Complex Joy

©Kelly Rae Roberts

I struggle tonight with what to write here. Not because I have no words for my pain... but because lately, I have been... happy. And I am struggling to write about that. Lately, my new life has become one I genuinely love. It may not be the life I had with him - but it is rich and full... and to be completely honest, it is actually far richer and more full than the life I had when he was part of it. I am a deeper, healthier, more open hearted person. I have deeper relationships with everyone I am close to now and have kicked the unworthy ones to the curb. My artistic career, although very challenging and still in the fledging stages, is meaningful and fulfilling for me. While I still have my bad days and occasional triggers and there are still certain aspects of my life that I am working to change... for the most part, I have a very full and fulfilling life.

I have mixed emotions about this. How can I possibly love my life again? And furthermore... how can I possibly love this life even MORE? How could I choose this life over my life with him if given the choice? (And I would actually). And how do I not really feel bad about that? That's some really complex shit right there.

I don't feel bad for feeling happy. I feel like it is only making Drew happier to see me finally wanting to embrace joy more fully again. And I do believe I deserve happiness. So why does it feel so damn difficult to write about happiness. Why do I fear that it will sound like I am bragging or that I will alienate readers who are in a different place on their journey through grief? It shouldn't be so hard to write about this. But it does seem like happiness becomes a taboo subject when we are grieving. Like it's not okay to admit that you may actually have some joy still left in you. Heck, maybe - eventually - you find you have even MORE joy left in you than you'd ever had before. I think this is how I feel now... that my heart is even bigger since he died - and has room for both more sorrow and more joy.

I'm just going to close this up by saying, I think that is a wonderful thing... the thought that maybe we can find just as much joy in new ways and in a new life someday as we had in our old lives. Maybe holding onto this idea can help us along when things are rough and there isn't much joy. And the grander thought that maybe - as our hearts expand from the pain of loving them - we will find that their death has created the space in us to experience even greater joy than we could have ever known had they not died. It's a complex idea, for sure, but in my heart I personally believe - this was his greatest and most lasting gift to me.

Two Versions of Love

I have been thinking a lot lately about something Michele Neff Hernandez, our editor, said in a workshop over a year ago about finding new love. Back then, I was nowhere near wanting new love. But I knew someday I would want it. So I attended this workshop at Camp Widow in Tampa, and listened to what she had to say. The thing I remember most is her explaining that her new husband is the perfect fit for the new Michele. And her first love was the perfect fit for THAT Michele. She was two different women, and there was in fact a perfect match for each of them. 

I've held onto this bit of wisdom a long time. I like the idea of it, although I have not been able to grasp just what that feels like until now. How right she was. 

It's a very surreal feeling. I have this new person I've spent the past few months getting to know. A new energy. But also a familiar one. He is quite similar to Drew in a lot of ways. His character and integrity are rock solid. He and Drew would have been fast friends in fact, of that I have no doubt. He is kind, patient, ambitious and incredibly dedicated - just as Drew was. He's a goofball and a big kid at heart, just like Drew. But there are differences too. He is more creative, and more sentimental than Drew was. He's a talker and Drew was a bit more the silent type (I laugh at him frequently in fact for talking as much as I do... which is A LOT) Somehow, I always thought that "differences" would be a bad thing. That I would see someone new as "less than" Drew and end up comparing them a lot. I haven't been able to really see Michele's idea play out personally until now. So I have been very scared of that - of my love for Drew getting in the way of seeing and appreciating a new man. 

This hasn't been the case at all. It's exactly as she described to me two years ago. In fact, the differences between them have made me appreciate both of them even more. There are things I loved about Drew that the new guy doesn't share. And there are things about the new guy that I really love that Drew didn't share. I think that is the most surprising part of all... that there could be qualities in a new man I could love just as much... and the differences actually enhance the whole experience instead of diminishing it. 

It is plainly true, I am a new and very different person from the woman I was when Drew died. I'm sitting here right now wondering how on earth I got from June 12, 2012 to writing about some new man. This whole journey is surreal. But I am beginning to learn some new things about love. It is possible to have two matches... one for the woman I was, and one for the woman I am. And for neither of them to compete or be less or more than the other - just two different versions of the same beautiful thing: love. 

Are there are moments when I compare the two of them? Moments when I wish Drew was here instead? Moments when all of this feels upsetting and overwhelming and I just want to run to the arms of the one who is no longer here? Absolutely. I'm only human. And those moments are teaching me things too. Like that fact that this new person is in no way threatened by my love for Drew. Quite the opposite, we talk about him all the time. It is like they know each other... like we are all family. 

The last time I got upset and was feeling conflicted about the two of them, he said to me, "You are allowed to love Drew the very same amount that you love me. Forever. It never has to be any less, and it never will be, nor should it be". I cried, and I let my guard down completely for the first time in a long time. How beautiful it was to receive those words. To receive the love of this new man, only because Drew died. I did not know it was possible, but the love of this new man has actually made me feel Drew's love tenfold, and made me love him even more. And it has shown me that really, in the end, it is all just love flowing between us. Between Drew and I, between this new man and I, and between them, too. 

Birthdays & Beginnings

Today was my fiance's birthday. The third year without him here. You always think it's going to get easier. And you never really have any clue how it's going to hit you. That's no mystery to me. I've been dealing with the milestone of my mom's birthday for over 20 years now since she died... and some years are just harder than others, for no real reason at all. I gave up long ago trying to understand the "why" of all this.

I feel like this 3rd birthday has been even harder than the 2nd without him. Maybe this is because it is the same amount of birthdays I shared WITH him... we only had 3 short years together. As I'm writing this, I'm thinking it has a lot to do with it. This officially kicks off the first of many milestones this year that are going to be even harder than last year, for that one reason. By June, I will officially be entering into having lived more time after his death than I actually had with him. It's heartbreaking, even now just thinking of it. And it's weighed so heavily on my heart today that I've scarcely even had words.

There were some highlights to the day. My mother-in-law and I went to get pedicures in the morning. Cute toes always make a day better. We did a little shopping and then had a blast out on the ranch ridiculously exploding a pink pony piñata - because sometimes you just need to blow some shit up. I will admit, that felt crazy good. And afterwards, my in-laws and I went out for a really nice dinner. There was a lot of good in the day actually, I have to admit that.

But still... under the surface has been that feeling of the lurking 3 year mark. And that's not the only new thing that's entering into my life right now either. Simultaneous to this whole 3 year milestone, I have also met someone.... new.

There has been wonder and joy and excitement again with this new person. And warmth and support and understanding. It has been so beautiful. He cracked a beer at midnight with me last night - just to celebrate Drew's birthday. He gets me. And I have laughed more in a few short months than I think I had in the entire past 2 1/2 years.

But there also days when I've just had to run off, and create distance from this new person, because being vulnerable feels too hard. And moments when I've been paralyzed by the fear that I will let this person matter so much, and then he will die too. There have been times when I've wanted nothing more than to fall into this new man's arms... And times when I have wanted nothing more than to fall into the arms of my fiancé again - not this new person - because that is truly where I feel the most safe. All of this, the great stuff and the hard stuff, its a lot to take in. To put it plainly, goddamn, this shit is just terrifying.

One of the worst aspects: I hate knowing that - for the rest of my life - I am going to have this fear of the person I am with dying on me. I really, really hate this. I miss the innocence of believing blindly that the odds were in my favor. Now, I know different... and I wish I didn't. I wish none of us did.

This post is really sort of a rambling mess, I didn't plan what to talk about or think through this at all. It's just whatever is going on in my head right now. I am confused, and a bit scared right now. About life. About death. About what lies ahead.

In a few months, I will be exactly as far away from his death as I was the day I met him... and I think this realization has been bubbling up under the surface for a while now. Well, I know it has, I've feared it since he first died. I still cannot even fathom hitting this landline of a mark in June. I cannot even fathom how difficult a time it is going to be... and how much I may regress back into my grief - which makes me want to distance and turn off from the world and be alone. And then I think of this new person, and how much I'd like him to keep being here, but also how scary it is to bring someone else into my world at a time when I may really need a lot of space. I'm confused, and sad tonight. And all I really want is to talk to my best friend, to tell him Happy Birthday, to talk about this new man with him, and to express how scary this year's milestones are going to be. God, why can't we just pick up the phone and call each other?

Third Thanksgiving Lessons

Thanksgiving was easier this year. I think. It was certainly less terrifying than the first year. I still remember that first year, when we changed the tradition from being at my in-laws' house to Drew's aunt & uncle's house near Houston. His aunt did assigned seats… and I was sat next to the ONLY empty chair in the whole room. Which also happened to be at what I affectionately call the Widow table. Myself, his grandmother (widowed), his aunt (also widowed). Now I know it was accidental, but I had to laugh at the complete irony of the whole situation. Sometimes you have to laugh or you'll cry, am I right? I was paralyzed by the fear that I would cry during the prayer (which I did anyway, so fearing it was futile). It ended up being a fun table to be at in the end. We had plenty of dark laughter to go around, after all. Still, I remember wanting nothing more than to be alone and just erupt in tears for hours on end. The feeling was literally a pain in my heart. You all know that pain.

Oh the fear of that first Thanksgiving. Every single event that first year - fear held me captive. I was afraid to leave the house at all in the first few weeks. Afraid to go to movies. Afraid to eat out. Afraid to get a hair cut because of small talk. Afraid of work. Afraid to go to the doctor to get anxiety meds because I knew I'd have to say why. Afraid to be introduced to people's friends. Afraid to go places he and I went together. Afraid everywhere I went because I didn't know when the grief would overtake me or how or why. I was SO fragile. So deeply deeply fragile. I felt like a child again. Perhaps I was so broken that - in a way - I was a child again.

Last year was better. We did the same routine at his aunt & uncle's house, but at least this time the seating arrangement was different and I didn't get the empty chair next to me. I remember waking up on Thanksgiving morning and actually feeling excited about turkey and pie… and to my surprise, the paralyzing fear was not there. There was sadness, deep deep sadness still, but not the sort that overtook me entirely. More the sort that was able to sit alongside my joy and wait its turn a bit. So it was better.

This year, my relationship with the sadness was even more changed. A part of me seems to understand that he won't be there now, and know this more as a matter of fact now. It has started to become something my body and soul are accepting as the norm I feel. Like "okay, we've done this before, we know what we're dealing with" Which is strange, but… in a way nice. Nice to not feel like I am fighting it. Nice to just know this as truth and perhaps begin to relax into that a bit.

I think it helped that we did something different this year too. His family and I went in to San Antonio and had our celebration at a nice hotel there in town. His little brother just joined the Air Force, and was only allowed the day off base - hence the plan to do the hotel buffet thing. It ended up being this really beautiful day. We have barely had any contact with his brother while he's in basic training. In a way, this limited contact has reminded us again just how precious our time together is, each day we get to have it.

We had no expectations for the day other than to see his brother. We could have enjoyed our Thanksgiving dinner at McDonald's for all we cared, so long as we got to all be together. That is something that Drew's death changed for all of us, I think. When we are all together now - there is a different kind of gratitude flowing through the room. A deeper gladness for each other. It is how Drew's death has changed all of my relationships to those I am close to. It is a gift he has left us - a deeper perspective about what's important.

In a really unexpected way… the sadness was minimal. Instead of it riding alongside my joy, or just underneath it waiting to erupt, it actually seemed to take a back seat. That doesn't meant Drew took a back seat though. There was not a single moment all day that I wasn't thinking of him and loving him. But somehow… instead of the sadness, there was love. The miracle of the love he gave me. The love of the family he brought into my life. The joy of the new opportunities and new people that his death has brought into my life. The gratitude of his life and death giving me the chance to live my dreams today. The joy of knowing this one man changed the entire course of my life forever - and that he still is, even in death.

The more I heal and the more I step into myself and live my life fully - it seems the closer he and I get. I hope that is something everyone can believe and hope for - that when we begin to heal and help each other heal, our relationship to them only becomes stronger. That when we begin to live more boldly - they come with us along the journey.

I was told this a long time ago and I never could believe or understand it. It sounded impossible to ever not feel the pain or sadness at an excruciating level. But now… I'm beginning to understand. It has happened really slowly over these three years. So slowly that I couldn't even notice it was happening until just this week.

Pain is not the only way to experience our loved ones who have crossed over. And as we heal, and the pain begins to subside naturally on its own timeline, it will leave room for the love. I was scared it wouldn't for a long time. This whole year it seems has been a lesson in letting go of the fear that not feeling the pain or sadness as strongly will mean not feeling him anymore. Not true. I am learning.

As we heal there will only be more room for the love to grow. And grow it will. They are with us forever. Sending all of you love on this Thanksgiving Week… whether you are in the hell of it all or somewhere further along that feels less raw - my love to you all.

Still, Life

"Hope" ©Sarah Treanor

This week has been a whirlwind for me. I met a fellow artist who, upon seeing my photographic series on grief, asked to write this feature about it for a creative blog he writes for. That one blog post at this point has led to around 6 other blogs contacting me to share my story and the project… which has resulted in hundreds of people sharing the project via Facebook and Twitter. It has been certainly one of the most memorable and moving weeks of slogging through the past two years since my fiancé died.

To catch you up, this is a year-long self portrait series I have been doing since February called "Still, Life". Each weekly image - which I share on my blog - explores and expresses the emotional and psychological journey of living on after the death of someone you love. It touches on aspects like desperation and isolation, hopelessness and hope, fear and trust. It has been a grueling and often frustrating project. I've wanted to quit MANY times. I've cursed enough over it to make a sailor blush. I've had total emotional breakdowns over it. But, I've needed it project to survive. It's given me something to put myself into each day… like being able to climb into a boat on this stormy sea of grief. Still in the storm, but with something to hold me and help give me some small bit of direction.

So here I am this week, reading kind words written by other people about this work I've poured myself into for the past nine months. A project that could have never come out of me had he not died. It is so bittersweet - but my God, it's beautiful. The first two years were deeply survival. But these first 5 months of the third year since he died, it feels like he lives on in every step forward I take. The bitter is beginning to fall away, and leaving more and more sweetness over time.

As I read the headline to one of the articles this week - "Photographer Takes Moving Self-Portraits To Cope With Her Fiance’s Death"- and the article itself, I realized for the first time that this project is actually about a lot more than I ever knew. The images themselves may speak of pain and loss, but the project as a whole speaks of other things. It is about healing by making something meaningful out of loss. It is about love, and how unbreakable love is. Even when death tries to take it, it cannot be taken from us. Not ever. Finally, it is about the most important lesson he taught me in our three short but beautiful years together; Never give up on your dreams.

He worked for years to achieve his dream of being a commercial helicopter pilot. The man loved flying more than I've seen anyone love anything. Like any big dream, there were plenty of big fears along the way. He feared he wasn't competent enough. He feared the responsibility of transporting others safely. He feared dying in a crash, of course - which is ultimately how he did die. They were some very real fears. But he never let it stop him. I was lucky enough to be by his side to watch it all unfold. To watch him pass every check ride and gain every certification and land his first commercial job. There was a deep joy in him that last year as his dreams came to fruition. A joy unlike any I've witnessed so closely before. Watching his journey was the fuel that led me to chase my own dreams to be an artist. His death is what ignited it.

I feel now that this whole project is far more about him than me. It is all the things he stood for and the things taught me in life. And all the things he is teaching me still, in death. How he is showing me that still, even after all of this, there is life. And love. And that it is my job to get up every day, live life, and be love. My job to look for beauty still wherever I can find it. My job to decide to make something out of this crazy, awful, shitty, unbelievable journey. And my job to create my own meaning out what life throws at me.

I am completely overwhelmed to even be a part of it all right now. In deep gratitude that he came into my life 5 years ago… just a friend, who turned into more, and who has changed the entire course of my life now in ways I could not have ever imagined. The fact the just one person can come into your life and have THAT much impact still amazes me. I cannot help but be grateful that he changed my life and is still changing it today.

The Cold Front Comes In

Photo Courtesy of Diana Varner

The cold front comes in
and chills my bones
with the reality
that you are not coming home -
not now
not tomorrow
not ever.

That none of my family is.
not my mother
not my father
and not you.

So many people I have lost already
in thirty-two years of living
I have lived and died already
many lifetimes in this body.

Some years
the cold front whisks in
with a freshness of
possibility

Other years
and apparently this one
it feels more like
it steals something from me
my breath
my heart
a piece of me

Just by its bare reminder
that I will never have memories with
any of these three people in my life
ever again.

I have gained so much
I have a life full of love
full of incredible people.
But I think some years
no matter how long its been
(23 years for my mother,
5 years for my father,
and two for you)
The cold front still steals away my ground
and leaves me floating once more.

Spirit

"Spirit" © Sarah Treanor 2014 

Living with the loss of partner, or any great loss, is one of the most challenging things we will ever face in life. It sends us on a journey through the fire – into a darkness the likes of which we have never experienced before. It brings us to our knees and breaks us. Severely. I certainly remember this feeling well. Before my fiancé died, I knew I could handle anything that life threw at me. Only I didn’t really know that at all…

On the day he died, and the dark days thereafter, I came to find out what it really means to be able to handle anything life throws at you. To lose a soul mate – particularly in a sudden way – takes you to a place more painful and terrifying than I ever knew could exist. It breaks you right down to your bones. I know… I don't have to explain that to any of you. You have all, unfortunately, been there too.

I feared for my life – in a very real sense, for probably the whole first year. I feared for my life because I feared the death of my spirit. I was so badly broken that I honestly did not know if my spirit could ever recover. I was afraid that I would become dark and lose my sense of childlike wonder and hopefulness about the world. That this brokenness would overtake me and I would not be able to come out of the fire with my eyes ablaze anymore.

YET… I can still recall in the midst of it all – in those first hours and days and weeks – something inside me WAS ablaze. Something inside me was saying that this world can throw anything it wants to in my face and I will not stop believing that this life is beautiful. Or in the words of Mr. Tom Petty… “You can stand me up at the gates of hell, and I won’t back down”. (one of my go-songs right after he died, and still today).

I didn’t really know it at the time, but am quite certain now… that this was my spirit. This is the kind of stuff that amazes me about the human spirit. How broken we can be and yet still somehow, inexplicably, that soul part of us stands up for our broken human self. It doesn’t mean we feel any less broken. Or powerless. Or scared. But what I do know is that listening to my spirit was – and still is – something that gave me the ounce of strength I needed each day to get up and keep on trying to figure out what to do with all of this.

Looking back over things two years later is incredible at times. Because it feels like no time has passed at all – and often I still feel like I’m back at square one with my grief. But other days, like today, something lends me some perspective. And on days like this I can actually begin to feel like, yeah, I’ve crawled out of the fire… out of the worst of the darkness. This week's image from my "Still, Life" self portrait series is about just that. I’ve been battered and bruised and burned and scarred by this long journey, and I will be battered and bruised and burned and scarred much more before my time here is done… but I have not been broken. My eyes are still curious, my heart is still hopeful, and my spirit still burns bright… perhaps, even brighter than before. 

"Still, Life" is a weekly self portrait/written series I am doing for the entire year of 2014 - all about my journey of living with loss. To see more of this project you can check out my blog at 12moc.com. 

To Be The Giver

Every once in a while, something slams into us without warning. On a hot summer night two years ago, it was the phone call, with my father-in-law on the other end of the line telling me that the love of my life was in a crash while flying, and he didn't make it. His death slammed into me like two planets colliding.

And then this week, on another hot summer night, I think Robin Williams' death slammed into all of us. I have been surprised by just how deeply this has affected me. I've found myself having the same reaction of disbelief as when my fiancé died. The same outcry from deep inside myself that "No. No. This cannot be real." I've cried multiple times, deep sobs, for the loss of this man who - despite having never even met me - had a huge impact on my life. I grew up with him, watching Mork & Mindy and later Mrs. Doubtfire just about every week. I watched The Birdcage religiously through college - one of my go-to movies whenever I needed a break from all the stress in life. I watched Hook countless times whenever I needed a good dose of wonder and a reminder that life is full of magic. In fact, just a few weeks ago I watched it for just that reason… I watched Robin's childlike eyes light up and it made me believe in wonder and beauty and magic again.

All of this has got me thinking… how many people's lives do we touch that we have no idea about?
How many people's lives do I touch by writing here each week? Or by sharing my artwork about grief and loss? Or by just being kind and a good listener? There are countless people who may never tell us that we touched their lives… but nonetheless we have. And I don't think we ever have a clue just how much impact we have on others by the choices we make and the ways we choose to live our lives and treat others. But this week, this one very special man reminded me of just that. His death reminded me not only of the impact he has had, but of the capacity we ALL have to impact each other, inspire each other, love each other, and make each other laugh. It reminded me that - when I feel most alone - I can think about the little ways I've touched people's lives and know that I probably touched twice as many as I could ever know. We all have. Somehow, it makes things feel less lonely. It makes my heart feel more open and warm.

I don't really know where I'm going with this post. I hadn't planned to write about this today… so I'm letting it take me along for the ride. There has been much to think about this week, but what I am thinking on right now is that one idea: We touch so many more lives than we know. Every single interaction we have is a chance to leave the other person better than we found them. Every. Single. One. To give them laughter they didn't have, comfort they need, most of all - to allow them to feel seen and noticed. We all want to be noticed.

The beautiful thing about being the giver is that it goes both ways. Every time you give to someone else - that love flows right back to you. A selfless act of love for another is one of the most healing and beautiful gifts you can ever give - to them and to yourself.  Most especially in the midst of great loss.

It was death that woke me up to this two years ago, and keeps it in the forefront of my heart now. It is death that continues to remind me each day that every single interaction with another person matters… whether I've known them a decade or a day. It is death that reminds me that the way I live my life matters… and that I matter, probably far more than I will ever realize. 

Carry On, Phenomenon

It's been a while since I've cried like I did tonight. And it wasn't because of anything profound happening. It was just because of a movie. I went out to see The Hundred Foot Journey. It was a beautiful movie and a well-told story. And I am a big foodie, so I always love a movie that bubbles with a deep, soulful love of food.

The part that really got to me was the young couple of chefs that fall in love. That young, bold, sensual, adventurous, effervescent love of two young ambitious, smart, passionate, kind souls. A lot of the time I honestly forget what that felt like. Sometimes I hate that I can't remember, other times, I'm glad… because honestly it's easier when I can't remember. Less painful. Seeing it up on a screen in front of me though, in these two young people with nothing but life and possibility ahead of them, the knife began to twist.

A few miles out from leaving the theatre, just the right song came on… and then it hit. FULL ON BREAKDOWN.

Immediately I began screaming. In pain. In rage. In agony. Tears throttled from my eyes, pouring down my face. I gripped the steering wheel to his big black truck so tight I thought my hands might cramp up. I could barely see the road - a small, back-country road outside of town - so I ended up at a stop sign and just sat there and screamed and cried and screamed and cried. I screamed WHY!!! And I screamed "you were supposed to be here!!!" and I screamed "NO!!!" over and over again. Until my voice went hoarse. Until the song was over. Those three minutes felt like a lifetime of crying. But really I find that I can only cry in an explosive way like that for just about one song length before I completely exhaust myself. And then the next song came on the radio, and it said…

"You just gotta ignite the light and let it shine.
Just own the night like the 4th of July."

Ignite the light. Own the Night. I know not everyone believes in signs and communication, but I get a lot of really clear ones that have made it impossible to not believe. A lot of them come from songs. Especially when several songs in a row say the same thing. The next song that came on as I drove on home said to me "Don't fight it. Ignite it. There's much ashore… I think it's time you set this world on fire". Well dang! That was a song I'd never heard before. And then the NEXT one, which I'd also never heard before, from some obscure band, said this:

"But the fateful truth burns on and on, and on and on and on and on, on and on
When in doubt you made me stay connected in with the beyond and on
Like when the radio, plays on and on, and on and on and on and on, on and on. 
Carry on!
Carry on phenomenon
So you got the best of me, So amazingly, Carry on!
Carry on phenomenon"



By now, the tears are gone, and my fire is restored. I am smiling softly, with a calm resolve I haven't felt in a while. For a moment I am reminded of his bright spirit and his energetic soul so clearly. He is the one that is always trying to remind me that everything is okay, that he is right here. The one that is always finding ways to tell me to keep going, to own the darkness like only I can do… through my photography and my writing. To set this world on fire with my talent and my heart. He knows that I'll know exactly what it's all about.

Smiling, I say aloud "you're never really going anywhere, are you?" And for a moment, I am reminded that they don't leave us. Not really. They are always here, trying to help guide us and encourage us and comfort us in all sorts of ways. Trying to remind us that it's okay to carry on, it's okay to embrace life again and live boldly and shine our brightest, because we won't be doing it without them. They're going to be by our side the whole time.

Getting My Feet Wet

My kitties back in 2011 checking out the new kayak.

I'm struggling tonight. A mix of emotions are coursing through my veins… as is always the case with anything new on this journey. Why does every single new thing have to pull at my gut with uneasiness for the fact that he is not here? *sigh*

Today my Crossfit class had a water workout at the lake. Swimming, kayaking, lots of hard work and fun. We had about 10 or 15 people come out and spend the entire day out at the lake after our workout. I met some new people, and got to knew a few people from my class a bit more. And for one Saturday afternoon I pretty much just hung around being a normal 31 year old chick… which was nice. But since coming home I've been all kinds of emotional. Why? Well, I did something huge today. I took our kayaks out to the event for everyone to use.

The reason it's so huge is because our kayaks have been in storage since he died. Mine in fact had never even been used - as he has bought it for me for my birthday the fall before he died and we hadn't yet had a chance to take them out together. So today was actually the first time that I used the kayak he bought me. And I had to do this without him. Ouch.

I suppose fortunately, I was having enough fun to not think about it too deeply while there. But the undercurrent of emotions was riding below the surface all day. And as the night is coming to an end and I am curling up in bed alone again, it's all coming up.

He should have been next to me the first time that I used that kayak. Next to me, at the lake in Dallas where we always camped. The lake where we took our first kayak lesson together. I can still remember all of that like it was yesterday sometimes. (God, how is this my reality?)

Still, it was wonderful to share our kayaks with others and have a part of our life be a part of my new life and new events in it. To know that someone else sat in his kayak for the first time today. And someone else put on his life jacket today for the first time. I don't even quite know who that first person was, since we had so many people there. All I know is that it wast him. And of course since these are not close friends, not a single person there had any clue that all of this was going on underneath my cool, easy smile and bright laughter through the day.

I'm physically exhausted, from the workout, but I'm so much more emotionally exhausted. It was a huge step to finally take those kayaks out. Because it isn't just about a couple of water toys, it's about being able to accept in one more small way that he isn't coming back. And about feeling ready to let go of that one small piece of pain and try to share that part of my life with new people in order to give it new life. It isn't easy. And it hurts like hell. But today, I did it, and I'm proud of myself.

Seeing all the fun everyone had did bring me new joy. It made my heart feel good to share. And to be driving the kayaks there strapped down in the bed of his truck, a reminder that he is still so much a part of everything I do. Not the same way as he was. And certainly not in the way that I want him to be. But at least in some way, he is still here.

Fitting Two Worlds Together

"It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good"

Don't we ALL wish it was that simple??
Since coming home from my trip to Hawaii a few weeks ago, things have been rough. I wrote a post here trying to glean some of the positives from everything as of late - but really what I think I need to talk about is how freaking scary even the good new things can be. I went on that trip just to go visit a friend and see a new place… I never imagined that the girl I was when I left would not be the same girl I was when I returned. But that is what has happened. Since coming home, it is as if I landed back in my reality and realized in a very real way that I am a different person. And part of me is SO NOT okay with that.

Logically yes, I am a different person than I was when my fiancé was alive. The day he died I became a different person… and every day since. But I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the moment you look back and realize that you are REALLY a new person. When you actually see that you have new hobbies and new friends and a new career and life direction and BAM - it hits you suddenly. And the scary and heart wrenching part of that realization is the feeling that maybe, just maybe, if he and I were to meet now, or in a few more years from now, that we might not actually be the best match for each other. I don't even know how to entertain that thought in my brain… the same brain that knows this man to be the only one I ever wanted to spend my life with.

And I cannot even express to you HOW difficult it is to even TYPE those words publicly. My throat is tensing up with anxiety just to acknowledge this outwardly. Because he was and is my best friend… and I cannot tell you what a betrayal it feels like to say that. But there it is. This feeling that has been eating at me without my really being able to understand what was going on until today. His death has changed me. And in that, I have become this new person with new interests and new needs. I'm making new friends who never knew him - and for the first time in two years this doesn't feel so horrible. I'm going on trips for myself, and putting my all into my photography and building a business of my own as an artist and writer. I'm at the gym five days a week now (which is unheard of for me) and in the best shape of my life. My entire life is different from what it was when he was alive… and just after hitting the two-year mark it's as if I am realizing it somehow for the first time. And it almost comes as a shock, as if it snuck up on me. I really liked who I was when I was with him… but the person that he has helped create me to be since he died is someone I love SO much more deeply and fiercely. Because I've had to fight so hard for her.

It's all just so confusing. Because he is the reason for it all - he changed the entire course of my life in big ways. And so he is still so completely involved and a part of everything in that way. Yet that also means that his role in my life is different now. When we set out on this part of our journey, we began different paths, side by side, but not together as we were. Still I love him. Still I am in love with him. Still he is my best friend. And I still cry all the time because of how much I miss him. But somehow, in a way I cannot quite put into words, his role is different. New. Just as I am new and my role for him I suppose is different now too. And I don't really know how to fit all of this together. I've spent the past two years in hibernation, growing, changing, but not really making a lot of forward movement. But as that changes, as I do begin to lean into a new life, how does it all fit together? My answer right now is that I don't really know. I don't know what to do with all of it. I mean really, what DO you do with that? Other than share it with others - so you feel less crazy - so you feel more safe and okay with the fact that it's scary for you. That's all I know to do with it, so that's what I'm doing here. Thanks for listening.

The Battle

Do not be fooled 
by the lightness you see in me -
The cool easy smile 
across my face.

I would like to kill this silence to death.
This silence in me 
where once stood the man of my soul.
A silence louder than all the rest.


Do not be fooled 
for a moment -
For where you see 
my eyes shine with being
You see a moment in time 
that I am fighting for.


A silence
I have agonized to accept in me
A painful release 
I have fought to give myself.
No longer does joy exist 
without the battle.

Two Years Ago

Two years year ago this week, I had no concept of time.

Nor of my life any longer as I knew it.

Two years ago today, I was making funeral arrangements

For the man I had planned to grow old with.

And going from pain to disbelief and back to pain every 10 minutes

Like an endless loop

Two years ago today, I was two days in to being an unwedded widow.

Nothing will ever erase the memory of this week -
of the phone call
of falling to my knees in the hallway
and screaming into the phone those animal sounds.
Of lying awake at night in horror and waking up in confusion -
praying to God each morning that it wasn't real.
That delirious pain slamming into me like a freight train from hell.

I had no idea what kind of life i could possibly have beyond this ending.

None.

Two years ago today, I was lost and terrified for my life.
For the first time ever I met a pain so immense that I feared it actually might kill me.
And that was a very real fear.
That - even if it didn't kill my body - it would surely kill my soul
and leave me behind as nothing more than a dark, empty shell of a person.
God, was I scared.

Two years later, and I'm sitting at a local festival,
having drinks with a whole buffet of artists and musicians
whom have become part of my comminuty since he died.
Not only it is a night and day difference from my life before -
it is a world I always belonged to at heart
but one I was to afraid to open myself up to.

That life I could not imagine beyond his death? 

This is it. 

Somehow in these two years
I have started to carve out a new place for myself in the world
a place where I want to be -
where I make a difference in the world
where I say important things with the work I do
and where my soul feels most free.
A place with loving, devoted people who aren't afraid of my pain.
Creative people, emotional people, kind people.
Two years later, I'm still here.
And it didn't kill me.
or turn my soul black beyond repair.

It did quite the opposite as it turns out.
It broke me and it broke me open.
It made me crumble and it made all the walls I'd built up over a lifetime crumble, too.
And I decided not to rebuild them.
And instead, to leave my brokenness open
and my fallen walls fallen.
And now, that is where the love flows in.
Their love, and his love, one in the same.

I'm not certain what I think just yet of this "new life" I was forced into.

All I know is that at this very moment, there's a fire dancer to my right

And a man with a bright blue afro to my left,
a band playing, people laughing and crying and sharing and dancing.
It's quite possibly some of the most wonderful weirdness I've ever enjoyed -
because my heart is open enough now not to judge such things
but instead to let it flow into me and wash over me…
to open to the whole kaleidoscope of experiences and human connections
that are out there to be had in this life. 

It's still new and scary at times
and completely overwhelming, and always exhausting.
I still feel alone in a crowd
and my eyes still search for him, as does my heart.
But I think, just maybe, somehow…
I'm where I was always supposed to be
doing what I was always supposed to be doing - helping people.
and most importantly,
I'm still here.
And to my surprise… I'm actually okay.
And the one thing I know now that I didn't know two years ago,
is that I am always going to be okay.

Ready for [A Little] New

Overlooking Diamond Head crater on Oahu. 

I've had a roller coaster of a weekend. Yesterday was my fiancé and I's anniversary of when we began dating, and in just a few more days comes the two year mark of his death. I spent the past two weeks in Hawaii visiting a friend, which was incredible and a welcome distraction. Then, on Wednesday, I flew directly to Portland for a conference. Needless to say - not only is this an emotion filled month anyway, but I am absolutely depleted from being gone from home for almost three weeks. By the end of yesterday, my emotions were erupting. It's quite a miracle I haven't gone into a full-blown melt down (yet!).

The worst of it was, I'd had two full weeks of feeling pretty great. And coming down from that - as you ALL know - is the worst. But I'm trying to look for some positives in it all - because despite how tired and run-down I am right now, I had some important shifts while on this trip.

My girlfriends and I went on hikes around Oahu almost every single day… we hiked through rain-soaked forests, to the top of 800 foot waterfalls, open vistas, and ancient craters. We visited Pearl Harbor and floated a lantern for my fiancé at the annual festival. On the last day of my trip, I hopped into a WWII era biplane for an island tour and some aerobatics maneuvers - the most amazing experience of my life. Even though it sucks to be coming down from all of this… I want to focus on the important things I've learned. Aside from wishing that was my life every day of the year (and that my fiancé was there to enjoy it with me) I really realized just how little regular ole fun I have in my daily life.

I've been working so tirelessly for the past few months on my grief photography project that I realized I've really done very little besides create art around grief and write about grief and think about grief and talk about grief. Don't get me wrong, it does feel good to be working on that - to be healing and expressing and sharing and helping - but I'm seeing after this vacation that I really could use a little more plain, ordinary FUN in my life.

I realize as I type that, it's a big deal. The fact that I want for more fun at all, especially NEW fun. The fact that I am even ENJOYING new fun… the fun that he and I did not share together. For almost two years now, I have not felt able to really get out and make new friends or start new hobbies much. Since I moved away from where all our friends live, this has made things kind of lonely. I've mostly kept to the things that I already enjoyed while he was alive... because even if we didn't do them together, they connect me to that life still.

Another little step - just a few months ago I signed up for Crossfit at the local gym, and it has turned into one of my first small reaches into a new life it seems. Aside from giving me a boost of confidence and helping me feel stronger, it's place I am beginning to make friends. And finally, it doesn't feel wrong or off or uncomfortable. It actually feels…. okay. And so did having two weeks in Hawaii spending all my time hiking and exploring the new and just enjoying the present moment. It felt okay that he wasn't physically with me. I definitely feel a shift is happening after this trip.

It still feels like yesterday that the idea of trying anything too new or having to try and establish any new friendships felt completely impossible and really scary. But I guess when the time is right, it becomes a lot less scary. With a lot of work on healing, and some wonderful support from others… eventually we will start to be able to let the new in without being scared that it will replace what we had. It can't ever be replaced, and they will always be here, even in the new lives we forge ahead into. So here's to letting new fun in today… in whatever ways we can - big or small. Aloha!

Walking Alone, Together.

©Sarah Treanor

I'm writing today to you from Hawaii. I came out for a few weeks to visit a friend on Oahu. This is the longest trip I've ever taken away from home since he died, and the first real vacation I've taken without him or his family being with me. Leaving the shelter of home has always made me a little antsy, but now instead of just the usual nervousness, my mind is filled with new questions about how I will be able to cope with something so seemingly simple yet terrifying as vacation.

Will my anxiety strike? Will I have a complete meltdown in a totally public space because something triggered my grief or a memory? Will it happen totally unplanned and out of nowhere? Will I miss him so much that I won't even be able to enjoy myself? I've found that the answer to all of those things is yes. At least until you get there. I'd be lying if I didn't say that on the morning of my flight I wasn't riddled with anxiety. But I am learning that if I want to ever get out there and do anything, I have to be willing to accept that the grief factors are just going to be a part of things for now. If I want to try something, I have to accept those things may happen.

So I got on that plane and I flew over an ocean alone… knowing full well that all of those scary things might (and very well would) happen. The crazy thing is, for the most part, they haven't. I am on day 11 of this 14 day trip… and I am pretty okay. I had some anxiety for the first few days, and certain activities have been a little difficult, but no major melt downs. No insane anxiety. And his absence has absolutely not kept me from being able to enjoy the moment.

In an odd way, its been more of the opposite. I've felt more able to embrace the present moment and more appreciative of it all. Even in the frustrating moments or when things go wrong. Our helicopter tour got canceled due to rain (it was going to be the first time going up in a helicopter since he died in one… and the first time to have anyone behind the controls but him taking me up). I dropped my GoPro camera into the ocean while kayaking and watched it sink straight to the bottom. My DSLR camera quit working on me halfway through the trip - just totally dead (and thankfully now revived!). And I've gotten lost in the jungle a number of times and fallen into rivers getting soaked to the bone… and none of these things have phased me. I've responded to all of them with a calm resolve and clearheadedness that is so entirely foreign to my personality.

It's a very familiar reaction for me, just not one that has ever come from within me. It was how HE responded to things. Always very solid and logical, he had a way of responding to things that helped me to stay calmer and more rational. I was always the one getting worked up about little things or creating problems where there weren't any yet. I never liked that part of me, but I didn't know how to not be that way. Now, when faced with frustrations or minor struggles, I seem to have adopted those qualities that I loved so much in him. It's as if parts of him have been infused right into my own personality and soul… some of the best parts.

I feel like each new experience in this afterlife of mine is teaching me new things and bringing new depth, value, and meaning to his death. With every trip I go on, every new thing I try, every risk I take - I feel as though I am not only coming to know myself and what I'm capable of on a much deeper level, but also somehow that I am getting to know him on a deeper level too. I'm learning that embracing the now does not make me forget him or our relationship. Embracing this new life does not make him any less a part of that new life. In fact, the more over time that I am able to embrace the new life I was thrown into - the more I feel that he is on the journey with me still.

Sure, I still miss his body warmly next to mine. I still miss his eyes and his hands and his laughter. Sometimes excruciatingly so. But now, I am coming to know a different part of him. And a different part of myself. Parts of us that we would have never come to know had we not been sent on this journey. It still somehow feels like we are in this together. And in completely different ways, this new life together - this journey of walking alone, but still walking together - is just as beautiful.

I am not What Happened to Me

Showing my strength at Waimea Canyon, Kauai, Hawaii. 

A week ago, I had a really big moment. It was defined the by a very simple difference in word choice. It was not something anyone else would have noticed or defined as big - unless of course you yourself are widowed perhaps. While at the gym, one of the other girls in class asked if I was married and had kids. And I said - in this effortless, matter-of-fact way - "No, I'm widowed, so the kids thing is pretty much out of the picture for right now". And then I just continued about my workout. Just like that. No big emotional breakdown. No desire to run and hide. No real care for whether or not this other woman was pitying me. It just rolled out naturally. A fact. Plain and simple.

This was a big deal. Something felt really different about it. The more I thought about it, I began to realize what it was. I said "I'm widowed". It's the first time since he died that I have said it that way by default. Every other time I have said "I'm a widow". I AM a widow. It's a small difference in words, but it feels like a huge difference in perspective.

In that moment, I realized that a shift is happening. I'm starting to feel like this is something that happened to me, and not that it IS me. For the past two years, my world has been so completely consumed by his death and by my grief that it's been hard so see myself as anything other than a widow. I hate that. Because I was so many other things in my past life. A rock climber. A kayaker. A skydiver. A lover of hockey. A friend. A sister. A photographer. When he died, suddenly, I was just a widow. I stopped doing a lot of things I enjoyed - although not all. And even though I was still a friend and a sister, it's like I was wearing a pair of glasses in which the grief tinted everything and made any other parts of me very hard to see.

But lately, I've poured myself into my photography and writing in a way that I never have before. I've had a different kind of focus and a feeling of purpose about it. It's helped me reclaim that part of who I am. I've added new things too… things that the old me in my old life would have never been gutsy enough to try. In February, I signed up for Crossfit class - a very high-intensity, total body workout that's been a big trend the past few years. I have to explain this by saying that I've never been very physically fit in my life, and Crossfit is definitely something I never in a million years would have imagined I would sign up for. Not only has it been healing to try something I'd have never done before his death, but seeing my body get stronger over time has in turn helped my mind and soul to feel stronger, too. Each day I go to that class, I lift a little more weight, or run a little farther, and that progress in strengthening my body seems to be carrying over to my mind and spirit too.

For the first time since he died, I feel like I am more than just a widow. And don't get me wrong - I am actually damn proud now to call myself a widow. It means I am part of an incredible community of some of the strongest people I've ever known. But you all get it - it's still the club you wish you didn't belong to. And it's still important for us to find other parts of ourselves on this journey so that we can begin to see ourselves as more than just widowed. Rediscovering the other parts of ourselves - or perhaps discovering them for first time - is what helps us to be able to find something about our new life that we can feel proud of and even joyful about. It helps us to embrace the new life, which in turn helps us to better honor the person we will love forever and the life we shared with them.

Photo Note: This is photo taken of me by my best friend just a few days ago at Waimea Canyon on the island of Kauai, Hawaii. One more thing that I never imagined that I would ever do is visit this place. Upon seeing the Grand Canyon just a few months after Drew died, I decided to visit a canyon every year somehow. This is the third. Both a humbling and empowering place to look out on. 

The Accidental Mother

"Happy Mother's Day!" the waiter says to me, followed by saying that he isn't sure who is or isn't a mom so he just says it to all the women coming in to eat lunch at the restaurant today. I laugh at his over-kindness, and say thank you. But then, as he walks away… the feeling sinks in.

Now, normally I'm very good at keeping the whole children thing at bay. My fiancé and I were not planning to have children anytime soon, so although we often talked about our someday children and how we would raise them, it was still something that was at least 4 or 5 years out. I also never really cared about having kids until I met the man I wanted to raise them with, so normally other parts of my pain seem to take precedence over this part and I don't spend much time grieving it.

But not when someone wishes me a Happy Mother's Day.

The longer I sat with that waiter's well-intentioned wishes, the deeper it sank into me… the knowing that I am not a mom. And that I am not even close to becoming a mom. And worst of all, that I will never get to share parenthood with the man I wanted to most.

But today in particular, the thoughts that pained me most were not about him not being here…  and not because I'm going to run out of time to have kids (we are planning to adopt anyway). Not for any of those reasons. The pain came from the realization that since he died, I have become the kind of woman that I want to be as a mom. Before his death, I honestly still had a lot of growing up to do myself. I had a lot of pain still from losing both of my own parents, and a lot of fears around parenting because of that. I really wasn't even close to being on board with the reality of having kids. I mean hell, I was just barely overcoming my fears about getting married when he died.

So today, for whatever reason, that's what is really hurting. Not running out of time. Not even the fact that he's not here to share it with me (although that is a whole other side of the pain I DO still feel). The one thing that really kills me is knowing what an incredible mom I would be now. Knowing that I would pass to my daughter strength, self respect, independence and - as my fiancé once wrote of me, "a creative streak a mile wide"... but also compassion, and kindness, and an open heart to lean on others and let them lean on you.

She would know that it is okay to be vulnerable, that she is most beautiful when she is doing so, and that needn't put up with anyone who cannot value her at her most vulnerable. She would know she can never be too emotional, too bold, too afraid, or too sensitive. I would let her know I believe she can do anything she sets herself to in this life, and that her most important job is always to be authentic to herself. To walk away from anyone or anything that does not honor her, but to also always strive to see things from all sides. And of course, that no matter what happens, I will always have her back and always love her. (I'm not even sure why, but I've just always had a feeling he and I would have daughters, hence this default).

Yup, I'm really truly feeling the weight of missing out on motherhood right now. It hurts. It hurts. It HURTS. I have managed to find one positive in it though. It's a reminder that I am growing. And healing. A reminder that I used to see myself as a girl - no where near capable of adult things like marriages and children. These 2 years I've trudged through the agony of grief daily. And  simultaneously I uprooted my entire career to go for this crazy idea of making it as an independent artist and writer - which brought its own intense freak-outs and fears. I've gone through hell and back in more than one area of my life. And even though its all still pretty up in the air, I've come to a new place where I see myself - not as a girl - but as a woman. And even cooler - she's kind of the woman I always wanted to be. How did that happen?

It's a cool realization for sure. It doesn't take away the pain. Nothing does. It still really freaking sucks to have become this woman now - after he is gone and our chance of a family went with him. And yes, everyone likes to say… I am still young. Only 31. I might still have a family one day. In fact, I DO believe I will have a family one day. I very much still intend on adopting as we planned. And when I love on those little girls, I will think of him as being the man who made me the woman that I needed to become in order to be their mother. It will still be sad at times, and it will still hurt, but there will also be good. Even though I'm in tears right now, I'm trying to hold on to that and know - he will be a part of their lives no matter where he is. Through me.

The Dream & The Death

Today is a very big day. In just a few hours, I will be loading up nine of my large framed photos and delivering them safely to the local hospital for my first solo art exhibition. It is a lifelong dream come true. And mostly, it has been incredible. I told my counselor the other day that it feels like a dream… that it feels like I got dropped into someone else's life all of the sudden and that I got really lucky, because their life happens to be all the things that I always wanted my own life to be. Like, hey, I could get used to this!

But of course, it's not ALL the things I wanted my life to be. We all know that. He is not here. I may 100% believe that he can see everything I'm doing and he is working overtime to help align things and forge this new path for me… but that doesn't change the fact that he cannot stand next to me for this moment.

It is especially bittersweet because I was here to see him reach his greatest dreams. After years of hard work - after the two of us sitting on my couch night after night while he taught me more than I ever thought I'd know about helicopters - he finished flight school and got his flight instructor certification. I watched him transform from a someone who was very scared of actually accomplishing his dreams to someone who was totally committed to achieving them. I remember how incredible it was to stand by his side for that. To watch him so fully step into himself was one of the greatest honors of my young life.

In the past few weeks, I am realizing that the journey I have been on for the past two years - since he died - has actually been the same journey I watched him go through in our 3 years together. Not the grief part per say, but all the rest. Grappling with the fear of fully committing myself to my dreams of being a successful artist. Having all I needed in place and lined up before me and still being afraid to step through that open door. Afraid to fail. Afraid of what people would think. Afraid to lose more pieces of my old life and therefore him. Man, stepping through that door is freakin' scary no matter HOW bright it looks. It feels selfish. And that voice pops up again and again saying "WHO do you think YOU are? Sit back down". When you add his loss into that equation, it makes it even more complicated.

Because here's the thing… this is all happening because he died. All of the choices I have made - quitting my job, moving away, starting over - all the imagery I have created, all the words I have written, all the opportunities that have come into my life. All of it - every single piece - is in my life because he is dead. His death has been the wellspring of everything beautiful in the past two years of my life. And that feels really weird. To be SO grateful for things that are happening because he is dead. It makes you feel like you are being grateful that this person is dead. Logically of course you are not - you are grateful for the gifts that came out of that death - but it feels weird. And I don't quite know what to do with that. I would give anything to have him back here, but for the first time since he died - that wish also involves erasing a new part of myself and my life that means a lot to me and brings me much joy. It's a lot to have rolling around in an already-analytical mind, I tell ya!

So as I pack up all my photos and head out to set up my first show - I know, it's going to be pretty emotional. I have been imagining it for days now… hanging the last photo up on the wall. Stepping down and walking back to take it all in for the first time. To look on the entire past two years of my life captured through these photos. My entire private world of grief literally up on the wall for all the world to see. It's going to make me really sad. It's also going to make me really happy and really proud and really satisfied. It's going to be all those emotions - the painful and the positive, the dream and the death, all mixed together. But the best part is that I know I am stepping into the next big chapter of something that he began with me. He bought me my first real camera. And many of the lenses I still use today. He was there for the first juried show I had work in. And somehow, he is still very much here for this next leg of my journey...

He is here in that fact that his parents will be the ones helping me hang my show up today. They have been on this journey with me every step of the way - extending his love through their own hearts. He is here in every photo, in every emotion held within my images, in every story I tell. Really, very truly, he made every single one of those photographs with me. It's been a collaboration beyond anything we could have made before he crossed over.

So there we three will stand today. And the tears they will come. We will cry because of what is in front of us. Because of this awesome accomplishment and this work we are all so proud of. And we will also cry for who is not beside us. For who should be beside us. And for who we are looking back at in those images before us. Damn it all, I'm crying already!

Saying "NO" When We Need To

By nature I am a pretty optimistic and hopeful person. And usually when I write, it is to share some form of value or worth in this horrible journey. (My fiancé in fact even named me "the girl who pukes rainbows" when we first became friends, for my annoying ability to always find silver linings). But I don't want to paint any illusions here. I'm most definitely NOT that person all of the time. It takes a LOT of work to look for the positives some days, and there are many days when I just say NO. And today folks, is one of those days.

I had a dream last night that I found my fiancé dead in a swimming pool (Which is entirely unrelated to how he actually died - halfway across the country - in a helicopter crash). Then, a few days pass in the dream, I come to his body and try to shake him awake - almost violently, I shake him - and his eyes start to respond. And he starts to try and breathe…. taking deeper and deeper breaths until he begins to come to. And at this moment I dive into his arms, and he wraps them around me tight - making me feel so small and safe like he always did. I can feel his head against mine, his short military style haircut against my left temple. And I tell him in disbelief "But you were dead! Your body has been dead for three days! How are you here?!" He just wraps me up tighter in his arms.

And then. I wake up.

I'm sorry, but I'm just going to say what we're all thinking every time we wake up from THAT kind of dream….

WHAT THE FUCK??!?

I mean, come ON, what was the point of that?! What fresh new hell is this that my brain is now inventing entirely new and creative ways for my fiancé to die, and THEN allowing him to come back to life JUST before I wake up to reality. I'd like a dream interpreter to even just TRY to tell me there is meaning in that. To which I would likely punch her in the face the moment she tried to. Ugh.

I've been trying to hold myself together for the past few weeks - and I gotta say, this dream finally pushed me over the edge. I've had so many GOOD things happening. I sold several prints of my photos, got a lead on working with an agency that will potentially place my photos in hotels and hospitals and such all over the country. Got a lead on submitting my writing and photography to Huffington Post for their blog team (fingers crossed!). And the biggest thing of all…. I just landed my very first ever solo photography exhibit. Like, someone wants to showcase my work, in an entire show, all by itself. Holy crap - this is one of the most amazing and terrifying things that's happened to me since I went skydiving for the first time back in 2009.

But with so much happening all at once, I've been extra stressed, too. Photo shoots, meetings, phone calls, along with other freelance work I do. It's the most busy I have been since he died honestly - and the way that has drained me has totally taken me by surprise. I've been depleted this week to that magic point… the point where the one and only thing that could relax and restore me would be - yup - talking to him. Or a simple back rub and a movie on the couch together. How could one person have such an incredible calming effect on me? Somehow him saying to relax and that it will be okay made me believe in a way I never quite have before. That's pretty amazing. And pretty crappy to now be without.

So for the past few weeks, I've been trying my best to get through the stress and excitement and newfound fears without my go-to guy. I've been trying to focus on my photography and keep myself calm… all the while with the underlying feelings of "He's not HERE to share this with" lurking. And lurking. And lurking. And then the stupid dream slammed into me and shook up ALL that lurking pain. I lost it this morning on the phone with my best friend, and the poor thing had to hear me just explode everything out to her on the other end of the line:

"I hate this stupid journey!
I hate that for every exciting, happy, joyful thing that happens in my life… I have a crash afterwards.
I hate that I always know the crash is just around the corner, and that no amount of expecting it makes it any better.
I hate that I used to feel so organized and now I feel like a total scatterbrain, and there's nothing I can do about that because my brain is different now. And I hate that wonder if people think I'm making an excuse when I say that.
I hate that I cannot just have my old life back, where my happiness was not completely enmeshed in the complicated pain of grief.
I hate that my journey is MY journey now, and not OUR journey." I really, really hate that.

Even though there are moments where I do feel he is guiding me and that we are still in this journey together… it is NOT the same as telling him "OH MY GOD, BABE. I AM GOING TO HAVE MY OWN PHOTO SHOW!!!" and seeing the look on his face, having him grab me in his arms and hug me, and then going out to a nice dinner to celebrate it all… and knowing that he is so proud that he goes around and tells every single person in his life all about my show. Telling anyone else on the planet that information is NOT the same - because they aren't my team mate. They aren't part of the "we". And no matter how exciting and incredible it is that I will have a show…. no matter how overwhelmed I am that the curator loves my work and wants me to show it exactly as I want to, no matter how GOOD it feels to be doing something I have always always dreamed of since I was a little girl… in the very next moment the joy swings right around and stabs me with the sharp end of "he's not here for this". I am really, REALLY tired of being stabbed by the back end of my joy.

So thanks dream. And grief. For totally wreaking havoc on me pointlessly this past week… so I could lose my shit and feel completely ungrateful for all good in my life. I hate that part of the journey too - not being able to feel grateful for what I do still have. Especially because I know I do have a lot. But dammit, today I'm not grateful. Maybe tomorrow I will be, surely in a few days I will. But today, I'm just freaking sad and in pain and I'm just going to take a day off from trying to "make something" of this stupid journey. Some days you just have to say NO. So today, I'm sitting my ass down, crossing my arms, and I'm not taking another damn step forward until I feel like it. I'm betting someone else out there is having one of those days too. Maybe we'll say yes to trying tomorrow, but for today, if you need to say no, I am SO in your corner.

I Refuse

Lately I have been trying not to plan what to write here… instead waiting until the moment I sit down to the keyboard to see what happens. I feel like keeping my head out of it allows my heart to connect to what needs to be said most. So today I'm feeling compelled to share this poem I wrote not long ago. It is the way I have felt about my fiancé, our love, and his death since the very beginning… and how I continue to feel about it all. I gather it's how many of us feel. I hope it grabs you, grounds you, ignites you, comforts you - whatever it is that you need to receive today - I hope it gives you a small piece of that, my dear brave friends.

I REFUSE

The other day

driving home from work

I realized that you did not die at all.

That when your heart stopped beating

and your veins ceased to drink

and your eyes closed upon themselves

you did not die.

You did not die because I refused.

I refused to lay down and

accept that you no longer exist.

I refused to believe that our love

could ever die.

And I will refuse it

until my own heart stops beating

and my veins cease to drink

and my eyes close upon themselves.

-

For all my days ahead

I will stand up tall

and I will fight

the very idea of you being “lost”.

I will question

everything that attempts to disprove

that you and I still exist together.

I will build

a new way of being with you.

Because WE do NOT die.

It is not in the nature of us

to simply cease to exist from each other.

You cannot be removed from me

any easier than

the stars can be removed from the universe

by a human hand.

I refuse your death.

-

Instead

I believe

I know

That we are as if

living in two countries

worlds apart

and we speak two different languages now.

Our new way of being

will be the most difficult challenge

we will ever face.

It will require quietness

and surrender

and acceptance

and an unfaltering belief

in what we cannot see.

It will require the fire of faith

and the courage

to sit with the pain

and give it love.

It will require parts of us

we don’t even know exist yet.

But they do.

-

And in this way

we will begin again

with a new language of love.

One that transcends

all barriers

all fears

all fires.

For we will begin again

with divine love.