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. 

Living with "After" Shock

Something I feel many people don't understand about losing your partner is that there are many, many subsequent losses. It's something all of you understand, or will come to. Like aftershock from an earthquake, they continue to shake our foundation for YEARS after the initial tragedy. It can be the smallest things, like the first time you have to take out the trash or eat alone. Or the really big things like first holidays without them or moving from the place you called home together. But it's also the joyful things, like landing a new job or winning an award, making new friends or dating someone new. Every single event or change in your life from the moment they die is another loss - another layer of having to come to terms with the fact that they aren't here and aren't coming back. Another small step of letting go in order to move forward. Not letting go of them, but letting go of what would have been to make room for what is and will be.

I've had several such tremors recently. One of which was attending a professional development workshop for artists. This workshop was kind of a big deal. I had to submit a portfolio of my artwork along with an artist statement to even be considered. They only chose 22 people to be part of the workshop. And I was chosen. So last weekend, I hauled myself the hour and a half to Austin - not knowing what to expect. I was nervous, but excited. The workshop was great. It was lead by two very well established business women from NYC - one who works with artists and creative companies of all sizes on strategic and business planning, and the other a successful artist who now helps other artists all over the country through this workshop series. As I sat there, I felt full of excitement. And promise. And possibility. It was just the opportunity for helping me take the next steps of building this new career and life in my "after" life.

As the day unfolded, I began to see more clearly for the first time that this path will require me to grow into a person I am not yet. To learn how to approach galleries, curators, museums, magazines, etc. To learn how to speak professionally about my work and how that must differ depending on the setting and person. And if I ever hope to do speaking engagements about art and grief - I will need to develop my almost non-existent public speaking skills too. 


What I didn't expect though, is the aftershock.

So there before me, in this class, lay the outline of just how much change and growth will potentially happen if I step fully into this path ahead. Suddenly, I began feeling this backward pull - this resistance. Of course resistance to anything new is natural, but this was more than just the typical fears of being out of my comfort zone. It was the fear of stepping more fully OUT OF the life he and I shared together and the person I was when I was with him. It means stepping into becoming a woman he did not yet know me to be. 

I felt backed up against a wall… not wanting to make those steps, not feeling ready to walk away yet from the remnants of our life together. And at the same time, wanting what that future could be with a deep burn inside me… knowing that this path will be the best way I can honor myself and him.

Such a mix of emotions. Wanting to go full speed ahead, but not wanting to let go. Even though I still feel just as connected to him as I have, I still fear that letting go more will somehow mean I will lose him more. Nothing has proven this logic - yet still, it's quite a real fear. Will I always have this fear? Every step forward - will it test my ability to trust that he will remain with me just as strongly no matter where I go and what I do? Perhaps. Or maybe it will get easier to trust over time. For now, I'm just taking it all in, paying attention, trying to learn what I can from it… and trying to be as brave as I am able to be. And also, as gentle as possible with myself. I don't have to rush, or push too far ahead too fast. I can take things on as I feel strong enough, bit by bit. Or as my fiancé used to say… "how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time". It always made me smile. Remembering today to be okay with where I am at, and to trust that he will be with me fully as I move more fully into a new life.

Death: The Barrier

I thought this week I would share one of the images from my self portrait series and the story behind it. While I was out shooting on the beach for last week’s photograph – wandering the grassy, windswept dunes – I came across a peculiar sight. Every plant on the beach was bright green and vibrant with life that day. Rich olive green sea grasses and succulent fat-leaved emerald vines with ripe yellow flowers. There must have been an unseasonable amount of rain recently because everything was really blushing. You could feel it – like all of nature had just taken in a deep breath.

But then, right in the middle of it all, I noticed this one particular type of plant. They were large – towering over me by at least a few feet. And every single one of them, as far as my eyes could see, over each rolling dune down the beach, was dead. All of them. There was such an eerie metaphoric nature to it… these clusters of death pitted right down in the midst of so much life. It seemed almost deliberate. Certainly hard to miss when you are closely observing a landscape as I often am.

With mosquitos biting boldly at my ankles and arms, (I will remember to add insect repellant to my camera bag from now on!) I grabbed my gear and climbed into a thicket of these otherworldly dead plants to explore. The leaves were a silvery blue-green hue – like faded sage. I had no plan. No idea what I even wanted to capture. I just began shooting, trying different ways of interacting with this mesmerizing space.

It is images like this one that make me realize how important it is sometimes to let go of our plan and follow wherever our feelings and intuition guide us. To not be so alarmed if we do not have a plan, and to trust that one will unfold for us.

Out of all the variations I shot for this image, this is the one that spoke to me instantly. It is because of the personal meaning which began to come out of it for me as I sat with it in the days after shooting. Mostly, it is in the eyes. There is a very specific kind of darkness there – a hollow vacancy which takes me right back to the year of my fiance’s death.

It was June when he died. 2012. I recall by the time autumn arrived, there was so little energy left in me. After endless minutes and hours and days and weeks and months of fighting and cryin – of screaming desperate animal sounds into the air – there came a time when there was nothing left in me but to just sit and stare blankly. And so I did, many days, just sit outside on the back porch at the ranch and stare off into space. Broken. Hollow-eyed. Feeling the cavernous wind against my skin – which only seemed to endlessly whisper of how far away spring was. Or that spring, for “us”, was never coming back again.

I don’t know if others saw this expression externally in those early days or not, but I do know that this is what it felt like on the inside. Every moment of every day for a long time. Vacant. Lost. Staring into nothing. Searching. Without words.

And then death – the quiet, dangerous barrier that divided me from everything. From him. From my future. From my past. From myself. From everyone else. On the other side of his death, I couldn’t see any other part of me or life that once existed. I could not see the woman who loved to rock climb and kayak, or the woman who dreamed of being an artist someday. Or the woman who loved animals and old western movies. I couldn’t see anything but the woman who just lost everything.

When people looked at me from the other side of that barrier – it felt like all they could see about me was death too. As if I was nothing more than the remains of his death and a reminder to them of things they didn’t want to know intimately. With the exception of a few individuals, it felt like no one could see me.

Two and a half years later, the spring is beginning to come for me. Life is starting to be vibrant again. I am able to see the other parts of myself again, as are others, it feels. I am starting to actually love life again – which astounds me to even say. There is still a part of me standing in the thicket of his death though. I think there will always be. And I think there should always be a part of me that stands there. To me, it is the place that always serves to remind me of how glorious the rest of the landscape is that surrounds me in this “after” life. Because when I stop and look around, it really is still so glorious. 

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.

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.