Into A New Darkness

Well, here I am in the caves region of Kentucky. Last week I shared about the trip I would be on with my new guy - seeing each other in person for the first time since we met several months ago. As I write this, we're a few days into our trip. He is lying next to me now, munching away on donuts while I write. I'm finally ready to share a bit more about this person with you all... particularly because you may know him more than you think - or at least his writing. He is our very own Tuesday featured writer on Widow's Voice - Mike. 

We met at Camp Widow East back in February. I sat down beside this guy at the meet & greet on Thursday night, and for the entire rest of the weekend we were inseparable. We shared our whole stories with one another and laughed more than either of us had in ages. Something certainly clicked... although I had no clue then that it would end up meaning I would fall for someone new and be sitting here states away on some whole other adventure. 

I've been saying for three years now that Drew would give me a really obvious sign about someone new coming into my life. And Mike and I have had many, many obvious signs. One of my favorites was just a few days ago, within hours of arriving in Cincinnati for our trip. He surprised me with a short ferry ride across the Ohio river, and on the other side was a little restaurant he took me to... called Drew's. Imagine the delight on my face, and the love in my heart. Those are the moments I know that Drew will always be a part of us - just as his wife Megan will be. And speaking of Megan...

We walk inside and sit down by the window. It's dead in there, no one but us, as it's around 2pm in the afternoon. I said jokingly "Just watch... our waitress's name will be Megan". And sure enough, this very friendly waitress walks up and introduces herself as... you guess it... MEGAN. We both look right at each other in total disbelief. At the end of our lunch, we told her the whole story of us, including their names, and she was as amazed as we were. We chatted a while and there even ended up being other unreal similarities... so we had to get a picture with her for that first crazy memory of this new adventure.

Yesterday we made our way to Mammoth Cave National Park – the main reason for our trip here. We picked this place because it is something we could not have done with our loves that died. Drew was claustrophobic in small spaces, and Megan was unable to due to her medical condition and the bacteria in the air in caves. It's a hard pill to swallow... but the truth is there. We WILL do things with someone new... Things we never could have experienced had our loves not died. Maybe that's one of the gifts they leave us... the chance to discover new adventures in a way we couldn't have done with them. With new eyes and new hearts. I like to think it is.

We did a few tours yesterday of Mammoth Cave, the first cave either of us have explored in years. As we gazed out into the darkness of the tunnels underground, that feeling of wonder and childlike excitement about the unknown filled us both. As we hiked around some 300 feet below the surface of the earth, I couldn't help but think of the expansive metaphor before us.

Two people who have gone through unspeakable darknesses on our own in life, now walking willfully and quite literally into the darkness together – knowing full well that to love again will inevitably mean to endure pain again. Yet we are doing so with a sense of wonder, not dread. It's not easy to do. There have been moments on this trip when I have broken down crying because of how new love is reminding me of the love I lost, and also of the fears of losing someone else. But even with all of that, with all we have both endured, how amazing it is that each of us is still able to see wonder in the darkness.

I have thought this weekend about enduring the journey through my own darkness for the past three years. I've thought about all the pain and fear I have encountered in the dark, and also all the amazement and wonder I have found there. Treasures that cannot be found above ground, but only in the most hidden depths of ourselves. Perhaps that is what the darkness of grief can bring us... a different appreciation for the dark and the light.

One thing is for sure, today I am very grateful. After traversing the dark alone, it is beautiful to have someone to journey into the darkness with me. Someone with their own darkness who is not afraid of mine. I suppose that is the best kind of person to find – one with a galaxy much like our own inside their heart. One who looks into the dark with wonder.

A House for his Soul

There's a story I've been wanting to share here for a while now. It is one my grief counselor has encouraged me to tell, as he's felt it could be of help to others. So here goes. It's been roughly two and a half years since my fiancé died, very suddenly, in a helicopter crash. I've gone through unimaginable pain. I've wanted to climb out of my own skin. I've wanted to rip apart every synapse in my brain for the constant knowingness that he is never coming back. I've been angrier than I've ever known possible. I haven't given up though… I have kept on fighting as every new wave of this journey washes over me.

Things are easier now. I'm not as angry as I used to be. I'm learning to sit with my pain better. I'm learning not to apologize for where I need to be at any given time with my life and my world. I'm making new friendships, I'm building a new and meaningful career following what I feel like I am meant to do. Most days now, my life is more filled with current-day thoughts and activities than it is of the past. He is still always there. There isn't a day that goes by that I am not thinking of him. Missing him. But as I have begun to return to life… our relationship is changing. He is still at the center, but Now, my new life is the center too. And that leaves the question which I have struggled with for probably the past six months or so: Just where do I put him now? In this new life?

It's a question I never really understood in the beginning… the idea that he would somehow NOT be the full center of my world anymore was just so hard to grasp. And also felt horrifying. And it has been something I have struggled with a lot this past year. As I made new friendships, new memories with those friends, new accomplishments in a new career, I struggled with where he fit into all of this. How to have both of these worlds living inside me at the same time.

And then one night, I was just arriving home from a night class. I live out in the country where you can see a sky full of stars… so I often stop as I am walking in the house just to gaze up for a while and take it all in. As I admired the dark, I noticed the neighboring house in a way I never had before. Set quite a few miles off from our ranch, this house sits up on the horizon, and at night the entire thing is lit up with a warm glow. Every single night.

Now I've seen this house and it's warm light in the night for years… it is always there, off in the distance. And I always look out at it when I come home in the evenings. But on this particular night, something or someone whispered a thought to me as I looked up at it. A thought of my fiancé. And an intuitive feeling that I think maybe came right from him. "Maybe it is like he is just over there now?"

It was a small idea that I took and ran with… and began creating a story around in my head. And the story is that, perhaps - in a way - he is just next door now, instead of right beside me. Perhaps on warm summer nights, he's sitting out on his back porch with a cold beer wondering fondly what I am up to... while I am soaking in the hot tub out back doing the same. There is a peacefulness to it. And almost a relief… for I feel like this narrative has helped me with a question I have struggled with greatly this past year… knowing just where to put him in my life as things begin to move forward. Not wanting to leave him behind, but not wanting my world to be entirely about him anymore because it simply cannot be if I am to create a happy life again.

We still love each other deeply. We still miss each other. But we know we each have a new and different life to live - him in the afterlife, and me here in mine.

The idea makes me feel comfortable with going out into the world and living my new life that he is not physically part of. It is a tangible reminder for me that when I return home, he is always just there… in the warm glow of the house on the horizon.

A Powerful Destruction

Before I get into my post for this week, I just wanted to mention how EXCITED I am to be attending Camp Widow in Tampa this coming week! I mention it because last year, I attended but did not mention here - and it turned out there were a few readers who had no idea I was coming. For anyone out there who is, I am so looking forward to meeting you at camp!

I know many of you read my first post of the year - about the first man I've been romantic with since my fiancé died… and how, after a night of fooling around he took off and never called or texted me again. Days, then weeks go by, and I hear nothing. I don't need to explain how traumatic that was - you can read all of that here. Instead I wanted to share an update on the whole thing… one I am very glad for. And very proud of myself for.

After a few weeks of having no contact, I decided I had some things to say. So I wrote him a brief but to-the-point letter and sent it off this past week. Was it risky? Absolutely. Was I terrified? Beyond imagine. But sometimes you just have do the damn thing, even if it scares you.

There was no guarantee at all that this would end well. That I would even get any response at all from this person. But that no longer mattered. It was now about standing up for myself, respecting myself, an saying what needs saying without giving a shit what the outcome was. After all, if my fiancé is no longer here to defend my honor, then it is up to me to do it. No one treats me that way. Furthermore, I needed to leave the situation in a way that respects myself and the other person. Not because they deserve it, but because I deserve to walk away knowing I did the right thing.

I cannot express the anxiety of hitting send on that letter. But I did it. And I felt a huge weight off my shoulders as soon as I did. Amazing how quickly it can shift things inside of you when you speak your truth. That in itself was good. And then to my surprise, a few hours later, he actually responded...

It took me probably an hour to even open up his response. I was so nervous of what was on the other side. But finally, with the support of one of my girlfriends who was visiting for the weekend, I opened it. It was the best possible response I could have gotten. He was kind and respectful. Full of remorse and regret. Deeply apologetic. It showed me how broken he is - with his own set of problems that made him panic and run. In the end, he wasn't using me. It wasn't just a game. He just freaked out and handled it badly. We both agreed it went farther than we meant for it to at the time, and he was incredibly stupid, but we wish the very best for each other. Look at that. Resolve. Which never would have happened had I not risked approaching him and saying my piece. God damn, I am proud of myself.

Although this situation made me feel incredibly weak and hurt initially, it has come to bring much the opposite now because of how I chose to handle it. It has reminded me of a few really important lessons too. The old me likely never would have stood up to defend myself. And she certainly would not have done it with such incredible tact and grace. My words were not angry or overly emotional, but instead were bold, confident, firmly grounded in myself and unafraid. It quite surprised me at how powerful I could be. And that part of it had nothing to do with the other person at all. Even if I had gotten no response, I will would have been able to feel powerful for standing up for myself.

It seems, as widowed folks, that we feel pain and weakness so much for so long that we do not realize all along, we are becoming more POWERFUL. It's something I lose sight of ALL the time. But all of the fighting we have to do to survive creates an incredible force inside us - even if it's hard for us to see. It is oftentimes a new painful event that had the ability to allow us to choose our power and thus see it more clearly.

It's a force that can only come from the ashes of devastation… for it is precisely because we have to fight so hard to survive that we become so powerful. You don't spend every day of your life for years crawling through the broken shards of yourself without becoming more battle-hardened and more firmly grounded in who you are. You don't endure years of being broken open by a thousand smaller losses and come out with a heart that is weaker. Even if you feel weak, your power is there... in the choices you make. Hopefully, eventually, when those new experiences come, we are able to make the choices that reinforce how powerful we are… even if it scares the shit out of us to do it.

Milestones & Grief Creep

"Sanctuary" © Sarah Treanor

This past week one of the most amazing things happened to me that has happened in my "after" life. I was selected as a finalist for a magazine cover of an art magazine - for one of my photographs that tells part of my grief journey - and ended up winning the final vote. It is the first time my art will be published on a magazine cover. This is huge for my fledgling career as an artist. And more-so it is huge because more people going through loss will see my grief series and hopefully find something of their own story there.

I couldn't believe how many people voted and shared. Thousands of fans and friends and family all rallied behind me to make this happen. My gym shared it on their business page. My mother-in-law's employees all voted and shared it. People I don't even know. Old college classmates. Old coworkers. So many left comments about the grief journey they are on, and how one particular image or another of mine spoke directly to them. People bought prints - one, a counselor, who will be putting up the photo in her grief counseling room. It has been unreal.

Suddenly I have found myself looking back in a different way than I have before. Looking back and realizing that I've gotten somewhere I do want to be. Before my fiancé died, none of this was here. I was working in a cubicle, feeling trapped and unhappy and scared because I had no clue how to ever really go for my dream of being an artist. Leaving a full time job was the MOST terrifying thing I could possibly imagine. Before he died, this idea of being an artist was all just wishful thinking… a far away notion that he and I would often talk about over afternoon lunches and morning coffee.

Little did I know that his death was going to take me on a journey I could have never imagined for myself. Not an EASY journey… but somehow, a far more meaningful one. His death was the catalyst in my leaving that career behind. It was the thing that shook me awake and made me see that if he could die for his dreams, then I'd better get started living for mine.

It's been a horrible and agonizing and fear-filled journey that I wouldn't wish on anyone (you all know this!), and it STILL is every step of the way. Somehow though, during these two and a half years I have found some sort of really meaningful beginning. One that is far more meaningful to me than the life I was living before he died.

It isn't the one I wanted - not like THIS. I never wanted to make art about the death of the most important person in my world. Or death in general. But when you lose your mother at age 9, your father at age 26 and then your fiancé at age 29… it begins to feel like someone is trying to tell you something. I finally decided to listen and allow death into my art… nothing has felt more healing.

I'm learning that by having his death and him as the center of what I'm putting myself into, it is giving it a solid foundation. On the days when I feel scared shitless and still have NO CLUE how I will ever make any REAL money doing this (living off my savings, betting it all on this crazy dream right now). On days when I feel lost and like I'm floating… knowing that he is at the center of this work is what helps me to be able to keep faith going. It helps me to know with all my heart that this work is valuable and meaningful, because all of my love for him rests within these images. And I know without a doubt that will mean something to other people. Clearly, it is.

The days after the big win have been of course an emotional roller coaster - just like any major event in our lives without our person. I call it grief creep… we all know it well. The aftermath of anything exciting - the quiet moments when the pain slips back in to steal the spotlight. As the week has progressed, I think I've just gotten sadder. Sad that he is not here to celebrate with me. Heartbroken that no one actually thought to take me out for a celebratory dinner or drink for this monumental moment in my life. No one. Which leaves me with the painful reminder that the person who was sharing a life WITH me is not here… and that I no longer have someone to be excited for me in the way that only your partner can be. And I miss that so much. And I miss him.

And suddenly, the whole milestone event of the magazine cover begins to pale in comparison to the feelings of sadness and grief. Don't you hate that? When the grief just seems to swallow up the good stuff - no matter how hard you try to not let it? I know I do. I've been fighting it all week - trying so hard to hold on to the good, and trying not to let in the sadness. I know… I have to let the sadness in. It needs to be felt as much as the joy. I will let it in, but dammit, I don't want to.

PS. A big thank you to anyone here who may have happened to vote for my image. You made a huge difference in my world this week.

To view my grief series "Still, Life" you can visit my blog here.

Complex Christmas and An Inspiring Story

Jayci at her grandfather's grave. Source

This morning I was watching the news and saw a feature about a young girl - 14 years old - who is working hard to achieve a very special Christmas goal. Her wish, is to put a wreath on every single grave at Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery here in San Antonio, TX. To date, there are over 144,000 graves of fallen soldiers buried here. To say it is a big goal is an understatement. They have yet to reach that goal in a single year, but she is relentless. Partnered now with Wreaths Across America, she does 15 or 20 speaking engagements and fund raisers around the San Antonio, TX area in the fall to help raise money and bring in volunteers for this massive effort. The focus and resolve are nothing short of incredible to watch - particularly in someone so young.

I could not help but be completely inspired by the boldness and determination of her spirit. It allowed me to put my own pain aside for a moment and think about just how many ways on any given day there are to do something to remember or appreciate those who have died - whether as soldiers or otherwise.

It is one of those things that my fiance's death has changed in me for the better. Now I know first-hand what it means to the loved ones of the fallen for them to be remembered. My fiancé was not in the military - though he wanted nothing more than to do so, a back injury prevented him from being allowed to enlist. Regardless of that, I still know what it feels like when someone does something to show me they remember him - like leaving something at his grave, or sharing a memory, or donating in his honor. It means more than words can describe. You all get that.

I've been stuck in my own pain this past week - stuck thinking about how I'm sick of Christmas and ready for all this holiday mess to be over with. Year three without him is no better. Less scary for sure, less traumatic, but still I am able to muster only apathy for the entire affair. Even though I will be deeply happy to spend Christmas with his family - whom is now very much my own family - all the time leading up to that day is just an assault on the emotions. People talking about nothing but how behind they are on getting presents for everyone… when all you're thinking as you hear them is how lucky they are to still have all of their people in tact to give presents to.

I hate this. I want to be able to enjoy the season. I want to be able to just enjoy things the way other people do again. I want a simple holiday season where all I'm worried about is getting the Christmas shopping done and making sure food is cooked. But it is so far from my reality - Complex Christmas.

That's is why I am so glad I caught this feature on tv this morning though. This story about the wreaths got me out of my own pain and woke me up to the possibility that - if I pay attention and look for it - there are ways that I could use the holiday season to help me find meaning. If I make USE of Christmas as a way to connect to other folks who are enduring a complex Christmas - whether due to death, illness, financial strains, etc - maybe I could reclaim a bit of the good in this season. Maybe I could actually be able to find more than apathy in this time of year again.

There are all kinds of ways to do this… and even though it won't bring him back or make Christmas simple like it used to be, it would feel good, and make others feel good who might really need it too. That part of it I can get behind. I know that's not rocket science, but I think you get it. We get stuck in our heads so easily in the midst of grief and trauma. We have blinders on much of the time. And it can be hard see anything that can help it.

Today, I'm really grateful that a young girl doing big things helped me to take the blinders off for a while and begin to think about what I can do in the next few days that could bring meaning back to Christmas - not only for me, but for someone else. We'll see what I come up with.

To donate or find information about Jayci's Wreaths for Heroes project, you can visit her Facebook page.

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. 

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.

Battle On

©Sarah Treanor

I have to thank everyone for all the incredible responses to my post last week. You warmed my heart and really helped me to feel a bit more okay with all of this mess - and a bit less alone. Trying to welcome a new life is SO not easy, but its a heck of a lot easier with friends like all of you. You encourage me to be honest with where I am at on this journey, thank you for that. I thought today that I would share one of the self portraits from my photographic series I have been working on this year - and the story behind it - as it has become a big part of my own healing as of late. Both creating these images and writing about them has helped me to see myself and my pain in new ways… so I hope maybe this one will do that for someone else out there too….

"I just want to crawl out of my own skin" is something I said often in the first weeks and months after he died. For the whole first year really. Every cell of my body - every hair, every pore, every organ, was reverberating a constant and loud message of denial. Every cell of me, bumping up against the truth at every turn, abrasively, painfully. And then violently pushing and pushing, trying to thrust the truth out of my world. No, no, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO NO, NO!!!… vibrating loudly within every inch of me, trying to fight off a reality too painful, too unbelievable to comprehend. This single aspect of his death has been by far the most agonizing of all. 

I have wanted to create this image for almost a year now. Sometimes the visuals come to my mind really naturally, but I find I need to sit with them for a while though, until I feel the time. After a session with my grief coach this week, I instantly knew it was time.

I was describing to him my experience of joining the gym - how working out each day and watching my body change and become stronger has so deeply empowered me on so many other levels. And I said to him… "I feel more comfortable in my own skin than I ever have in my life". He had to repeat it to me in fact, just to make certain I grasped the sheer magnitude of that statement. And he was right… wow. Because just two years ago, I wanted to crawl out of my skin. And now, lately, I have begun to feel more comfortable in it than ever. Even though this whole journey is still confusing as hell and totally scary, I am beginning to feel this solidness in me that I've never had before. That is when I knew it was time to capture this image. To speak about both ends of this… of wanting to escape my own body for how much pain I was (and often still am) in, and for being able to sit within it, strong and solid.

There's something else I feel I need to share here too, because this image spoke further back into my past than just the past few years. I was in an abusive relationship through my early twenties, several years before meeting my fiancé. It was another extremely dark time in my life, and a very lonely one. What I did not expect to find in this image, was part of that story, too. Not only the fear and pain of that past, but also the inner strength that came out of it. Because when I look at the woman in this image… she has not only been through the unbelievable pain of losing the love of her life. She had - at a much earlier time of her life - been pushed and intimidated and made to feel small and forgotten and scared and alone. She had been locked out of her house on cold nights and left with bruises on her arms she had to hide. She had been made to feel worthless and shameful and flawed at her very core.

The woman in this image has been through all of that. And she has fought with every inch of her life for nearly a decade to heal all of these different pains. She has fought to become strong so that she could guard herself well enough to remain soft. Now, almost ten years later, she has become a woman who is not messed with. She's never pushed nor intimidated. She does not tolerate anyone who makes her or others feel small. You have to earn the right to be in her life by proving you have true integrity. She knows her worth, she is not ashamed of who she is or where she comes from, and she knows she is beauty at her very core. She knows how brightly she can shine, and how brightly others can too.

We all have our own story with pain. We all have the battles that we have fought, and are fighting through right now. The pains that break down our doors and leave us battered and bruised. The pain that makes our very foundation of a future crumble and vanish beneath our feet. Even if it cannot be seen on the skin… all of it still lies within me, and within you. I hope that in your pain you remember to stand up when it knocks you down. That you square your shoulders and look it right in the eye. That you are mindful of what you can gain from it - strength, wisdom, and a radiant inner beauty that surpassed anything you ever imagined yourself to be. Much love, battle on!

To see more of the photos and stories from this project, you can visit my blog at 12moc.com. 

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.

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.