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.

Taking Chances on Life

I've had a particularly hard couple of weeks lately. Not only has there been Christmas and the 18 month mark since he died, but throw in a trip to Dallas where we lived together, his younger brother graduating from college, my idiotic attempt to start a pretty strict new diet and workout regimen (beginning a week before Thanksgiving, really Sarah??) and the still impending nerviness of the gallery I work at closing in just 2 weeks... and it's no wonder I've had a total and complete meltdown. 

I went out with a girlfriend last night just to get out of my head for a little while. We ended up at a country concert. Drew and I used to go to tons of concerts together. While they have become easier for me to go to this year, my emotions were high last night, which left me really nervous.

I'm sure you all know what I'm talking about... there are just those times in this whole experiencing death thing where you feel really frail and worried as to whether you can handle social situations. I thought going out to a bar and having some drinks might not be the best idea given how emotional I was feeling (crying almost all day for several days pretty much describes it). But, then again, it also couldn't be the worst either. The way I figured, I had sure as hell sat in my own head for long enough and that didn't seem to be helping a damn thing, so I might as well try having a life for a night.

To my surprise, we ended up having a blast... dancing and singing and laughing for hours followed by a bit of crying and heartfelt conversation over hamburgers and fries at 2am. I didn't get home until after 3am. I honestly can't remember the last time I did that. And even though I'd rather have been curled up in bed with the love of my life… I got to spend some really special time and made a great new memory with one of my oldest friends.  

I *may* be a little hungover this morning, but you know what? It was worth it. It was worth it to dance the night away and not focus on the pain for just a few hours. It was worth it just to freakin LIVE a little. I realized last night that sometimes I'm not as fragile as I fear I am… and that within me is still a desire to seize the moments of life and seek adventures. Not only did I have fun at that concert, I lived and breathed and screamed and danced and laughed and cried and hugged and sang my heart out like it was my last night on earth. I was wide open to life and it felt great. 

At times, when the pain is so incredibly deep, I feel like it can be so easy to forget that today is a day to be lived… should I choose to do so. Shaking things up last night and doing something spontaneous reminded me that sometimes I do need to make that choice. It also reminded me of the girl he fell in love with… the one who appreciated and lived deeply, who could find something to be grateful for even in the worst of situations. It was nice to see that girl again… the girl who believes that no matter how difficult a day may start out, there is always - each day - the potential for something really meaningful (and maybe even incredible) to happen.