loss of religion cloud my judgement of what mattered most — being present for the people you love.

There always seems to be a “before and after” when something major happens in life and usually it’s marked with a shift of some kind. You can evolve forward or backward, but standing still isn’t an option, because, well, the universe is constantly moving.

My “after” happened when I left my Aunt Josie’s funeral. As I walked out of the church and into the crisp cold air, I took a deep breath — it was the first one I had been able to take in two months. I waited for it, the debilitating anxiety to return. It didn’t. I thought perhaps it had retreated to allow me to grieve, but the next day when I woke up, the elephant on my chest was gone, the ticking time bomb wrapped around my heart in the afternoon had dismantled and the freight train, which was always speeding full steam ahead with anxious misery at night, had finally left the station without me.

As my plane lifted off, bound for Miami, I knew my Aunt Josie was with me or at least a part of her was and to make sure I knew it, she
granted me one last gift — peace. Since her funeral, my cloud of debilitating anxiety simply vanished. Poof. Just like that.

At times, I still wonder if it’ll creep back in and get the best of me, but it hasn’t, forcing me to analyze the very thing I had lost long ago — my religion. Maybe it just takes some of us longer to believe in something greater than ourselves, or maybe it’s how and why we believe that allows us to look beyond reason and experience faith.

I do believe my Aunt Josie is part of the universe now, filled with an energy I don’t truly understand. I hope she’s smiling and pain-free. If she is with God, I hope she puts in a good word for me, although I think she already has — it’s just her nature. Until then, I’ll continue “Losing My Religion” and who knows, maybe someday I’ll write a blog about finding it again, because I hear with God, anything is possible and that’s what it’s one of my Favorite Things.

In loving memory of Josie & Josh.