ME.

I have recently taken a picture of myself from 2015 when all that was became all that was not. I have this picture in my phone to remind me continually who it is I am dealing with. She is not some average 36-year-old, mom of three, living in the suburbs with her husband.  No, this woman is different. She is like a wild animal, untamable, except for one voice she listens to, and that is the voice of the one she trusts the most in her life, her husband. This wild woman does not back down from adversity or hard conversations. Instead, she grabs a chainsaw, starts it up, and says “Bring it fucker, I’ll destroy you!” One can commend her for her strength, her bravery, and courage, however, now, six years later, she’s still fighting for justice, fighting to make sense of something that may never make sense. I feel as though, the only way for her to be tamed, comforted, and assured, is for me, 42-year-old Jamie, to go back to her. To go into the depths of darkness, layered with questions, hysteria, and horror. I believe it is not the voice of friends of the past, friends in the present, or words from the Holy Book that will reach her. It’s as if she is trapped in a foreign space in which time has stopped. She has not aged, she has remained exactly the same. How do I know this? Because she lives inside of me. And every day I have tried to ignore her. I have sipped many fine wines to escape her. I have used distraction as a means of a broken compass to direct me in circles. I have been here many times now. Like the children of Israel walking aimlessly in the wilderness, I am asking the wilderness permission to unravel me and to unravel her. I have used up my resources. The only option now is to pursue her. I am learning, very slowly, that the answer to this healing journey is not something Amazon Prime can deliver to my front door to make her go away, or throw one cocktail party after the next, hoping she doesn’t show up because she always does, and she always will.

So I begin a relationship with her, to befriend her, to love her, to accept her. I am no longer rejecting and dismissing her. It is her time to tell her story, and for me to really listen. In her pain, terror, disbelief, and tragedy, is also my pain, terror, disbelief, and tragedy. I believe I am the answer for her to heal from the death of her best friend and she is the answer for me to face this mother fucking nightmare of losing my best friend. I have your picture on my phone Jamie. I know what I am up against. But little do you know, I am a wild animal and untamable too. I will not back down either. I don’t come with a chainsaw though, instead, I come with metaphors and lipstick.

Tip Toe Tango

I have tiptoed across thousands of words resting upon thousands of other words. A tango. A quarrel. A silent movie rerun. A dance, holding me in the arms of more words. My words. My sentences. My questions. My heart. A seeker. I seek for truth, for understanding, for revelation, for comfort. I have journals stacked on top of journals, stacked on top of journals. Honest glimpses into worlds I have lived in, moments I have hid in. There are words bathed in desperation, flavored in favor, coated in begging. Begging for hope, relief, end, reason. Some words reveal blasted blurriness, like Blasted Church Pinot Gris sipped slowly through the summer noise and into the summer calm. I have come across words of light in the thickets of darkness. Mere commas of joy raked through paragraphs of lived life child’s play. The scribbles and indents of pen meeting paper remind me and fill me with an inner knowing, of who I am, who I was, and who I have yet to be. In waves, light, air, and trees, I sometimes feel like an answerless woman, until the pull from nighttime’s quiet symphony reminds me to reach up, and then there is peace.

Picture: Woman with a Rake, by Jean Francois Millet

Grief Gremlins

My childhood friend reached out to me yesterday. The familiar tone of her voice as she called out “Jaaaaame” allowed my mind to filter through the countless memories upon memories. From climbing trees, skateboarding, biking the large streets of Cloverdale, …

Loud Places and Dark Trees.

Quick lesson, life at its finest.  The multitude of emotions causes a traffic jam.  Then what?  It appears as I continue to maneuver through the intricacies of the delicacies of this journey, I am embraced, yet repulsed by bystanders who …

Bold World.

Sean would have been 43 today. He loved his birthday and he loved to celebrate with food and friends. I have been asked by a few today how I am feeling and…I am feeling good.

After the year of firsts being over and done with, I didn’t realize the year of the seconds would be even more painful. Anguish surfaced with an unquenchable force. The spinning realities of parenthood and the complexities of personalities conflicting with the new adversities of daily life was a wild ride. However, with reflecting on the challenges and the victories, life is good. I sense there is a season of newness coming with possibilities never imagined possible approaching. Despite the pain that still remains, there is a faint beauty in bloom.

We honor you, Sean. The kids and I are reminded daily of what an amazing man you were and the incredible, unquestionable impact you have left on our lives. In this new dawn, time rests restlessly. Sun in the sky, you know how I feel.

Image Credit: Jean Francois Millet: Spring at Barbizon

Summertime Sadness…to some degree

Today was really, really, sticky. If there was an aerial view of us driving around in the Costco parking lot, – it would have brought absolute embarrassment to me. Shameful. I stopped in the middle of the shopping mayhem and screamed at the top of my lungs, realizing soon after my back window was wide open. I parked. Only to move to another parking spot to scream again. Then I cried. I cried and cried and screamed. I moved again to a different parking spot further from the mega box store, removed my glasses, turned to my kids and asked them with streams of tears running down my face, “How are we going to fix this? What are we going to do?” In the hopes my three children could provide some sort of child like faith answer or at least some kind of divine insight, but the only thing that came out of Nola’s mouth was, “We can’t.”

We can’t. We can’t fix this. So after apologizing, I put my sunglasses back on, reapplied my lipstick…and we went into Costco as if nothing happened. This is how we do it. We move through the motions, the noise, and the blurry expressionless faces of endless shoppers, collecting and gathering for their families, themselves, or for others maybe. Habitual cruise control. Habitually cruising through life, with the mistake of thinking we are in some-what- some-sort-of control…but we’re not. I can’t control my outbursts, my moods, or the continual chatter in my head. I can’t control the random looks my children give me, glancing secretly from the corner of their eyes to see how I am doing, questioning amongst themselves why I have inhaled or exhaled more deeply than normal, or what I  am doing when I place my head against the wall or lie myself on the floor to try to ground myself. The film script I see, read, and hear continually in my head…I try to silence it. I try…

But silence doesn’t really exist. To somehow numb the relentless scenarios or wordplays in my head, I decided to run this evening. I ran fast. I ran hard. I ran with head phones blaring songs of bubble gum and pop culture,  hoping it would somehow break through the depths of my dark thoughts or the endless questions I have incessantly entangling themselves like a morning glory nightmare, but it was all to no avail. I can’t run from this. I am in this untamed mess, being reshaped, repaired, and my God I pray, some-how, being restored.

I need grace.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. This is not the life I planned or dreamed of, but this is the life I live. Unpredictability at its finest. One day great, the other a complete mess. I can’t comprehend the un-comprehend-able, yet I walk through its shadows and webs blindly, a foreigner to this new normal, the normal I still gnash my teeth at and throw my fists towards and scream “ I DON’T WANT YOU- GET AWAY FROM ME!” There is no escape, unfortunately. Just the vacancy of this broken soul gripping desperately for a relief of some sort of tangible existence to mercifully cover me from the rawness death leaves behind after it rips the life of my present and future right from out of my hands.

Tomorrow I will be thirty eight. I did not expect thirty seven to be as it has. Perhaps my fault, I have often tended to not live with many expectations, because expectations when not met, hurt. In honesty though, I never expected to have to walk this part of my thirties in this manner and this crazily. It is frightening. Perhaps the intensity of the fear has not even yet permeated my brain, because it is just too painful to grasp, but I want to be made whole. I want to be real. And this thing is breaking me to the ground. Is this what it takes to be grounded? Is this what it means to walk in absolute surrender? Tomorrow I will return to the place where we celebrated Sean. My stomach is in turmoil. I feel like I will vomit when I walk through the doors of the facility. I don’t know why I thought that once we celebrated, I would never have to step foot in this particular place again, but this is life. Avoidance doesn’t work nor is it an option. I am realizing this at an alarming rate. My birthday. If I could avoid it. I would. I can’t.

Jesus, He Is So Good.

It is hard to believe the fifth month mark of Sean’s death is approaching. That day. The most significantly traumatic, most devastating day I have yet experienced in my 37 years of life. How do I feel? I ask myself this question daily. How does one feel when everything in one moment, one day, one second, completely turns a life upside down and shakes the foundations of everything we invested in, built our lives upon, and dreamed of, radically goes sideways and all I can do is stand in awe. Stand in awe of God’s goodness, yet stand in awe that this life is really mine and this has really happened to me. To me. It is me. This is my life, my story, and my witness of how in the most impossible situation, there is One who is able. He is able to help me get out of bed in the morning and whip up three lunches for school. He is able to listen to me talk my thoughts out repeatedly, obsessively, and dramatically in the fashion that I do so. I have tried to numb this. I have tried to escape this, but in all honesty, there is no escape and there is no way to numb the un-numb-able. To exist has never been an option. I don’t exist for the sole purpose of existence. There is a purpose and a plan and I graciously accept it, however I have not been doing this solo. Nor would I be able to do so alone. I have no words to express the impact of this amazing village that has intricately wrapped its arms around me and my three children and chose to do this life together with us in the grossness of death, as well as in the sweetness of life. And this village is not untouchable or out of reach, but they are the voice, the touch, the sounds of love that has allowed for me to go forward and not stay in the trenches of grief or bitterness. They are tangible. I don’t believe anyone can make it through life on their own, as a lone ranger. There is no way. I stand in absolute thankfulness of what I have as well as what has been taken away from me. I can not understand it. I don’t know if I ever will. Nevertheless, I remain thankful. I refuse for discouragement, defeat, or despair to walk through the doors of our home and rob us of what goodness we do have. We have lost so much, but have gained more. It seems so messed up. It honestly does. I close my eyes at times as I lean myself against the walls of our home and ask, “God, how am I to do to this? I feel so unqualified.” Yet, He is so faithful. There is no rhyme or reason. He is just so good. He allows in this time for me to continue to dance, regardless the circumstances that lie behind and before me. 

Image Credit: Pieter Breugel: Scene With Dance Around The May Pole

Don’t Let Me Down.

It is funny how opposites attract. Really. They do. Often my  friends that I get along with most are the opposite of who I am. That was who Sean was. The opposite. He loved this one song during his healing process journey, and what would I do? I would roll my eyes at it. However, now a different version of someone else sings the same song and yes, I am like a-ha…this is a great song. We were so different….for real opposites. But now this song that ties in the opposites into the positives not that we were ever negatives, but kind of, rings a different meaning. I am not let down by God. I won’t be and I could never be. This song, sung by a different artist, was a huge theme song to Sean during a very difficult time in his life…and now here I am, listening to the very same song, but sung in a different style, saying it to Jesus, come on…don’t let me down, You are so faithful. I know He shows Himself faithful, I know the Scriptures, I am not ignorant, for they have been my food day and night. However isn’t it fascinating one song could mean so much to one individual and and nothing to another until sung in a different way? Sung with a different urgency or passion, or even a different desperateness. However, here I am. Empty. Ready. Determined. Unshakeable. Ready for the darkest process I have yet to encounter. I am not a runner. I never have been. I am all about let’s get down to business….and business is ready to turn my world upside down…but I am here, arms up in surrender. I am ready to get down to business. Jesus, I trust you. Don’t let me down despite the frailties of my mind. You are able and so am I in you. For real. I am now the one in need of a miracle.

Cemented Heart.

The ice princess, now cemented heart, about to freak out on the innocent and the translucent. I just want some relief, whatever that may look like. I don’t know if it is near or far, but the feelings of a trapped animal are all too familiar. I want out. I want out of the pain, the grief, the disturbance of this reality that I did not ask for. I want out. There is no way out, only in and through. Do I have the energy or stamina to commit to this process? In the natural, no freaking way, however, I chose a path in which I wanted the supernatural for everything, so this is absolute reliance on the Creator, not me. I can’t. I just can’t. I have nothing, but in Him, I have everything. I submit, I surrender, I give up. I really do. I don’t have one ounce of any thing, but nothing to give. I am D. O. N. E. Seriously. My hair is always clean, but there just might be one day it aint. That’s right, I just used improper English. Do I care? No. I don’t. My house may have lego here and there. Yesterday that would have made my whole world crumble…today…I don’t care. I really don’t. Step on it. That is what I am doing. Stepping on lego bodies, lego cars, lego pieces, I DON”T CARE! I am not in the head space to clean, to sweep, sweep, sweep, I am freaking done. Let this process begin. I have nothing to lose. I have already lost what meant so much to me. Let’s get down to business Jesus. I am ripped, wrecked and ready to roll. Despite it all, as Sean would have said to me at one time, I am still the greatest.