On Turning 30 (and other things)

Well, it's been a(long)while since my last entry.

Sometimes a hiatus is necessary, even from the things you love. 

So, what have I been up to the last few months?

November and December were quite full of the usual holiday chaos running alongside the difficult loss of my boyfriend's mother. Needless to say, life was less about trying new things and more about spending time in the inner circles of our close friends and family.

The circumstances surrounding that situation were heartbreaking in and of themselves, but having lost my own mother added another layer of sorrow.

It broke my heart to watch him and his family day after day, understanding as best as I could, how hard that time was. Our situations were so different. The one thing I understood was losing mom. As Yann Martel wrote in Life of Pi, "To lose your mother, well, that is like losing the sun above you…"

Here I was in the most vulnerable, intimate and private part of their lives in the midst of just beginning to get to know them. I had only moved back a few months before. Generally, people take a lot of time to get to know their significant other's family, but time wasn't on our side.

Sometimes I felt like an intruder, but they, in spite of their own situation, were incredibly gracious and open to me. I gained a profound respect for them.

Through it all, it focused us on how incredibly precious time is; there was no time for bullshit or putting things off.

We learned an intensely vivid lesson on what and more significantly, who, is important in life.

Since I moved back in mid-August 2013, there's been a rough series of events in transitioning from the mountains and the constant activity of living where I worked to being back in the place I thought I'd never return to for a million different reasons.

It has taken me nearly 6 months to finally start to calm down and even begin to feel somewhat settled. The stress of everything happening all at once left me feeling particularly doubtful, sad, and vulnerable; which made me feel like an incredible jackass. I wanted to be strong and supportive for my boyfriend, but so often it was him being strong for me.

Thankfully, he is unfailingly optimistic, and in spite of it all, we still managed to find quite a bit of happiness and joy through the months. He has been my rock through everything.

Speaking of happiness, odd as it sounds, turning 30 on January 22 was quite festive and fun- I still feel exactly the same as I did when I was 29. ;)

I am looking forward to my new decade and the new adventures it has to bring.

And speaking of new, one of my new endeavors is another blog called The Little Things, which is a place where you can find, you guessed it, little things that make my days happy. Since I love cooking and finally have a lovely kitchen equipped with nearly everything I could ever need, it is currently a lot of food and recipes.

I recoiled into preservation mode the last several months, but now as I've begun to find my center again, I'm starting to open up and am ready to continue pursuing what I set out to find when I originally started this blog; the things I love. The things that make me happy. The things that make life rich and meaningful for me.

Or maybe more accurately, I should say "more of" those things because the reality is, I already have all of those things in abundance.

Here's to the next 30 years.

"I Want to Die"

"If relationships matter most then [at the end of our lives], 

shouldn't they matter most now?" 

-Max Lucado 

Before any of you get concerned, I don't actually want to die.

But there was a time when I did.

Years ago, that phrase haunted my mind during most waking hours. If you've ever felt that way, truly genuinely wanted it to all be over because you just couldn't imagine how anything would ever be better, you'll easily understand this post. If you've had bad days but couldn't fathom ever wanting to check out, you are lucky and it might take a bit more, but try anyway.

On Saturday I found out one of my old friends shot himself the night before. I've lost a lot of friends to suicide over the years, and every single time I wonder what the differentiating factor is between who makes it through and who doesn't.

The age old nature or nurture question pops into my mind first- "How much is determined by environment and how much is an inherent strength?" Then I think about that cliche "you're never given more than you can handle," and wonder if maybe that's not entirely true.

I hear opinions varying from the sympathetic to the judgmental. "How could they be so selfish?? Why weren't they thinking about everyone who loves them? Why weren't they thinking about ME, how I would feel???"

But then I think two things. 1. Maybe they did think of you and (erroneously) thought you'd be better off without them and 2. Did they know you loved them or even cared at all?

I'm not going to write an in-depth analysis of suicide because I have no answers.

Sometimes I have what I equate to survivor's guilt. I have no idea how I survived the years when I wanted it to all be over. Perhaps it was because I was lucky, maybe because I was blessed enough to have at least one person who loved me at some point each step or maybe it's because of an uncontrollable character trait I was born with.

Most likely it's some incalculable equation of them all. I wish I knew how and why I'm still here and they aren't. Maybe some of them would still be here then.

The one thing I do know is there's a pervasive loneliness that I've watched shape the way people see themselves and the rest of the world. We live in a world that's more socially interconnected than ever, and yet our sense of displacement is increasing.

So often I've heard the last words were something along the lines of, "Nobody would care if I was gone. I can't handle any of this, I don't know how to fix it. I'm so alone. "

Why is that?

We hear the old wisdom and see it burned onto a crafty pieces of wood,"Love the ones you're with", "Home is where you feel love", and other stupid bullshit that sounds great and we whole heartedly agree, but we still ignore it or at least don't really live it out... till things like this happen.

We could use cop-out lines like, "they needed to change their perspective" or "they wouldn't have believed me, it wouldn't have made a difference," but sometimes I think that's a cover for the guilt we feel because we remember all those times we thought to call but didn't or said we were "too busy" to talk or hang out.

The world we live in will continue to move at unmercifully dizzying speeds. It's easy to have a rational sounding excuse to dodge putting the effort into the people we say we love, but when the end comes, we're too often left with regrets.

Love changes everything. I'm not saying that we can prevent all suicides. There are innumerable factors that play in, many of which we never know about. I am saying that there is a problem with the growing sense of disconnection and displacement.

We all have a role to play in that.

We don't get control over how someone else experiences life, but we do get control over how much love we give.

Sometimes, it makes a difference. I know it did for me.

"As the globalized placeless world spreads... it could be that the most radical thing to do is to belong."

 -Paul Kingsnorth

Turning Point

I do this every year. 

Every year on this day, I add plus one to the count. 

Today makes 15. Fifteen years since mom died. 

It's weird every year. Every year I wonder how it's been so long already...

I miss her, always. Though, after years of contemplation, I finally realized I've had her on a pedestal. 

It's something we all do when someone we love dies. We forget the awful and remember the good, as I think it should be. 

Mom struggled with nameless debilitating health issues for over two decades which meant the whole family was just trying to survive. Our lives were dedicated to her.

The reality for me is that if she were still here, I would likely not have taken all of the chances and opportunities I did. I wouldn't have traveled so much, I wouldn't have lived in two other states and most importantly, I wouldn't be as close to my dad and sister as I am now. 

Last year (the 14th year) was a big year because it was the point at which she had been gone longer than she was with me. 

This year is big because, although on some level I always knew it, I'm finally fully realizing and admitting that while her absence has been scarring and I miss her always, dare I say it....

Life has been better since she's been gone.

When I say that life has been better, I don't mean that I've been enthralled to not have her here. I'm consistently sad when anything happens that I want to share with her- the good, the bad, the happy, the disheartening...

Hearing the trite old saying that she's still with me somewhere out there is annoying at times because her being "out there somewhere" is not an acceptable substitute for being "right here to hug me and tell me everything will be fine."

I'd give anything to have my mother here if she could be happy and healthy, but she rarely ever was for any of the time I knew her. So while I detest trite platitudes, the saying that she's better off because she's not suffering anymore holds some truthful solace.

This is a big anniversary because it's an intentional step away from grieving.

I can't spend the rest of my life wishing for something that I will never have again. I can spend the rest of my life grateful that I had it for the time that I did. 

Happy 15th year mama. Here's to peace for both of us.

A Different Kind of Love Story

This isn’t your conventional love story. There is no “happily ever after,” or, maybe there is…

Once upon a time about 10 years ago I met a boy while visiting a friend in college. Not just any boy, mind you. Admittedly, on the surface, he looked just as regular as any other boy possibly could- tall and lanky with dark hair and sincere playful eyes. He liked to write, seek out adventure, play pranks on his friends and fool gullible girls (me) into believing he could call squirrels when in reality, he was secretly dropping food behind him.

I met him in the darkest years of my life; I was reeling from a great deal of heartache and loss and had more days of not wanting to wake up than I could count. There were some days I tried not to, but that is a story for another time and place. He brought laughter and light to my darkness.

Under the seemingly regular boy appearance, this particular boy seemed to possess an uncanny ability to see through to my soul. He saw the best in me even when it was shrouded by years of abuse and neglect. He told our mutual friend after our very first meeting, “That is by far the best girl I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

I didn’t know that until 3 years later, a week after his funeral.

“What the hell? How depressing. Where’s the love story?!” you may be thinking, but give me a moment to explain.

After 6 (ok, maybe 7) years of anger, frustration, heart-shattering sorrow and never really allowing anyone to get close- I finally began to recognize the gift he gave me.

This seemingly ordinary boy left me with the lesson of what it means to love- really truly love someone when they’re not at their best, but more, what it means to love unabashedly, whole-heartedly, deeply and honestly with no hesitation and no fear.

My great love story is not one that involves two people enduring through the years together. Instead, it is a short story where one brave boy unknowingly taught an unsuspecting girl to let go of her fear and sorrow in order to love- love people and love the very act of being alive.

His death was a gift in that he taught me that the only thing we are guaranteed is the very moment we are in. Each and every moment is of infinite value, and we must strive to permeate each second with as much awareness and gratitude as possible because we may never get that chance again.

Today, my love story has opened my heart to a new chapter that involves taking the amazing opportunity to build a relationship with someone who has captured my heart in a way that hasn’t happened in 10 years. I don’t know what the future holds, but I can say that this moment I’m in is abundantly full and is enough in and of itself.

…and she lived happily ever after.

Wish You Were Here

Today marks the 9th year since one of my dearest friends passed... I remember the day I received the call telling me he was gone. My first reaction was denial, "You're kidding, right. He's standing there- that's not funny, it's not fucking funny" that rapidly shifted into knowing it was real.  It was as though the life had been kicked out of me; I couldn't breathe. In a numb haze I somehow found myself flying back to PA from Hawaii. Everything that happened after was a whirlwind of foggy, yet painfully and explicitly clear, memory. Part of me was still in denial up until the viewing. From that moment on, I felt as though I had been left to wander the face of the earth alone.

He was the first one to see through the darkness that encompassed me at the time. He was never afraid of my life, and sat with me through some of my most desperate and helplessly lost moments. Inexplicably, he would frequently make contact in some way when I was in the midst of one of my meltdowns, even when we were 6000 miles apart he was somehow still present with me. I always thought the idea of soul mates was a crock of shit... until I met him.

My last adventure to Kenya reminded me that, in spite of how much I miss him, I am incredibly grateful for the lessons I've learned through his complete love and acceptance while he was here, and for teaching me how to live through his death. He is why I've learned that the people and relationships in my life are what matter the most. At the end of it all, I will want to know that those I loved knew just how much I loved them- that I endeavored my utmost to be the best version of myself for not just my benefit, but for theirs. He is why I am teaching myself to make decisions out of love and not fear- to live boldly, openly, passionately, and honestly.

Though, that all said, there's always an underlying bittersweet melancholy I have in every place I go because I know they are experiences he would have loved.

It has taken me years to find the so-called silver lining of such a devastating blow, but I finally resolved that the best way for me to honor those I've lost is to LIVE. My part of the story must go on. 

"There's no second I've lived that you can't call your own." 

-House of Leaves

Buying Back My Soul

Celebrating having given my official "I'm getting the fuck out of this place" notice at work over a beer with a friend, I was marveling over how amazing my life is right now. My boss was actually happy for me since he's known I've hated the job nearly since I walked in the door. He was, however, curious to know how I've been able to take so many trips and still be able to walk away from my stable well paying income. I told him, "I'm a resourceful girl. I've been spending only on specific things, saving, and working towards this moment for a long time. I am completely free to do what I want when I want, and I will never again be in a position where I can be controlled and treated like shit just because I need the paycheck. I am giving you a 4 week notice to be courteous, but if there is any undesirable backlash, I'll walk now." 

It was one of the most liberating moments of my life. 

I am doing all of those things I've always wanted to do, but until this point, was too afraid to actually do them. At work I would sarcastically respond, "livin' the dream" when anyone asked how my day was going. Now, I really am. No sarcasm. 

I said to my friend, "I know this party could be over after this year is up because I have no idea what I'm going to do when I am, once again, in the position with no income; however, right now and this next year are already amazing." He responded, "You know, this party could be over right now- tonight." 

That's when I remembered: Oh, right... that's a huge reason why I made the decision to change my life's course now- because my life could be over at any moment. It's so easy to forget. Sometimes we even want to forget just how very mortal we are, but we shouldn't. We should remember it, always. It will change the way we live.

I can finally, for the first time in my life, say that if I knew I was going to die now, I'd be proud of myself and my life. Before, I was scared to die because I felt that my life had no meaning, but at the same time, I wanted it to be over because it had no meaning. I'm finally free- I bought back the soul I sold to pay my rent. I made choices and changes because I realized and accepted that the responsibility for my life is in my hands. If I don't direct it, someone else will, and for the last few years, someone else did. 

But not any longer.

“Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.”

“Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.” 

-Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

This post will be a bit of a deviation from my regular posts.

This post is for my mother.

Mother's Day has, for the last 13 years, been a day that feels like Valentine's Day does to single people- but only, much worse. If you're single, that's not necessarily a permanent state. There's hope that one day that will change. When you've lost your mother- there is no hope of return or that the situation will change. You know in your heart the rest of your life will always contain an empty void that can simply not be filled by anyone or anything else.

There aren't many in my life who remember my mother. I've told the story of the morning she died in full to very few, but for whatever reason, I feel compelled to tell the story now.

Five something AM on October 2, 1998, I wake up, not sure why, and glance up at my window. The blinds are flashing. "Oh... lightning" I thought to myself and started to drift back to sleep. But, within a split second I realized, "lightning doesn't do that." I bolted out of bed into the hallway to find paramedics racing upstairs to my mother's room. Oh my god.

I ran down to the basement where my sister was sitting up in her bed, the covers pulled over her knees. "What's happening?" she asked with a tone in her voice that said she already knew. I don't know what I said at that point, I just remember we were somehow both standing at the entrance of the hallway listening... waiting... I was about to say "it must not be too bad... they're taking a long time" as my sister said, "something must be really wrong, they're taking a really long time."

Not too long ago, my sister and I were talking about what we remember from that morning... her flashbacks include the heart-wrenching piercing sound of my screams as my feet flew down the stairs to tell her what was happening. I don't recall a single sound.

I have no idea how much longer it was after she made her comment because time was suddenly moving at an agonizingly slow pace, and yet somehow, at a breath-stealingly fast speed. I feel like I remember them taking the door to the upstairs off the hinges, moving some furniture, and then at some point they ran down the stairs with the stretcher...

I caught a glimpse of my mother, limp and lifeless as they raced to the ambulance. I knew in that instant it was over. I knew that was the last time she would ever be at home with me.

My dad stayed behind with his 3 children- I stood beside him at the door as he clutched his chest struggling to breathe. The last paramedic to leave asked him "Are you ok?" I wanted to scream at him "No, we're not fucking ok!" while a momentary terror entered my mind "Is my father going to have a heart attack?" Thankfully, dad settled, the ambulance roared off, and I went to get ready for school.

What.the.fuck.

To this day, I can't explain what possessed me to get on the bus that morning. Maybe initial denial that everything I had just seen wasn't real. Maybe if I kept going about my day as usual, it would mean I didn't know my mother just died.

Third period I raised my hand in history class, "Can I leave?" My teacher knew what happened- I wandered down to the office, called my sister, and she and my now brother in law picked me up and took me to the hospital with them.

I don't remember anything until the moment I walked into my mom's room. She was lying in the hospital bed with tubes everywhere- the respirator making that eerie "beep....beep..." One nurse explained the machine would count every breath she took on her own. So, every time one walked in, I asked "Has she taken a breath yet?" And every time, "No, honey, not yet." I knew the answer would never change.

Rewinding to the day before, mom had picked me up from school. Driving home she was swerving and I impatiently said, "Mom, just let me steer." Resisting she said, "No, I don't want the cops to see."  I started to get angry "They're more likely to see you swerving than me steering! You should have your license taken away." We fought the entire way home. We went to our rooms and slammed our doors. I didn't speak to her the rest of the night, even when she had come down to apologize, say goodnight, and she loved me.

Mom's health issues had peaked again at that point in time- she was actually due to go in for a sleep study around the time she died. Years later as I looked back on that moment, I realized that, on some level, mom must have known what was about to happen. Our night time ritual for years involved the kids going to her bedroom to say goodnight because after she took her medications, she needed to stay in bed. She had not come down to us since I can't remember when. Also, after a fight like that, she wouldn't have talked to me until the next day. She came down to say goodnight and I love you. I blew her off. If I regret anything in my life, that's it.

You can tell me she forgives me, and I know that in my head, but I'll tell you this: Logic and a broken heart want nothing to do with each other.

Throughout the day, tons of people came to visit. I barely remember any of them. I do remember some benevolent Christians decided it was their duty to inform me that my "fire for God had been dying lately- and maybe God was taking my mother to make me more dependent on Him." I told them if that's the kind of God he is, he could burn in hell with me.

That night, with mom still hooked to the machines giving her the appearance of life, my dad and I stayed while everyone else went home to rest. I peeked in on her a few times, then went to lie down on the bench in the waiting room where my father was sleeping. As he snored, I buried my head as far into a pillow as I could to muffle the sounds of my hysterical desperate tears. The tears that were, reluctantly, beginning to accept that this person who was my world was leaving, and there would be no coming back. I wanted to scream my own existence away into the universe.

Sometime the next morning, my sister, her fiancé, and my brother returned. Again, people swarmed in and out. Three of my sister's friends showed up, and for whatever reason, they were the most comforting to me. Maybe because they weren't my obnoxious 13 year old peers who had no idea how to handle the situation and were annoying at best, isolating at worst.

There came a point when the doctors had to tell us that they had run all of their tests. Mom was completely non-responsive; she was brain dead. Dad made the impossible decision it was time to take her off the machines. And here again, I did some inexplicable thing. Everyone was in the waiting room completely drained from the last 36 hours, and I decided to say goodbye to mom by myself. I think dad may have hung by the door while I stood by her bed crying saying, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I miss you...I love you."

I walked back to the waiting room to announce I was going outside while everyone else said their goodbyes. One of my sister's friends came out with me. I wasn't crying now. I felt numb. We walked out to a crystal clear star-filled night and I said, "I don't know what I'm going to do." I don't remember exactly what he said... something about being strong, and I would be ok. I had never felt so lost. We walked back in to find the rest of my family, gather our things, and made our escape from what was the beginning of our new reality.

I had no idea what lay in store for me after that night. I had no idea how hard life would continue to be for a long time. People always say "it will get better," but who can predict that? My next several years were some of the most tumultuous to date. It's no small feat I made it through them alive. What does a 13 year old girl do when the sun above her goes out? She either withers and dies herself, or she starts over and learns everything she's ever known has to be different now- she has to make her own light.

Here I am, 13 years later, finally able to acknowledge and embrace that, while I miss my mother horribly- I've learned more about love and living through her death than I ever may have if she was still here. I still have no idea what's in store for me and my life. I do know that whether you've lost a parent, child, lover, or best friend, at some point, you have to make a decision. You can either let your own life waste away until you die, or you teach yourself to make a beauty and joy all your own. You can let the love that's still in your life fade out, or you can pour every bit of yourself into it with a heightened awareness and reverence for how sacred our relationships are with each other. I hope it's the latter.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I hope I make you proud.