Still Here. . .

I'm still here. I'm still coming back to this little corner of the world from time to time when I want life to look like the life I used to know. The one that included my mom, my brother, my friend, an extended family that celebrated together just because it was something to do on a random Sunday thanks to a text from mom. 

In the four years since, I've felt their losses again and again; however, I keep coming back to the blessings. I am still here. I am still consciously working through my grief. I am still trying to find my place in the extended family unit but so grateful for the one contained within my four walls. Life has been both a whirlwind and it's also ground to a screeching halt. Both can be true at the same time. Both are true. For me. 

I turned 51-years-old a month ago. I'd be a liar if I didn't admit that number scares me more than fifty. My mom was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer at 51. I'm not sure why I have it engraved in my head that her path will be mine. Only God decides that. I know this inherently, but my mind still goes to dark places. Yet I claimed that 50 was going to be my YES year--and it really was! I packed so much life into this year, more than I could have imagined because grief can cripple you, too. For a long time I was crippled by the anxiety. But I made a decision to say yes more often than not and the results suprised me! I I can do hard things!

• I ran the Kodiak Ultra Marathon 50k
• Took my 2nd annual girl's trip to Carmel by the Sea
• I went on a pilgrimage to Mexico City and Pueblo.
• Ran the LA Marathon
• First International Trip to Rome, Florence, Italy
• Visited Dublin, Kilkenny, Ireland
• Traveled to Lake Shasta in Redding to visit the grandson
• Traveled to Nashville, Franklin, and Antioch, Tennessee to visit our In n Out All Star
• Ran my 1st World Major: Chicago Marathon
• Took a trip to Las Vegas, Nevada with one of my besties to see New Kids on the Block and Wizard of Oz at the Sphere with her and my dad!

My heart races thinking back to all the living I experienced this year. I saw places I never dreamed I would visit with the people I love the most. Life doesn't have to be lived waiting for the other shoe to drop. I am so proud of this version of myslef who has risen from the ashes to claim her place in the world and to live the way her mom, her brother, and friend would want her to. Do I still get scared? Heck yes. But do I do it anyway? Trying. 

Just Write

The blogging world is so old, I am not sure why I am even here. I should be working on editing my book, or writing my new one. It has been one year and nine months since I have finished the first draft of The Cemetery Club. I've had two beta readers read it and suggestions have been made,  but then I get stuck, not sure what my next move is. I feel literally paralyzed. The story that got me through some of my darkest days, I just don't want to return to. I know I can shelf it. That is probably what I should do, but then I think this is the book I needed when I could not focus on anything else, so maybe it's the book someone else will need if they are going through the gates of hellish grief. And then I'm stuck again.

It is easier to read someone else's words than write my own. It is easier to run towards a physical goal than aimlessly twiddle my thumbs while I try to force a plan to take shape. It is easier to get lost in a good show, episode after episode than feel like I'm not making forward progress on my writing goals. So, I sit. Today I'm grateful I showed up to this little writing desk, even if it didn't go as planned. Sometimes the goal changes, and I just need to make peace with that. 

I can still be a writer and not be published. I can still write a story for my children to read one day and say, this is the book that saved mom from herself. I can look at the writing process as part of my healing progress and call that a success. Today I sat down and wrote. For today that is enough.

Author in Progress

 

It has been awhile since I've visited my little corner of the world here. I have been writing though. . . 90,106 words to be exact! Mid September an idea for a story was born at the cemetery of all places, while I was visiting my mom. I dutifully wrote 1,000+ words a day/three days a week until I had a complete manuscript I've named, The Cemetery Club. While it is a story about finding hope in the unlikeliest of places, it brought me hope during a difficult time. I firmly believe I sleptwalked through year one after losing my mom and brother twenty-four days apart. Simply writing twenty-four days does something to my heart. I still find it unbelieveable that I am living life without two of the largest personalities in my family. 

Year two feels more real, more raw. There is this realization that they are not coming back and getting lost in writing a fictional story helped me through the dark days. Stepping into my characters shoes and wiritng their stories gave me hope in living my own. Once upon a time, a really long time ago, I wanted to be a writer. I was even a Communications major before all the self doubt creeped in and I chose a safer option: a teacher. It is a noble profession, but not the dream I wore since childhood. I found ways to incorporate my passion for books and writing with my students, but I buried the dream I had for myself. In a world of many voices and storytellers, I let myself believe that mine wasn't good enough.

Something happened when I lost my mom and brother. All of a sudden the reality of the fragility of life was staring me in the face. Both my mom and brother lived their lives in a way that was bold and loud. They pursued their dreams. They didn't play it safe like I did. And suddenly, I craved that for my own life. I commited to myself to write the story. I am receiving coaching from a reputable, successful author.  I will be published. My mom and brother may not be here, but their untold stories will be my inspiration. In following my own childhood dream, perhaps I'll heal the parts of me that are broken as well. 

Stories are best when shared. I am grateful for the opportunity to share mine with you.

That Was Then. This is Now.

It is different, but still good. Happy Father's Day, Dad. You've handled the last eight months of catastrophic loss with love and grace. You are doing the work to grow through the grief, and I am so very thankful for the ways you've shown up even on the hard days. I notice. My kids notice. Mom and John Michael would be proud. 

I love you more. xoxox

Mourning on Mother's Day

Sitting in the quiet of a sleeping house, I woke to my first Mother's Day without you. There is no fan fare, gift given, food made, that will ever replace the ache that is in my heart without you here. As fate would have it,  I am sick again. There would be nothing that would have kept you away. You would have arrived, home made soup in hand, and just sat with me for awhile. We would have watched a movie. Remember how we were supposed to see, Book Club 2? Well, it's out now. You were so good at showing up and you always chose us. Your presence, such a comforting gift. The only one I really ever needed.

I can see now, some of the things that made you "you," are some of the qualities that I will spend the rest of my life trying to emulate. Bits and pieces of your vivaciousness, your generosity, your laughter, your light. These are the gifts I will carry tucked away in my heart, and hopefully given away to the world. I am only me because of you.

It is lonely here without you. No one seems to care, love, or know me in the same way you did. I carry this grief around like a second layer of skin. It is always with me and I desperately want to shed it. I want to only think of you with that joy that you so beautifully exuded. I want to laugh a little louder, love a little larger, and live a life that you would continue to be proud of. 

I will think of you as we celebrate with our favorite brunch foods this morning. Anjalene did everything herself, without being asked. It was her idea to celebrate in the same way we usually did. I will miss your large laugh as we toasted the morning away with mimosas in hand. Janessa, your mini me, will say and do things that will give me pause as I see so much of you in her. I will appreciate these glimpses and proudly let her be herself. She is growing so confident and secure in her own skin. She definitely gets that from you! Jonathan, will quietly miss you in his own way, his saddness tucked away in the recesses of his heart. He will keep working and doing just like you did because, "That's what Grandma would do," he'd say. He would be right. Anthony will probably work and stop by late or on another day, and you'd tell me, "He'll come back. He knows where his place to land is." You, of course, would be right...just like you were with Little. Ernie will make me laugh as he often does retelling the best stories of you. You spent so much time with us, there are plenty, and one day I will write them down so my kids will know their great grandma too.

I hate doing this life without you. I wish we had more time. We were so different, but so the same if that is even possible. There is this tiny bit of peace that you have John Michael to celebrate with you, and then my heart breaks all over again because I just can't fathom he is gone too.

"Enough tears," you would say. The kids will be up soon. They need me. Just as we were your why; they are mine. There is food to eat, stories to tell, life to live, and I am here to live it.  Happy Heavenly Mother's Day, Mom.

Love you forever; I'll miss you for always.

Easter 2023

He is risen! Stay risen!

It's in the darkest hour when your thoughts catch up with you. I've been awake since three am. I didn't even try to go back to sleep. Instead, I've been reading these snippets of a life that seems forever ago. I hope one day these blog posts serve as a reminder to my kids of the good life we have been fortunate enough to live.  Maybe it is in this season of mourning that these memories are especially comforting. They remind me,  that was before. This is now.

We just celebrated our first Easter without my mom and brother. To be honest, we have not typically celebrated Easter together since my parent's divorce five years ago so it didn't feel  that  different. I remember the first Easter after they separated and knew being together would be too hard for us, so we began to visit and stay with E's family out of state. It was the one holiday, I told my Mom we had to have with his family. She understood. This year we actually were on a camp trip to wind down multiple conflicting spring breaks. It was good for my senses to be out in nature. I love the beach. My brother loved the beach too. My mom, not so much. . .but she was a good sport about it. The sunrises and sunsets were painted masterpieces across the sky that I needed to see: God's glory in full effect during Holy Week.

We went to church later than usual. We ate dinner with my Dad and Anthony, texted with our oldest and his wife. Lene and I visited Uncle Craig because I know my Mom would have. I missed seeing all the cousins together, but I was right where I needed to be. I'm in a season that needs to figure out what I need. I am missing the people who I shared the most life with. I am giving myself permission to be where I need to be. I am giving myself permission to be who I need to be. I am asking questions that need to be asked as I'm on the rounding up to fifty spectrum. We are making plans just in case, because. . .we've experienced tragedy and then tragedy again. We can never be too prepared.

It's four am. I go to the gym at 5:30. I work at 7:45. In this quiet moment, thoughts of my past bring me comfort and joy. Grief is lonely, even when you are blessed with the most incredible friends, you feel alone in your struggles. Grief and joy, such conflicting emotions as a son readies to turn 18 and graduate. Life keeps moving forward. Ready or not. What is it I want most? Where do I want to go? How do I want to live? These are the questions my three am brain yearns to answer. This post is all over the place. . .kind of like my sleepy three am brain, I guess.

Easter 2023

Uncle Craig: Easter 2023

My Support System is. . .

My support system is a beautiful example of the friendships I have nourished through the years. My friendships are the family I choose. Although I never questioned any of my friends in my circle and their loyalty or their ability to show up, this grieving experience has literally opened my eyes to the exquisite beauty who are my friends. If you have never read the story of the female elephants, please do so:  

https://jenhatmaker.com/the-elephant-story/

I first heard the story years ago after a woman from work lost her husband suddenly. I remember our administrators telling us the story and the picture they presented her. I remember the feeling of awe in the room as mostly women, many of whom did not know this woman or her husband, were filled with deep empathy, care, and concern for the woman returning to her post. There was a palpable feeling of support in that room full of virtual strangers. I've never forgotten that moment, but have never experienced my own elephant circling and gathering until I lost my mom. Then again twenty-four days later, they rallied their herd and surrounded my from the moment I heard of my brother's accident. I have been so incredibly blessed by these women and their unwavering support. They randomly text me elephants. They check in frequently. They invite me to do life with them. They pray for me and with me. They keep showing up and loving me and my family despite distance, time, or anything else that may get in the way.

One of the best things about my friends is that they are from many different time periods of my life. Some of my closest friends go back to our first day of high school; some from college; some from my kid's preschool days; some from elementary school, some from sports, some from church; some from multiple work sites, and some from my neighborhood. What a blessed life to live with these beautiful people! Friends from all walks of life and across the years have gathered in their circle of support and allowed me the space I needed to literally pick myself up from the floor. They have wiped my tears so I can see again. They have sat with me in silence when the grief has no words. On the 23rd of the month, many send little love notes and do random acts of kindness with me to honor my mom's life. They are present. They are a present. Never before have I known this level of support. I only hope I can always offer them the same.