healing

Blurred Lines

/ Revolution.07 / Leave a comment

blog- blurred lines 2.png

Blurred lines – a.k.a. The Fog – Part 2. Only this time ‘the fog’ was engrossed with anger instead of sadness. It was an instantaneous switch and one that overflowed into every facet of my life, one that overtook me for years to follow. I remember almost everything verbatim, and yet the days blurred together into weeks, and then months. Expressing how enraged and ultimately, consumed by the hurt I was – seems beyond words. It was hard to express the hurt because that meant I was affected by it, and I didn’t want to be made an ass of anymore then I already had been. Beyond the shock of it came the hate – that’s what drove me more then anything. I never knew the depths of sadness and depression until Josie, and I never knew the depths of hatred and anger until this. The way my blood boils just recalling the details – reminds me of how real it was.

Sarcasm became my defense mechanism, whenever I’d get nervous or he’d ‘back me in a corner’ (not literally) I’d start to laugh because I felt as if I couldn’t defend myself, and sometimes it just seemed so asinine to me that I didn’t have a comeback aside from laughing. That would only fuel the fire to another level. It was a guaranteed damned if I did, damned if I didn’t scenario, no matter what the conflict was.

When he walked down the stairs that night, the only thing I could do without cracking him was using my go-to defense mechanism by asking if she was a good fuck. Then it was defense mode, with the normal comebacks of – what was I talking about, he’s done with me, this is bullshit – blah blah. I asked a few more times with no response before I stormed out of the house, with his phone, no shoes and half dressed! lol I think I was still half in and out of my body at that time, knowing, but not knowing what I was going to do next – ready to totally loose control and yet there was a part of me that kept thinking, be careful – there’s kids involved. I flew into their house about 9:30, she must have had a warning as she was sitting at the top of the stairs – unsure of what to do. From there, we ended up outside, where I asked – well, more like demanded and yelled questions that consisted of non-stop swear words! For whatever I reason, at one point I said ‘you’re pregnant aren’t you?’ She couldn’t give a confident no, and kept saying I needed to talk to him. I told her she was crazy for thinking he’d tell me anything, he was never going to own this or her. And I was right. I knew him like the back of my hand in every aspect and I knew how he was going to play it out. As I left, I was shaking so bad I don’t even remember the drive to my parents. I just remember calling them and not being able to breath because once the tears started, they were unstoppable – until the waves of anger flowed again!

My friend, Emily, had met me at my parents, I needed smokes before the gas station closed, so we went to get some. My mom had said to her before we left ‘don’t let her do anything except get smokes, and come right back here.’ I had no intention of ‘chasing her down’ – but let’s just the say, the stars literally aligned. As we were pulling out of the gas station, she drove by. Poor Emily – I kept screaming at her to catch up to her. Once she pulled over, I went to jump in the passenger side and she started pulling ahead, I was half in and out of the car, door wide open! I vividly remember going to swing with a closed fist and right before I made contact I remember thinking ‘don’t do damage, she’ll call the cops’. It was exactly like that, as if someone said it to me. I opened my fist and started hitting, as I looked up I thought we were going to hit a parked car so I got out, still screaming of course! Emily was pregnant and I remember looking at the terror on her face, like WTF just happened, but I didn’t care, I was just impressed that’s all I did to her! The next morning consisted of me showing up and telling him he had 2 hours to pack everything he owned before a moving crew of my own showed up. Needless to say, he did a pretty good job, on short notice. 😉 I took a week off work and the fun of the legalities had begun!

I found out she was pregnant within a couple of weeks which just added to the damage that I swore couldn’t have gotten any worse, but once again did! Even though there was no denying it, he wouldn’t admit to it, he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Where as she had no shame, in fact she thrived off it. The next year or 2 was full of DRAMA, oh my gawd – it never stopped! Those months consisted of assault charges, blackmail threats, another child being born, bar bound nights followed by hungover days, minimal sleep, unable to be in a functional relationship because I didn’t know how, trying to hold my own while being scared sh*tless that his empty threats might not be empty and I’d lose my daughter, nasty things said on both of our parts, anger, tension and hatred. I coped in any way possible, smoking, booze, bashing, hating, counseling, workbooks, a social calendar as full as I could pack it and ultimately running, running from the pain while simultaneously being engulfed by nothing but . The thought of another loss of any kind put me into pure fight or flight mode. The picture in my head is getting beat to a bloody pulp and just as I’d start to get back up, I’d take another blow to the gut, followed by another one to the head and back down I’d go. That’s what it felt like, I felt like I’d make progress and then more stuff would arise. It was as if catching my breath from one kick to the next was literally impossible.

Crazy was an understatement of what those 1st few years consisted of. I became obsessed by it, unable to move beyond it, because I honestly didn’t know how. It drove me insane! I can’t explain what it’s like to know someone hurt you and everyone around you so bad, but the only thing you have is hearsay. Never having any type of answers, closure, apologies or sympathy – consumed me. The racing thoughts haunted me – how it started, when it started, where it happened, how many times it happened, what was true about any of my relationship with him or friendship with her, what would this mean for the kids, what happens from here – how can this be my fucking life?! This blurred fog all over again, trying to navigate through blindly. Hearing the stories and the hearsay and to some degree, actually wanting to know it, because it kept my fire fueled with rage and hate, ensuring he’d stay away and perhaps to some degree, me being able to play the victim this time. Like there – for all the times you made me look like the bad guy, acting like you did no wrong and I ‘wrongly’ accused you – you just tied your own noose and I’m glad people, even your best friends, finally see you for what you truly are. Did it make me a better for thinking and acting like that? No. It provided temporary satisfaction that I needed in order to cope, in order to literally make it one day at a time – because I was so scared – scared of him, scared of what was to come, scared that this nightmare, on top of the last one that I barely recouped from – was never going to end – or even worse – it’d repeat itself.

This seriously sounds like a ghetto ass Jerry Springer brawl – I’m well aware that this entire situation does – in fact we joke that we missed out on making bank by not going on the show! 😉 pahaaaa

With toxicity comes more toxins – they fuel each other after awhile. There are certain points, despite if there was a ‘final deciding factor’ that you can’t turn back, sometimes the only way to free yourself and each other from a tarnished relationship is to simply let go. And realistically, it doesn’t matter how we got there, or who did what – we were there long before this and we held on long after we should have, causing damage not only to ourselves and each other, but also our daughter. Either way, it needed to end – and this was the shit show of fireworks that guaranteed that!

Siblings Tribute – Brynn & Jaime

/ Revolution.07 / Leave a comment

Blog-tributebrynnnjamie

There isn’t anyone that doesn’t know of someone that has battled a disease at some point in their life. Whether it be cancer, mental illness, eating disorders, cardiovascular disease, Alzheimer’s, alcoholism, or addiction – to some degree, disease is disease. Some have triumphed over their struggles, while others fought the battle until the end, only to lose the war.

Although we lost our siblings to different diseases, we still watched them endure hardships while fighting against something that, in the end, was stronger then them. We, as family, were forced to sit on the sidelines, unable to make their physical, emotional or mental pain cease. From various forms of chemo, radiation or surgical treatments to different anti-anxiety and anti-depressant medications- they were forced to put their mind, body and soul through some excruciating pain just to be able to add another day to the calendar.

While we all know of these people, we don’t really, truly know these people. We’ve all heard of stories pertaining to disease and death, however, it’s rare that we hear or see what happens behind the scenes. The lasting impact it has on both the patient and the family and the roller coaster of emotions that take place along the way. From the fight to the triumphs and back to defeat, from what seems like never ending decision making, just to hope it was the ‘right’ one, just to doubt it and yet be forced to trust it all at once. From the overwhelming support of those around you, only to feel so alone in the crowd of supporters. From the distress on so many levels, only to hope it’s worth every ounce of energy put forth by everyone. From the tears to the triumphs, from overwhelming sadness to finding laughter in the little moments, the heartache to the joys of the smallest things you never noticed before, from the heaviest of guilt weighing on us down to trying to see the bigger picture through the diluted veil. From watching them in pain in every realm, to one day being forced to feel much of that same pain. This is a journey that so many – too many – experience, but one that often times doesn’t get brought up in the rawness in which is truth for many. And I want to bring forth that rawness, that truth and the awareness behind it.

I feel truly honored to be able to share this ‘Siblings Tribute’ with 3 other strong, brave, compassionate and determined souls to bring forth both their siblings stories, as well as their own. Our hope is that this can offer a sense of peace for those who are struggling in any way – to know that you aren’t alone on this journey, whether you’re the one who’s in the ring for another round to fight, or the cheerleader on the sidelines – your story matters! This is Part 1 of a few entries and I am truly so grateful they agreed to do this with me! Although these entries were excruciating to write – I’m excited to share both of their stories, as well as their sisters battle against a disease we’re all well aware and hear far too much about – cancer.

*Disclaimer: a box of tissues is recommended – you’ve been warned 😉

Jaime collage 2

“Sisters from the start, friends forever from the heart.”

You and your sister (names, background, ages)- who were you both pre-diagnosis?

My name is Brynn Ashley Soderlind. I was 31 when my sister Jaime Teresa Gartner was diagnosed with breast cancer on October 14, 2011. Jaime was only 32 years old. I was 8 months pregnant with my first child as I sat in the waiting room of the doctors office. My three year old nephew, Jaime’s son Jameson, sat on my lap on a blue upholstered bench. He was such a patient child. He held my hand and we sat there mostly in silence. It seemed like years. We waited and waited and waited. Finally, three hours later, Jaime came down the dark grey hallway. Her dark brown long hair framed her beautiful face like a picture. I remember her brief eye contact with me and then her eyes quickly fixed on her son. Tears were pouring down her face as she opened her arms to meet his little body. He fell into her with relief. She looked to me and smiled as she wiped her tears quickly from her cheeks and shook her head “no”. I knew right then that the massive lump in my sisters breast wasn’t a cyst or an enlarged lymph node. My throat felt tight as I swallowed hard. My sister had cancer.

We grew up with a strong sense of self. We lived out in the country on a hobby farm with our loving parents and grandparents, some goats, chickens, pigs, dogs, rabbits and a blind cow. We had great company each day with our siblings- Ericka, Ian and Seth- and the neighborhood kids our mom babysat. We loved to hike on the land and explore the 132 acre woods that we lived on and absorb all that nature provided to us. Jaime and I loved to take our Red Ryder BB guns out and shoot targets that Ian would set up for us. Life was easy. Life was so good. We loved to go to Whitewater State Park and as teens we would spend most of our summer hiking and swimming. We also loved to travel and took several road trips together and with friends. We did almost everything together. Where there was Jaime, there was likely Brynn.

We would end up moving to Colorado together in 1999. We loved the mountains. We loved the experience but eventually we ended up back in Minnesota together.

Almost a year before her cancer diagnosis, Jaime and I were in Esthetician school together. Jaime and Jameson lived with my husband Adam and I in our condo. Jaime and I had a long history of sames. We had the same jobs, wore the same clothes, loved the same foods, had the same friends, lived in the same cities, read the same books, listened to the same music. Her and I shared a bedroom, secrets, underwear, makeup, cars, lunch money, dreams, aspirations, germs but mostly, we shared genetics. I was encouraged to have genetic testing done shortly after my 33 year old sister had a bilateral mastectomy. I knew that if my sister had breast cancer at 32 years old, I had a pretty good chance of getting it too. When I got the genetic counseling and testing, my daughter was a baby and still breastfeeding. I remember the fear surrounding a positive genetic mutation. What if I too shared the BRCA2 mutation? I knew for me, it would mean a mastectomy and possibly a hysterectomy. That meant no more children. I was ok with that as long as I had an upper hand on controlling the disease.

I had a strong feeling that I didn’t have the mutation. I soon learned that Jaime had the same feeling. Sure enough, I tested negative for the BRCA2 mutation. I cried so hard when I heard the positive news; half of me was relieved and half of me felt guilty. I know it may seem strange, but it was like we had always shared everything and now we didn’t. And I was happy and devastated all at the same time. You see that’s the tricky part about disease and being a caretaker to someone you love so much. The cancer may have taken over my sister’s body, but it also consumed me, differently, but still the same. It completely changed everything.

I thought about cancer all day long. I thought about ways to help heal. I threw myself into research and tried to educate myself as best as I could. I attended every appointment. I quit my job to care for her full time. Her cancer became my cancer. Her life sort of became my responsibility. I’d lie awake at night running through all of the “to do’s” Did she take all of her meds? Did she eat enough? Were all of her appointments scheduled? Did we write down all of our questions? I learned as much as I could about her tumors on my own time. When they told her that her tumors were ERPR positive, HER2 negative, I researched. When they told her that she needed  radioactive Theraspheres implanted into her liver, I researched. When they said there was nothing left to try, I researched. I always wanted to find a way to save my sister’s life. I wanted her dream of becoming a grandmother to come to fruition. I wanted to see her pain-free and dancing in the woods at night like we used to do when we were young. I wanted to travel again, hike, shop, sing, learn to knit and play guitar with her. She always wanted us to take knitting classes and guitar classes together, but I guess we never made the time. I wish we would have figured out how to make it work. Especially guitar lessons. We both loved singing and music so much. I imagine how therapeutic it would have been to be able to play guitar and sing together during her 4.5 year fight against cancer. We both had our own guitar and knitting needles, but never learned. Now, I am ready to take guitar lessons. I will learn to knit this winter. The thing I’ve learned is that life doesn’t wait for us. We have to take advantage of the time we have- right now- today. If there is something you want to learn or experience, go for it. Set goals! Chase dreams! Jaime’s goal was to make it to Mother’s Day. My goal is to make sure that women aren’t dismissed when they find a lump in their breast, at any age. Jaime was dismissed by 3 different doctors before the fourth ordered a mammogram. 3 different doctors! None of them thought she had cancer because she was young and because they told her cancer didn’t hurt, so her lump must have been a cyst or something. It will take me a lifetime to get over the dismissal she received from those individuals. If a 31 year old woman complains of discomfort and has a sizable lump, it should be taken seriously. Mammograms save lives. Every lump should be examined thoroughly.

What battles (disease, metastasis, how many times in remission/relapse) did she endure and for how long? Explain what impact this had on you personally and how it changed both of your lives/perspectives, good and bad.

Jaime possessed a natural ability to find the positive in situations. She never complained about her circumstances. Not one time. She never had a pity party. I’m sure on her own time alone she often struggled, but she never divulged any of those feelings. She made light of the adverse reaction she had to steroids during her radiation treatments. She would joke about how the development of Cushing’s Syndrome was the worst part of the entire cancer experience because she had a 100 pound weight gain which was painful and left her almost unrecognizable. Her skin began to split in areas from the rapid weight gain. Her body ached all over.  They learned that the steroids they were giving her for pain control caused her adrenal glands to fail and shut down. Jaime didn’t mind loosing her hair. She liked hats. She knew she could manage the mastectomy with future reconstruction surgery and prosthetics. But Jaime did not know how to be ok with the Cushing’s Syndrome and her physical immobility and intense pain. In my opinion, the most challenging piece through her cancer journey the rapid weight gain and pain that accompanied it like an orchestra.

Jaime was diagnosed in October of 2011. She started chemotherapy quickly. Her lump was so invasive and so aggressive that they feared removing it without hitting her with a cycle of chemotherapy prior to surgery. Jaime had 7 rounds of chemotherapy between October 2011 -April 2012. On May 11, 2012, Jaime underwent a bilateral mastectomy and sentinel lymph node dissection. They inserted tissue expanders inside the chest wall to reconstruct her breasts with implants. The expanders were placed behind the muscle of the chest wall. The idea was to slowly stretch the skin by filling the expanders with air overtime to accommodate an implant.

We moved into her apartment in May after her mastectomy to care for her and Jameson. She couldn’t be alone and certainly couldn’t care for her three year old son by herself. I spent my days with Jaime, Jameson and my 7 month old daughter Poppy. I took her to appointments, cared for her and the children and did all of the normal day to day tasks and errands. I had so much help from Adam at night and on the weekends.  Following her discharge from her mastectomy, Jaime’s pain continued. She had so much pain. She was so weak and tired. Her surgery sites began to show signs of infection. I called the clinic with great concern. I was reassured several times that what I was describing was “normal healing”.  When her pain became unbearable, I brought her into the ER at a different hospital. She was quickly admitted after examination. She went into surgery the next day to  have the tissue expanders removed because she was septic. I felt so angry and so frustrated. I felt like I let her down. I had called several times with concern. I was always told that it was normal. Now she had a major setback in her recovery.

After that surgery to remove the expanders, Jaime never really felt good again. Ever. It was like the infection had gotten into the core of her being. She was so unsure. Her days and nights consisted of doctors appointments and pain management. After that surgery she went six months without seeing a doctor. She moved to Waseca and rented a house. She and Jameson lived right next door to our mom and stepdad. She just never felt good. Mom and Dad expressed concern about the lack of medical care and lack of follow up. Jaime was in a deep dark depression. She seemed to feel like they did everything they could do for her and this was what she would endure. We felt that she should be closely followed with scans and check ups. Nothing was scheduled. She had no desire to go to the doctor. Then in November of 2012, Jaime came to visit us in New Hope. She was in so much pain in her hips and low back that she could hardly walk. The pain was constant and ibuprofen wasn’t even coming close to touching it. Adam encouraged her to go to the ER. After some persuasion, she agreed. The ER dr in Plymouth MN listened to her history and decided that a pain injection of Tordol  to her hip would suffice and he sent her home. No scans were ordered. Her blood work showed elevated white cells and all of her numbers were either a bit high or low in almost every category. They knew she had cancer earlier that year. Why wouldn’t they have investigated her complaints and concerns more thoroughly? She was a 33 year old single mother with a history of breast cancer. I will never understand the lack of care. Fast forward a month later, she has similar complaints of low back pain and hip pain. Adam takes her into the ER again, and she gets the exact same diagnosis and treatment. They say it’s likely menses pain and they encourage a hot bath and ibuprofen. That was in December 2012. A moth later, on January 21, 2013, she fell in the bathroom in the middle of the night while visiting us in Duluth at our new temporary home. Jaime managed to crawl into the living room where she was able to wake us with screams like I have never heard before. After helping her up, Adam got her into our SUV and drove to the ER at St Lukes. At 3am on January 22, Adam texted me that he and Jaime were meeting with a neurosurgeon and likely she needed spinal surgery to fix her broken lumbar. He also mentioned that they were quite confused how she managed to break her lumbar by falling in the bathroom since the lumbar is the strongest part of the spine. After laying flat for 4 days in a body brace, the biopsies revealed that Jaimes entire skeleton had been infiltrated with breast cancer. I remember the look on her face when they told her that her breast cancer was a stage 4 and terminal. She looked relieved. She looked frightened. She looked so young and so lovely. I was engulfed with sickness and anger. Terminal breast cancer?!! How did this happen?

After she broke her back, she realized that St Lukes hospital in Duluth Minnesota was where she was meant to be. She began her care and treatments of weeks of radiation, many surgeries, continuous chemotherapy, injections in her neck and back and pain management. The nurses and doctors were incredible at St Lukes. She felt cared for and loved and validated. Her pain was finally explained! She could finally trust medical staff. She became so close to her oncologist, Dr. Based Goueli and her nurse Terri. They gave her the greatest care and love. She trusted them. I trusted them. We were able to navigate through all of the bad news together and even in her final days, she felt comfort and trust when she talked to Dr Goueli or Terri specifically.

During her battle, she also had to have a hysterectomy. Pathology of her ovaries detected breast cancer. From there, Jaime’s cancer spread into to the liver. Her care team kept up on her treatments of chemotherapy and she was able to fight for another year and a half. Jaime ended up passing away on a beautiful sunny Thursday morning in the arms of me and our older sister and our parents. Jaime had been in hospice care at St. Luke’s hospital for less than a week. Jaime died from liver failure caused by metastatic breast cancer to bones and liver. She had so much trouble breathing in her final hours. I remember feeling like she was drowning and I couldn’t pull her up or give her air. She fought until the last breath. April 14, 2016 was the hardest day of my existence. I lost a big part of myself when she passed. She had been unable to communicate the last day, but moments before she died, she opened her eyes and made brief eye contact with me and began to cry. She quickly shifted her eyes to our sister Ericka as tears fell down her face. Her eyes fixed towards my parents with her last breath.

I remember my mom placed her delicate hand on Jaime’s sweet face as she gently ran her palm down over her eyes to assist them to close. I remember the sound of my dad pulling a bandaid off of Jaime’s arm and throwing it across the room as he wept. I continue to replay these moments over and over- just like the the day she was diagnosed. The connections. The similarities. The tears. The beauty and the tragedy of it all. The brief eye contact that cut like a knife, the tears that poured from our eyes like wine, and the fear and yet the calming sense of peace that embodied all of it.

What did this consist of for you personally – to recall being a cheerleader on the sidelines, observing, but being unable to save them? (Ultimately the trauma of being the survivor).

I am forever grateful that I was able to care for my sister during her fight with cancer. I was able to support her and fight right along side her. I made sure she knew that she wasn’t alone. It’s been a month since she passed. The sorrow and pain really does come in waves. Everyday I wonder if there was anything more or anything else I could have done to help her have more time. I guess there will always be a part of me that will lament over the possibilities of treatments and cures. She ultimately decided that she would fight until the very end and she did. She fought so hard. Now I sit with my sword down and my shield up. I am still at war but all of the enemies are gone. I am less now. I am forever less without her here beside me. I will never understand why my sister had to fight so hard and ultimately die fighting breast cancer.

How has this changed you and your life course? 

Jaimes diagnosis absolutely changed me. I changed because I had to. I quit my job to care for her, we cancelled a move across the country to care for her, and I directed my focus and energy towards her health and healing.

Jaime and I were somewhat different from one another. Physically we were basically opposite. Our personalities, although different, meshed as we complemented each other well. We understood each others sense of humor. We had so many common threads and so much interest in one another. We had our own language and the ability to read one another with little effort. Sometimes we even felt one another’s pain or discomfort when apart. Jaime was 20 months older than me. We were only a grade apart in school. She always joked that I was the “big sister” and she was the “little sister”. I was taller, so that was ok with me. I will remember Jaime as an intelligent, loving, generous, carefree, slightly unpredictable, esthetically well maintained, stylish woman. She always had a big beautiful bright smile and she was always late for everything.

Since her passing, I have had a strong pull towards becoming more carefree and less concerned about details that don’t matter. I’m trying to learn to live in the moments that we are given each day.

I am contemplating my next steps and trying to discover what is best for me and what is next for me now that she is gone.

Do you feel you’re meant to do something differently with your life because of her death? And if so, what is your hope/goal? How do you want her to live on?

Jaime left me with three quotes:

“Be a rainbow in the cloud”  

“Something will grow from all you are going through, and it will be you.”  

 “Don’t worry, No one likes a know-it-all”

I am doing a lot of soul searching and digging deep to find my balance and my purpose in life. I believe that Jaime’s spirit will help to guide me down the best path.

I do feel that I have great compassion and empathy and love and concern for others. Jaime has always encouraged me to become a nurse… but she also wanted me to pursue an acting career and become a professional photographer so I’m a bit confused about her impression of my actual talents or calling. I guess I may be confused as well? I feel like I need to find a vessel that allows me to help advocate for people struggling to find the medical care that they need and deserve. I don’t want one more woman with a lump in her breast to have to go to four doctors just to get a mammogram. I want to bring awareness to breast cancer affecting young women. Breast cancer isn’t only killing post-menopausal women. Breast cancer doesn’t discriminate. Men, women, young and old are all candidates for breast cancer. Screening is key! Early detection saves lives. Genetic counseling helps us to make informed preventative decisions  about our health. Who knows, maybe my sister would still be here today if the first doctor who saw Jaime would have ordered a simple mammogram.

Jaime will live on in the masterpiece she created. Her strong loving intelligent boy Jameson carries her beauty, strength and perseverance. He has her personality and her heart of gold. Jameson is the greatest legacy and a beautiful reminder that my sister still remains.

**If this resonated with you, feel free to share on Social Media to not only raise awareness, but bring hope to any that may be struggling**

D-Day

/ Revolution.07 / Leave a comment

blog-storm

I’ve been on a bit of a hiatus the past few weeks for a few reasons, but as I’ve tried to move forward with this subject in a few drafts, I couldn’t get it to piece together! It came to me that the reason being was because I was trying to modify it. I wanted to sugar coat it, I wanted the portrayal of it to be in a ‘decent’ format and a ‘mature’ demeanor. Or, perhaps just skip over the facts leading up to ‘it’, I preferred to just to skip to the aftermath of ‘it’. But the thing is, that wasn’t the truth of the matter – that wasn’t real life then – while it was actually happening. I was wanting to block the rawness and pain that followed it, I wanted to edit the story and downplay the events and emotions. I didn’t want to have to see how clearly the signs were there and ask myself (as I’m sure many others will be thinking while reading it) “what in the f**k were you thinking – it was so obvious?!” But that wouldn’t be the true story and it wouldn’t be my story or perception. So, as nervous as I am to see how this may come from my hands, I see now that it needs too – in the rawness and realness in which it was felt then, despite what it ‘looks or seems’ like. I guess that’s part of writing – the vulnerability of it all, things are always clear from the outside – but this was my truth, from my perception – it’s a part of my story – and maybe I need to allow whatever comes with it, the anger, hatred and blame to be felt as it was then.

I always knew when things were off, I could feel it, his distant demeanor and coldness spoke volumes. He was far easier to read then he realized – it started with the blaming and knit picking of anything he could think of, then drinking more and talking less. He was more irritable, and then the threats would start pouring out, like “what would I do if I didn’t have him, I’d never be able to make it on my own. Or how I’d have to move back in with my parents and he’d take our daughter – he’d start playing things out, trying to plant a seed in my mind that I would be screwed when things went south – knowing the end was in sight. It didn’t take long for me to start asking who it was, which only led to more fights about how I was turning it around on him because I wouldn’t take responsibility for the fact that I was wrong. I would try and leave it be, knowing damn well I’d either break and kick him out or it’d surface – and I’d still kick him out. Either way, he’d never be the one to leave, he always knew he could push me to my breaking point – it worked out well to play the victim – that his girlfriend kicked him out –  but also gave him the free reins he was hoping for. After a month or 2, that got old and security sounded again. So, back he’d come. I’d hold my own for awhile, keeping him at a distance – but he’d find the damnest ways to wiggle himself back in. And, I’d allow it, never fully letting it go though, it just added to my own insecurities, bitterness and unhappiness. “Forgaven but never forgetten” was what I’d always say – but that wasn’t the truth – it couldn’t be – there was too much damage done.

In hindsight, to say I was surprised by the actions and events that followed was assanign – given the people involved, there was nothing surprising at all actually! But, still, I allowed myself to be shell shocked. The straw that broke the camels back, the spade of spades – the ultimate finale was 6 weeks after we were married, when I found out he had been having a 5 month affair with my uncle’s wife. 6 weeks that were anything close to a “honeymoon” status!  That’s right people – a new meaning to ‘Hollywood marriage’ being that we managed to beat Kim Kardashian – we didn’t even make it 75 days! ha 😉

I would be lying if I said she was ‘welcomed’ in the family from the get go. For as young as she was, we knew very well what her past consisted of. The way that her and my uncle met, wasn’t exactly ‘stable’ by any means and everyone was all around nervous to see how this would shake out. Josie hated her, she didn’t hate very many people – but she wasn’t budging on this one! She had done some things to Josie that were far from nice – but we told her she needed to get over it and maybe she’s changed – besides, he’s happy and oh yeah – she was pregnant! So, we all decided we were happy for him – that he had found such happiness and decided to give her a chance. She blended fairly well into the family – but there was still something about her that people always had their guard up. She was a good mom – they both seemed happy together, they were clean and she seemed to do less pathological lying! lol

The spring of ’09 consisted of spending alot of time with her, my uncle and their 2 boys, it worked out great considering they lived a half a mile away and the kids could play! Her and I would go for walks and she’d show up quite frequently just to say ‘hi’ with homemade goodies or suppers. Always calling to ask if we wanted to go have supper somewhere – he’d  generally say no and I’d talk him into it – just like she knew I would. We all had a ton of fun together, having fires, taking the kids on rides, fishing, grill outs – you name it. When they say ‘keep your friends close, your enemies closer’ – she did that perfectly! The more involved they became, the closer we got. I remember him coming home shaking that May, saying that my uncle went after him – saying that ‘he better not come near his wife again’. I was so floored and confused, why would he say that – what was he doing that he’d make that accusation? I remember watching him pace outside, scared shitless – he knew his days were limited. I remember thinking as I looked out the window, “is there something more to this, this is so weird.” When he came back in he said how my uncle was trashed and probably messed up on something again. They planted that seed well to avoid any eyes on them and whether or not that was the case, still didn’t excuse what they were doing. When I asked her about that situation – she said how bad it had been and that she needed to leave, that he was in so deep with booze and probably more that she can’t take it anymore – he’s lost his mind. Then there were things that started matching up, like I’d see him with a beer or people would comment that they seen him out and I’d think ‘oh shit, maybe she isn’t lying’.   I remember having a fleeting thought of ‘did you get him back into it, knowing this was his downfall and you could blame him and bolt?’ I was so embarrassed I even had that thought and dismissed it. She would have him take their kids home to bed and she’d stay and wouldn’t leave, finally I’d be tired and go to bed, again, like they knew I would. The interesting part was, I knew something was off with him – but she was good that I didn’t suspect her until right before things went south. I had a random fleeting thought, but once again dismissed it, because she never wavered – it was quite impressive actually! Blind as a bat I was at first. It came to the point that I made several comments that I wish I had included her in the wedding as I had gotten very close to her. Puke.

About a week or 2 before the wedding we were laying in bed and I said “do you even want to do this – I feel like something is going on and I don’t like it” he hesitated and said “I have something to tell you” – but it wasn’t that. It was something else he knew I’d hate and was hoping that’d be his way out. I said – OK, we can deal with this – I’m not happy about it, but I guess I still feel like you’re not here or into this. From there it went from we can’t back out because people have already done so much for us and there’s so much money invested to he’s just nervous. I gave him the option a few times to back out, I didn’t care what was invested – there’s no point in following through if there’s something more – but he couldn’t bring himself to say it and I couldn’t bring myself to pull the trigger either. I didn’t want to make an ass out of myself if it was just nerves and besides, I had already postponed the wedding a year, because I was nonfunctional after Josie. So, he reassured me it was just fine.  I had told her I got him Metallica tickets for a wedding gift and was so excited to give them to him because it was his favorite band! When he opened it at rehearsal dinner that Thursday, he barely reacted, I was like “hellooo – it’s fricken Metallica – we’re going to see Metallica!!!” He said – “I know – cool – thanks!” Again – I was thinking what the fuck – that’s it!? Later to realize she had told him. He sat in the bar the night before, I had no idea where he was until my parents said they were both down there. She brought him home late and trashed and I was so pissed!

We got married on D-Day (which I just realized last year HA!) It was blacker then hell with torrential rains from beginning to end that day. Beautiful the day before and the day after – but that day was terrible! She sat in the 1st few rows at the wedding, I can still picture her, I remember the look on her face when she walked in and thinking, that’s an odd reaction. It was one of disbelief and almost like she could vomit – like he’s going through with it, now what. My uncle stayed sober and drove us home that night, we were trashed and she kept saying they should stay for after bar. The rest of us said no, we were shot and her not being happy about it. Unreal what you observe, think and ultimately know without ‘facts’ and yet finding yourself needing something concrete in order to justify it, isn’t it?

Things calmed down for a week or 2 and seemed to be possibly mending. He started pulling back when she would call and ask and I was getting irritated because I wanted to go do stuff, but he kept blaming it on my uncle, how messsed up he was and wasn’t going to forgive him for making that accusation. I began to realize how much I was sleeping days away again and feeling just plain shitty, so without telling him – I went in and got my meds switched, hoping perhaps if I was feeling better, we’d start doing better.

On July 14th, I decided last minute to chop my hair without telling anyone, hoping I’d feel better and he’d like it. When I walked in and said “surprise!” he asked what the fuck I did that for. That’s when I knew there was more, of all the shitty things he had done, he never downgraded me (in an obvious way) for all the weight I put on, he never commented, he never told me I looked like shit, that I should or shouldn’t eat this or that, or that I should be going to the gym with him etc. And for someone that thrived off of his looks and body image – it was kind of surprising he didn’t! But this was on a different level and one of the few lines he had never crossed. I knew he was doing everything in his power to have an out and I wanted to know why. That night, as he put our daughter to bed, I went through his phone. The only thing I saw from her was “when do I get to see you again?” This was my own ‘D-Day’ – one that not only affected me on so many levels and in so many aspects of my life for years to come – but also my entire family as it was more then just me involved. For myself, my uncle, the 3 kids directly involved, my grandparents, my parents, my dad’s business (since he worked for my dad and was one of his lead guys), aside from that, they were very close, the ripple effect it had was beyond one household. After reading that, I felt like I was having the 1st of a few out of body experiences as the anger and emotions started to overcome me. It was a whirlwind, not knowing how I was going to approach this. So, I waited until he came down the stairs and from there shit hit the fan – and it didn’t stop hitting for the fan for a very, very long time!

Dreaming Another Nightmare

/ Revolution.07 / Leave a comment

blog - reality

Isn’t it funny how when you’re younger, your future plays out in a certain format? Your dreams follow this ‘ideal’ timeline of pure perfection! Life was going to be damn near perfect in every manner, there really wasn’t much I hadn’t dreamed up in my fantasy world – except that part where the train derails and I end up in bumfuck Egypt in the middle of my own shit storm that I really thought couldn’t get worse, but oh wait – IT JUST DID!
Let’s just rewind to the fairytale for a minute. Back to the dream land of getting a collage degree in Education, followed by being married by the age of 23, 1st child no later then the age of 25 (I didn’t want to be an old parent!) Then 2, maybe 3 more kids every 2-3 years to follow, I wanted them spaced just perfectly in age! I would have a nanny so my kids didn’t have to go to a daycare with other bratty kids! They’d be in a private elementary school in a larger community when they were younger so they learned diversity and the importance of it, but by middle school, we’d transfer to a smaller school system, so they could learn and appreciate the importance of a smaller community, I wanted to know the parents of my kids’ friends, and them to know everyone they graduated with,  like I was fortunate to have growing up. I’d be happily married for years, we’d travel a lot and my kids would have a lot of great experiences and memories, hopefully building the basis of their future by being curious of the huge world out there! We’d eventually move to the country overlooking the mountains to retire and enjoy the peace and quiet. Uh, life was going to be so great – god I couldn’t wait!

And then – one day – I woke up to a very different reality – back in Egypt. I was standing in the middle of a very different dream, more like nightmare, not knowing exactly how I managed to end up there!

Instead it went something along the lines of being 18, having a blast partying and working, going to the local college that I knew in my gut wasn’t going to pan out, but I played along with the role and ‘tried’ it. By trying it I mean I passed 2 of the 4 classes the 1st semester, the only 2 I was interested in to begin with, which was English and Psych. Instead I focused more on how damn good it felt to be living on my own, with 4 other good friends of mine, hanging with my new, good looking and older boyfriend, being free of rules, demands and chores and just plain loving life! This older boyfriend was eight and a half years older, which, at 18, is a big deal! Age is just a number on many levels, but at certain times in our lives, age does matter (I know mom – finally I got it! Better late then never 😉 ) I was with someone who was in a relationship, although I understood it at that time that it had ended (by ended, I believe he had moved out a few days prior), and I was also recently out of a relationship, for about a week (yeah – I know – total saints  – for sure). So, even though I more then knew better, he seemed very interested and I wanted it to be what I knew it wasn’t – but I still really wanted it to be what he made it appear to be!

As if age alone wasn’t a factor, the fact that he worked for my dad and was very close to him, was an obstacle in itself. But, rebellion was still running thick in my blood – so I ran with it, secretly hesitant, but outwardly, I’m sure I appeared cocky. I will never forget sitting in my parents kitchen, explaining to my less then impressed, quite frankly – my pissed off mother, that it was going to be just fine! The only thing I remember out of that entire ass chewing was her saying ‘you are nothing but a rebound to him and he is nothing but an infatuation to you.” Ouch. That stung. That stung alot – but what stung even more was when I had to call her bawling at 5 a.m. four months later – after my friend and I showed up at his exes house, banging on the door at midnight wondering why he was with her and didn’t have the balls to come to the door! (I’ve had prouder moments – yes).

I remember that sick heavy brick that festered in the pit of my gut for weeks after that night. I remember the replays, waiting for the next phone call, the begging, more lies, more apologies and finally, after making him ‘prove’ himself – me giving in. The ‘proving himself’ part consisted of him having to go explain himself to my mom, since she was the one that had to deal with 5 a.m. phone calls after months of seeing it for face value, I figured he could start there (not thinking he actually would!) This was the beginning of many more years worth of anger, manipulation, game playing and drama that I learned to play along with. Giving into something I knew wasn’t true, but again, I wanted it to be. Besides, he had spent years with her, of course he was going to go back, he still loved her on some level, how couldn’t he, maybe if I were thinner, older, more stable, more wise it wouldn’t have happened. Note for this next time around I guess, right? Welcome to my thought process!

I think more then my hate for him was the hate for myself, the way I held out for so long, just to give back in at the last minute. The hate for believing it, wanting it to be different then it what it was, but not knowing what that meant. Hating myself for not being what he wanted, for feeling the need to compete against other women, the bottle – anything. Hating myself for giving into the drama and nonsense, thinking every other ‘next time’ was going to be different then the previous last times. Hating myself for allowing the lies to flow so easily, for getting bogged down by it all, to the point of no longer caring, for giving into it, when I fought so hard not too, for so long. Hating myself for seeing it before it happened and yet waiting – almost wanting in some sick way – for it to happen again so I had a reason to bail again. I became reliant on the next fuck up, it kept us both fueled with anger, hate and drama – just to need some sick reason to make it all ‘better’ again – for a little bit anyways. And when it really came down to it, what I hated more then him – was myself – that I gave up me for him – that I changed my life, goals, dreams, morals and beliefs to fit something that was never in alignment with me to begin with. I hated myself for giving into the fear every time – the fear that he’d change for the next one and that I may miss being truly happy with him, fear that my daughter might not have the chance of knowing her parents to have a good, stable and loving relationship, fear that I might be alone forever, and that maybe I should be thankful he’s with me at all. That I thought I could change or ‘fix’ him – when it wasn’t about that – it was about 2 people that became miserable together on account of their own insecurities that were never resolved, caught in this vicious cycle that became routine, one that subconsciously we both thrived on. It was about 2 people that simply didn’t belong together, that again, tried to force pieces of the puzzle to fit, that were never meant to fit. It wasn’t about ‘training’ him ‘my’ way, with ‘better’ morals or expectations of him wanting the same family life I did, it wasn’t about ‘owning’ him or forcing him into things that quite obviously he wasn’t interested in, as his actions always showed it. He did fight for me on many levels, perhaps more then he had in previous relationships and perhaps in some ways- we could’ve been more – but not at that point in our lives. It had become so toxic, so full of mind games, when one was ready to party, the other didn’t want to leave the house, when one wanted to be saving money for a house, the other couldn’t blow it fast enough, when one was ready for marriage, the other wouldn’t even utter the word. We were rarely on the same page and when we were, it felt like we were on top of the world, that one week you would’ve sworn lasted 2 years without a single fight! ha Those short intervals were what I began to cling too, because that’s all I had – and they became fewer and farther between. And when push comes to shove – timing is always everything. After Josie, any speck of interest I had left, any excitement about moving forward in our lives, anything to do with him at all – was lost on every level within 24 hours after she died. As if the animosity wasn’t already there before – it intensified after that – he was to blame on every level for anything and everything I never did or didn’t do with her. And that was the beginning of the grand finale to follow – the one that trumped all other trumps. But then again, I guess that’s what happens when you choose to live in a fantasy world, talking each other, and ultimately yourselves into truths that weren’t ours.

 

Uncharted Waters

/ Revolution.07 / 1 Comment

blog flag

As much as I’ve tried to avoid this topic, it just keeps coming back to me! This entry began on something totally different and came right back to this. I’ve written and rewritten it in my head many times, but no matter how much I try and avoid it, it flows through my fingertips as if it’s supposed too. I honestly am not looking for a debate and I’m hoping it doesn’t cause one – but being that it’s a reoccurring theme – I’m feeling obligated to chance it. So, here we go!

It’s hard for me not to get angered and bothered by many of the things going on in the world today, and this has been festering for me personally, for all of 4 years. To see a different angle of the world and humanity as a whole, along with government, big pharma, insurance companies, politicians, corporate America and anyone that has been spoon fed it all their lives (oh no wait, that’s been 99% of us!) I spent the last election season literally piiiiissed at the world the entire campaigning season, I raged about all of it (Mary and Brittany I’d like to apologize for all of those rants 😉 ) because I hated what was going on behind the scenes that noone was willing nor able to see or hear. That was the first time I repeated on a regular basis, ‘I think this country needs a revolution’, that’s the only thing I could think of that would get people’s attention and instead of pointing fingers at each other, perhaps they’d start pointing them where I thought they deserved to be – those that are causing this shit show of a mess! And contrary to MANY beliefs, it isn’t just one person, nor one party or another – it’s far bigger then that. It’s a matrix that we’ve all been spoon fed, one that is ingrained within us at a very deep level – to believe that one party or person is better or superior then another. It is one that feeds debate and hate – it, like religion, has given people another reason to hate each other, another reason to fight, another reason to blame, another reason to dehumanize another on account of superiority.

I honestly hate discussing the shit because I don’t think one is better then another, I think it’s a scam and one we all play into well. We expect ONE person to change things and when our idea of change doesn’t happen, then it gives us a reason to blame and hate them or their party. And the thing is, we’re hating on one person that we know damn well doesn’t have the sole power to make these changes! Isn’t that the point of the American Judicial System, to come together for the common good? I don’t see any of that, and maybe that’s the negativity of my mindset showing forth, only seeing the horror that’s being caused, but this election, that’s all I seem to see.

I can not stand to glance at a picture of Syrian refugees – men, women or children and not almost break down. I can not stand to wonder if that was me and my family and we were hated to such extremes, being hunted like animals, to think of having to watch my daughter starve while we try to escape to stay alive – FOR WHAT? I am always trying to tell my daughter “those kids didn’t ask for that” or “they didn’t chose to be that color, just like we didn’t choose to be white, females or American – they don’t deserve that kind of treatment on account of what they were born into – just like we don’t deserve to be superior because of it.”

   

This mentality of all things such as politics, religion, racism, sexism is nothing but us thinking we’re superior to the next. It doesn’t promote empathy or sympathy of other human beings, it promotes entitlement, greed and power. I don’t want to hear the latest debate or who is going to make more empty ‘promises’ to change, even if there is good and real intention behind it –  because they aren’t the ones calling the shots in the end! (Which is another reason I don’t watch TV or read the news!) I hope people start to take a step back and really ask themselves why they believe the things they do, why they’re supporters of a certain party or what they stand for and is that their true, honest belief, or is it because of what your family, friends, community or society has always done? Is it because of certain trigger words that are being said? Is it because the media has portrayed one aspect of a much larger spectrum? Is what you expect from a party or candidate something that you personally do in your own daily life? That question can go either way, good or bad – do you have those same qualities? Do you hate Muslims to the extent that you’d be willing to stand there and watch them and their children burn at the stake – even the innocent ones? Would you be willing to stand at the shore and watch them drown with their children in life boats after days of being lost at sea? I’m not even just talking about these larger issues – even on a ‘smaller’ scale, would you be willing to pull the trigger on your neighbor because he votes different on the ballot then you? Do you still shop at all corporate places and support the one percent, but expect one individual to take them down single handedly in office? Do you treat the earth like shit but expect them to clean the oceans of pollution? Do you support Monsanto/GMO’s etc. but hate God for the fatal diseases that are taking the lives of so many you love?

I will be the first to admit, I am not in total alignment with all of these ‘beliefs’ I have. It’s not to say we can change all of this, especially by election time and it doesn’t mean we won’t have a government or that we won’t still need to vote, but it does mean more then you think. From Walmart, to factory farms, to McDonald’s, to Monsanto – do you know how many small town businesses they’ve driven out of business, how many families have had hardships and how much CONTROL they have over us because of it? I’m willing to bet you couldn’t fathom! Half of them sit on the FDA boards, keeping us ‘safe’, while paying off who they can in the Senate and House. But – do you know what they depend on? They depend on their consumers – that’s US – that’s the PEOPLE. Do you know what happens when WE start making a stand in a different way, in a non violent, non hateful, non bloodshed way – instead by simply choosing to redirect our dollars to the little man, or educate ourselves on the food and pharmaceutical industries? That’s when you get headlines like “Walmart plans to close 269 stores this year, including 154 in the US.”

For all looking to take a stand – to have the final say – maybe we should quit hating the next guy so much, maybe we should think of the mom overseas fighting to feed her child, who would kill to have our hardships, maybe we should think for just a moment during our ‘superior’ days of what is considered luxury to many, what it would be like to watch your kids, nieces, nephews, or grandchildren die in your arms on account of lack of a 10$ vaccination, a 3$ meal, clean drinking water – on account of hate, on account of thinking one size fits all, if one is bad, let’s kill them all, on account of ignorance, on account of lack of human compassion, on account of not listening to our own inner self and giving into the matrix that they want us too – to feed off of hate and blame.

The only place I know I stand in all of this, is that I can’t be a supporter of a Trump. To know this is something that we, as a country are supporting – makes me sick. To think we’d rather have a well run ‘business led country’ versus one that is based off of values and morals may be one of the most heartbreaking things in our history yet. Remember in history class when we learned about Hitler, remember when we said ‘never ever would we allow that – why didn’t they stop it’ – well maybe we should ask if we are allowing it? On a scale both big and small? Seriously ask yourself – remind yourself that they simply hated Jews because they could – because they were taught too. On many levels, we’re all Hitler to some degrees, and the mentality that an eye for an eye is going to make us richer or better, that our flag will fly higher, that our lives will be happier or that our bank accounts will be bigger – is a hoax we’ve all sadly fed into. One that has yet to get us any of that. And I guess if that’s all you’re striving for on this human plane – then you’re on the right path! For all others, take it down a level – take it down to the individual level – to your home, your kids, your life – what impact are you making? Trump, Hilary, Sanders – whatever – whoever – what about YOU?!

I dare you to look at these photos and not try and put yourself in this picture, I dare you to not feel any sort of sympathy or human compassion for these people. There are starving mouths just as much here as anywhere – but this war between us all, this reason to disagree or fight isn’t helping anyone either.

 

 

If this resonated with you – feel free to share on social media!

Russian Roulette

/ Revolution.07 / Leave a comment

blog Russian Roulette

After a last minute decision to hit up a bar that was recommended by a local in Madison that’s known for it’s great vibe and even better drink concoctions, we decided to give it a try. As we were standing at the bar discussing what sounded good, a guy to my right said “Russian Roulette – let the bartender choose.” As much as I loved the idea and the random comment, I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. I mean I’d sure hate to waste money on a drink that I might not like! 😉 So, as I tend to do, I had to know what I’d be handed and ordered my go-to vodka water with a splash of cranberry – which just so happened to taste like shit! Ha But, my cousin, Liz, told the bartender “Russian roulette” and landed a killer drink that turned into our drink of the night.

This got me to thinking, how could I apply those 2 words to my life? Maybe they need to be a little more prevalent, maybe it’s something, in certain areas of my life I need to learn to gamble with. As with any of us, I think it’s fair to say, we are laid back in certain areas of our lives while uptight in others. Certain aspects are triggers for us, forcing us to feel as though we need to be either proactive &/or reactive/responsive, while other areas we are just fine ‘going with the flow’. While I’ve tried really hard to loosen up in all areas of my life, the more I start to let go in some, the more I find myself clinging to control in other areas. Whether it’s a certain circumstance playing out in my head, thinking it has to be a certain way in order for it to work or finding myself fighting certain things that are happening around or within me, not wanting to accept them as they are, it seems I still feel as if I have to have some power or control.

When I look back, I’m well aware of what a control freak I was and to some degree, still am. I was especially bad in my home life, even though to the outside eye I seemed fun and easy going. When I think back to my past relationships it’s been me having to be the caretaker or the one that ‘holds it together’, but I’ve also always had a hard time receiving or allowing myself to be open to good things or gestures. I wanted them to change and change in the way I thought was best. I think a majority of it stemmed back to not having control in major areas of the relationship, such as the need to compete with other things/people, so I took control in other aspects that I knew I had some say. I was wanting them to change for me, when really it’s just who they were and I needed to be OK with letting them go, instead of trying to force them to fit this mold that I had inside of my head. And there were also some that just plain treated me shitty and I needed to accept that as a good “no” as well! Instead of insisting on trying to force different pieces into fitting, I needed to see that they weren’t fitting for a reason and we’d both be happier being who we wanted to be instead of expecting each other to be something we weren’t.

When it came to friends and party planning – that was totally my gig! I planned everything and I loved it! Whether it was in high school – when people needed to know where the next party was, or how I was going to pull off hosting it if there wasn’t one lined up;) or who was driving (take a wild guess, yep – almost always ME, again, then I had control as to when we left, or what the outcome would be) or where we were staying. When we got older  I hosted a majority of events from wedding and baby showers to grill outs or dates with my friends and their kids, and if I didn’t, I planned or helped planned them. The time, the place, the date (that almost always revolved when would work best for me), who was bringing what food or what booze, if kids were invited, if they weren’t – the whole 9 yards. Again, looking back, I’d say it was a control aspect, and also something I felt I could take pride in, one of the few things I thought I was good at, considering I didn’t have a college degree or a home that I owned or spouses like my friends did, it’s as if I needed to compensate in other ways.

Prior to Josie, finances were a big thing for me, I always had control because he was wreckless with money and I was fearful of getting behind. It’s not to say that wasn’t the case, he was a poor money manager, never looking to feel secure or really get ahead, but I’ve also always had a fear of not being able to pay my bills or provide. This is most likely due to the fact that I watched my parents and grandparents endure many struggles related to that same thing and something that was ingrained me to always be prepared.

My house always needed to be cleaned and in tip top shape and if that didn’t happen, I wasn’t a very nice person either! I was always fearful of people coming over and it being messy and even if it wasn’t really, truly a disaster, I felt obligated to apologize or comment on it!

I find it in my parenting – that I’m trying to control or avoid her being hurt or her allowing others to be. That I want her to eat well and be healthy inside and out so I’m pushing the importance of not eating processed, crap food or drinking sugary drinks because I don’t want her to have health issues or be made of fun because she’s overweight. I’m trying to “fix or control” her as well in certain areas because of my own fear, because of things I’ve had to endure and I’m so worried she may have to face similar struggles. When  really, I need to accept that all I can do is try and guide her and allow her to make her own mistakes and fumble along the way, even if some of that does turn into heart break or poor decision making that she’ll learn from in her own way, without me just preaching about it.

But I’m realizing how many of those things are my insecurities, things that I have tried, or am trying, to control. I think a large reason of that ‘need’ comes from not having control in various aspects of my life through the years, that I focused on what I could control and took it to the extreme, many times driving people away or making them feel inferior. The need for control is just a lack in another area of our life that we don’t want to face or acknowledge, or perhaps are unsure how to gain any type of control of the reigns. Or, maybe it’s learning we don’t always need the control, it’s like attempting to swim against the current of life, thinking my way is the correct way, when really the current is trying to drag us down river, although perhaps through the ringer, to something better. The longer we spend our time and energy trying to force something or someone into fitting or changing, the more time we’ve wasted getting to where we really need to be.

I think the swimming against the current becomes a comfort after awhile, even though we’re so exhausted in many areas of our life, it’s become what we know and wouldn’t know what to do if we weren’t fighting it! As hard as I’ve tried loosening my grips on alot of these realms of my life, I find myself still expecting a certain outcome and sequence of events when it comes to my career, always wanting to jump and just BE THERE already! I’ve also noticed this with relationships, thinking meeting someone has to happen a certain way, or in a certain manner, like they need to be local, or it would never happen at a mundane place, like work or the grocery store, or I’ll have to loose the 20+ pounds I’ve put on since I quit smoking, or this, that or the other thing – when really if I’d just loosen the reigns and quit holding on so tight to this illusion or need for some control, if I’d start playing a little more Russian Roulette and just see where things take me, even if there are a few misfired bullets along the way, maybe I’d get where I want to be a little faster! The bullets are just another learning curve, nothing permanent, just a redirection – maybe those would be easier then this constant need to keep climbing up that damn down escalator all the time (have you tried that before – that shit is exhausting! 😉

So, as hard as it can be to put into play, maybe those 2 words need to enter my mind a little more often, take the gamble of moving with the flow, in a different and new direction and allowing it to unfold as it needs too. To quit relying or expecting others to fit into my puzzle and just keep on with the hope that it’ll eventually come together without so much resistance and effort and those things and people that were meant to be apart of it, will still be there, and those that weren’t, that’s OK too!

blog windowmasterpiece

If this resonated with you, feel free to share on social media!

Missing Piece

/ Revolution.07 / 1 Comment

blog - Josdress

We weren’t exactly orthodox both pertaining to a death surrounding suicide or in the manner of the grieving process. Once the initial shock of the realization that this was a suicide wore off, I’d say we were fairly accepting of her decision overall. Perhaps because it wasn’t an impulsive decision, or something done out of hate, revenge or to make a statement. I remember my dad saying ‘this is the only selfish decision she’s made, everything revolved around other people and trying to make them happy, it’s hard to be mad at that.”

I’d say the remainder of the stages, at least to me, are kind of one in the same. It boils down to a new reality and acceptance. And I don’t know if that word ever really fully makes sense in the aftermath of it all. To go back through the journal entries and read the repetitive words over and over again is so painful. It’s as if there were different ‘go-to’ thoughts that were the ‘theme’ depending on which stage I was in.

For awhile it was the word ‘never ever’. To say “never ever will I see her again, never ever will I be able to hear her laugh, never ever will she stand by my side at the altar, never ever will she watch my daughter grow up, never ever will I have nieces and nephews, never ever will I be able to make it right, never ever will I have be able to kiss and hug her again’. That one word – NEVER – was such a cold and harsh word to wrap my head around. And I remember breaking down every time the thought crossed my mind.

Not many are lucky enough to say they not only have a supportive family but to say I was able to grieve semi in sync with mine, seems to be a rarity. From what I remember, although very engrossed in my own life,  fog and daze – my parents and I were usually on the same page, or not far off from each other. I’m sure the experience for my parents was different as they were with each other more then I was with them, but I remember my mom saying when one was down, the other was up, so they were able to offset each other.

When it came to my personal household however, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. I hated coming home, the only place I wanted to be was my parents, just because I knew they got it. They got it on my level – the deep seated agony, hurt and overwhelming sadness. My ex tried to be supportive, but it wasn’t the same – there was so much that he didn’t get – and so much, too much, that I expected to him understand. After awhile, always being with them became another driving force between him and I and in many ways that was my escape from dealing with things at home, things that were there before this, but far worse since this! He wanted our lives to get back on track with some routine and normality. To me, there was no such thing – there was NOTHING about my life that was going to go back to what it was, and he was insane for thinking it would! And there was alot of it, that I didn’t want to go back! There were many parts I swore were going to change from that point on, promises I made to myself and to her, that it’d be different from here on out. He didn’t believe in the ‘crazy shit’ I was reading, that she could still be here, or that the soul is still present – he believed she went to heaven and I needed to start remembering what I had sitting in front of me, which was him and my daughter. But I had no interest. He would say ‘you’re here physically, but mentally you’re nowhere to be found’. I couldn’t explain things to him and it be a 2 way conversation, he wasn’t open to it and many times, I didn’t know how to express it. My parents just got it – it was effortless and I expected him to just ‘get it’ too. But I see now that it doesn’t work like that. I was expecting him to understand something that was literally impossible to “get” unless you’ve actually felt it for yourself first hand , but at the time, I didn’t care – I didn’t have it in me to care – I was exhausted.

I suppressed alot of it, the replays and play by plays –  for about 6 months before I had my own breaking point, at which time I was put on meds and enrolled in the outpatient program to avoid going inpatient. From that point on, I pretty much stuck with the thought ‘if this is how she felt every day of her life without anything significant happening to her – I don’t blame her one bit for choosing to leave.” From then on it was a constant toying thought of doing the same, the constant thought of just wanting to be able to see her again. I think my parents and I were all in that same boat for quite awhile, it was just the thought of “I just can’t wait to see you again!” For me, it almost became more of a dream then a statement, like, really, I just want to come see you, I don’t want to live in this horrifying, heavy pain anymore!

In a large way, I think that was the beginning of my acceptance phase, and it really came quite early. ‘It’s ok Jos, I don’t blame you, you didn’t deserve to have to live like this, you didn’t do anything to deserve this terrible feeling flooding you on a daily basis and never having any idea why you felt that way.” To all of those that initially refer to suicide as ‘selfish’ or think ‘what kind of person does that to their family,’ ‘it’s never that bad’ or ‘they took the easy way out’ has simply never stood in those shoes. I’m sorry, and it’s not to say that isn’t sometimes the case, but alot of times, it really, honestly isn’t. I have tried to explain many of times to many different people that isn’t, or at least wasn’t the case with her, and it isn’t that easy to just “snap out of it.” I remember being told by a counselor at Mayo that ‘suicide is often the last missing piece to the puzzle – they’ve tried everything else, from meds (which only 50% of people actually benefit from a medication that will truly help), being more social, a different job, an exercise program, etc. It’s as if they’re trying to constantly force this piece of the puzzle, but nothing seems to fit, and it comes to the point that, after being so exhausted, this is the only one that seems to make sense, this is the final missing piece that will put an end to the suffering. I heard this within the 1st month after she left but for some reason, that has always stuck with me. And the more I began to feel the depths of that pain, the more I began to see how much it really made sense.

Sometimes I wonder, are we all looking for that ‘missing piece’ of the puzzle in some area of our lives? It seems if we’re satisfied in one area of our life, we’re dissatisfied in another. It’s as if we get one piece that matches, just to lose another component. Home life is great, but I hate my job, finances are shit, but my kids are thriving. It’s hard not to feel as if we’ll never have all of the pieces, and maybe we won’t to some degree, but I wish she could’ve seen that in many areas, she wasn’t the only one feeling like that. I think that’s the importance of it all – is being aware that none of us are in any of it alone, that it can get better and be better, maybe some of the missing pieces were the absence of the conversation to begin with. Maybe if we weren’t made to think or feel as though our private lives were that different from the next persons, some of those gaps would be filled.

8 years into it, there are still plenty of days that when I actually stop and look, really look at her picture, it doesn’t seem real. There are times I’ve actually questioned ‘were you ever really here? or ‘are you really gone’? So, on many levels, I often wonder what the word ‘acceptance’ truly means, or is there such a thing of really being at peace with it all? To so many degrees I really thought I had accepted it, that it was her choice, and one we needed to accept. One choice that to many degrees, was perhaps the only selfish thing she ever did do. But there are times like these, when I go back and read the entries that acceptance is furthest from my truth. To read the letters and think ‘it didn’t have to be like this, or who would you be today?’ But despite how I replay it, how I accept it one week and deny it the next, it’s the truth and sobering reality of our life. So, I suppose I’ve ‘accepted’ it the best I know how, as much as the human brain can wrap their head around the thought ‘never ever.’ There isn’t an award or a checkered flag at the end of the stages saying good job, congrats – you survived it! I guess it’s just knowing some day we’ll meet again, and until then, I’ll trust that despite how many people call it ‘crazy’ I do believe she is still by our sides. I know she’ll be the first face I see when angels sing and for now, that’ll have to be my ‘acceptance’.

If this resonated with you, feel free to share on social media!

The Aftermath

/ Revolution.07 / 1 Comment

blog headstone

In my head, the aftermath looked like a scene from a natural disaster. The people and place gets rocked by the chaos of the disaster, just to be left standing in the middle of what feels like a chaotic wilderness of nothing.

There are few things from that day and the days to follow that I can’t remember verbatim. From the time I got the email as I was shutting down my computer at work asking ‘have you heard from Jos today?’ To the phone calls made within that half hour waiting for my bus to go home, to me knowing that the next call coming through was going to bad. I knew it before I knew it, shit, I had already played it out in my head, I was getting off the bus to meet my mom at the hospital, because I assumed she was going to call back saying there was a message on the answering machine that she had been in an accident. The bus was pulling out as she called back and it’s as if the conversation played out in my head minutes prior, except she called frantic that she wasn’t breathing. I ran off the bus, planning to meet them, just to find out it wasn’t needed.

I was the last one to get there that night by the time I got a ride back. When I got there all of my family and then some were there, including her, as they hadn’t come to get her yet. I remember feeling a sigh of relief when my mom said she didn’t want me to go in because she didn’t want me to see her like that. And then there was the guilt the next day for not seeing her, for not laying with her, for not getting in more kisses and hugs when I had the chance. For being selfish, like I always was, for relying on someone to tell me what to do, for being afraid of what I’d see, afraid of it being real.

My dad was in Montana on his first mule hunting trip so we had to wait until he could get home. I can’t imagine what that day must’ve felt like for him, feeling a million miles away, unable to get a flight out sooner, walking around aimlessly feeling even more hopeless then we did actually being there, surrounded by everyone. I remember walking to the car to meet with the funeral home and saying to my fiance, “Is this really happening? We’re going to make funeral arrangements? Is this our life, is this for real?” And him responding, “yes, I’m so sorry”.

The funeral was on a Sunday, it was November – colder then hell, raining and sleeting. The family had visitation prior and I just wanted to hog her! There just wasn’t enough time to fit in every single I love you, I’m sorry, kiss and hug for all the times I chose not too. We were told due to the amount of people lined up, we needed to begin earlier and I remember being pissed. Pissed because I didn’t care who was standing in the freezing rain, this was all we had left with her, tomorrow she would gone forever, we needed this time – we deserved this time! The next 6+ hours consisted of hugging and talking to about 1100 people, one of the largest wakes they had hosted to date. It was overwhelming to see the amount of people that came through, from old to young alike. But I couldn’t help but think, do you see this Josie?! Did you have any idea how many people your choice has affected? I wish you knew, why did it have to be this way in order for you to see it? Those hours consisted of going through the motions, being introduced to people, hugging, and saying thank you for coming, but oddly enough, not all that much crying. As I would look out beyond the people’s shoulders that were standing in front of me, seeing no end in site to the line, there would be certain random faces that would just trigger a melt down. But all in all, as we stood on the other side, we held our shit together pretty well!

The funeral was worse for me, once again we weren’t able to get additional time with her like we’d planned due to the number of people packed in the church. And once again, I was pissed because I didn’t give a shit – this was it – this was the last time of any physical contact with her, even if it was in this form. As I bent over to kiss her and hold her hand and try and squeeze in the last of apologies and I love yous, I managed to lose a contact through the tears. This was less then ideal being that I was doing the eulogy! The closing of the casket was about enough to make all of us hit our knees as we knew this was it. The remainder of the service I concentrated on trying to hold it together so I could make it through the eulogy, I knew if one tear fell while I was up there, it’d be game over and I wouldn’t be able to finish it. I did – I delivered and I felt I owed her that. As we exited they played Eagles Wings, one of my favorite hymns and that’s when I lost it, following the casket out to the hearse, but it was worse watching them lower her in the ground. I remember being told the services are more for everyone else to come and mourn the loss and pay respects to the family, then it is for the family. It isn’t until after that, do you get a glimpse of what our new reality is about to look like. We learned how much truth was behind that statement.

Fortunate is an understatement of what were when it came to family, friends and community support. I mean, besides the fact that the wake alone consisted of 1100 people, the amount of people that remembered long after that was still so impressive. People were stopping by a few months after, always calling and asking what they do or how they could help – the response was so humbling in so many ways. Looking back, it’s overwhelming to think how fortunate we were and are! The simple gestures of hand written cards with poems and nice letters, not even just then, but for birthdays and anniversaries to follow – that people remembered! Things that are so hard to appreciate at the time, but that speak volumes in so many ways, that we often forget as the time passes. Not many can say that and I feel fortunate that we can.

But despite the tremendous support surrounding us, there was still this calm after the storm – when the world around you starts going back to their hustle and bustle and you’re forced to have to sit with it and really swallow and digest it. It was in the quiet that it really started to settle, the pain began settling both physically and mentally and the sobering truth spoke volumes. It was learning how to recalibrate our days of going back to work and into society with this….heaviness. To know eyes are on you, not knowing what to say, and if they did say anything, it didn’t matter anyways, because nothing took away the pain. Nothing even put a dent in it. It was hard to appreciate those that expressed their condolences because I was so numb, that and it was the fear of breaking down. It was such a toss up at first, one day it’s as if I was offended if someone didn’t say anything and then other days I’d pray they wouldn’t because I wouldn’t be able to contain the tears! To attempt to focus on the task sitting in front of me was next to impossible because the only thing I could think about was her. Where I went wrong, how I didn’t see it, how the rest of the world gets to pick up and move forward and how I have no clue what or where in the hell to go from here. Who am I? What is my life? Is this real or am I still in a nightmare? When will I wake up? There were no amount of words or actions that were going to change the outcome or bring me any type of peace. It was nice and it was humbling, don’t get me wrong, but at the time, I couldn’t appreciate it.

The destruction that came afterwards, the kind that settled in with the stillness and quiet – this new ‘norm’ – this new ‘reality’ – this new what the fuuuuuuuck?! It’s as if you’re looking at your life through an outside lens saying “what’s happening, where are you, did the plot in the story change – get out of this!” ha And to think, on so many levels – it was only just the beginning.

Continue reading Missing Piece

*If this resonates with you, please share on social media to help others in their journey!**

Winds of Change

/ Revolution.07 / 2 Comments

blog winds of change

After watching the movie Divergent I was reminded of another reason for choosing the name Revolution – because I have every intent on starting one (in a non-violent way 😉 I want people to see and think outside of the box. To realize that a majority of what they do think is based on a belief system that isn’t theirs. It’s something that has trickled down from past generations, society, the government, media, religion, schools and everywhere else, everywhere except us.

How many decisions, words and choices a day do we make based on account of something that’s been filtered into us? Based on account of habit and comfort and because we were told at some point? Told we need to vote this way, told we need to have a degree to make us job ‘worthy’ in the work force, told in order to see heaven we need to attend a religious ceremony. In the media we’re told how many more murders have happened in a day, how shit the economy is, how many more are homeless, how many are on welfare, which politician is ‘right’ and why and then after we’re fed all of this, we find ourselves either depressed or needing to take a ‘side’ to argue over which is “correct or better”, to make sure we stand superior to the next guy in line that doesn’t deserve health care or how another country deserves to watch their children die in front of them due to lack of vaccinations and food – all because we know more, do more, and simply are “the best.” And it isn’t just that we’re told this, a majority of it is actions over words – we see it. We see it in others actions, even when their words say otherwise, we see it in the news even when we aren’t sitting down to watch it, it’s still being filtered into our background, we see it all around us in some form. We self justify everything, and when we can’t, we simply point the finger the opposite direction. But why?

Maybe because we all live in a state of fear. Maybe because having to face it, them -ultimately ourselves – is harder then coping in the comfortable ways we’ve trained ourselves to do. Maybe because we’re fearful of what a spouse, parent, co-worker or friend might say. That they may be disappointed because that just isn’t stuff we discuss at the dinner table. But what if it was? What if we quit relying on the news to filter their bullshit and we quit listening to it? Does it matter what side of the story is who’s? Why do we feel like we have to take a stance on one side of the fence or the other every time?! What if the rebellion and revolution had less to do with everything outside of us, and more to do with everything inside of us?

What if we were hooked up to a machine and our worst subconscious fears were played out in front of us? What would they be? And what if they came true? Why are we so consumed by it, why do we feel like we have to ‘fit’ into the ‘norm around us? Fuck the norm – there never was one – I mean really, everyone has their own definition of the word anyways! We weren’t put here to stay stuck, to be superior or inferior to the next guy, to be confined to our past, to be confined – at all! We are each here to pass a test that has nothing to do with society, with being a good law abiding citizen or anything outside of or around us, and everything to do with our souls purpose. It’s not a pass/fail course – it’s a keep making it better, keep growing, keep loving, keep redirecting the sails kinda journey. It’s learning to silence the mind and start listening to our own inner intuition, something that can’t be scientifically proven. It’s learning to quit relying on ‘concrete answers’ and start trusting in something bigger and experimenting with what that means to each of us. It’s learning to go back to our childhood and remembering who it was that we were before we conformed, before trauma overtook us, before we were buried alive on account of everything and everyone around us. It’s learning to break ourselves from the chains that bind us and that it’s possible.

I want people to wake up to the madness of this world and the bullshit that we’ve been fed to make us ‘believe’ something that really isn’t the truth anyways. I want people to learn that words are words – they’re man made and they only hold as much meaning as you give them. We think there’s no way out of our 8-5 jobs, that our kids have to excel in every sport and class, that without a college degree they may not survive, that they need things to make them better and happy and keep up with others. That they need constant access to electronics to keep them entertained and able to stay in the loop. What if we’re just brainwashing them even more? What if we did less promoting of that, and more promoting of how to teach our kids how to volunteer, to stick up for others, to have a voice of their own, to choose something they’re passionate about and truly enjoy, even if it takes them till they’re 30 to figure it out! (Yep – that’s me 😉 Does it mean they’re less of a human being because they don’t have it all figured out? Shit who does?! Does it mean they won’t get far in life because they don’t fall within the guidelines of standardized testing – or is it that they just won’t meet our or others expectations?

It’s hard to even begin tearing down these walls and start asking ourselves why we think the way we do about certain subjects, because it’s something we haven’t been trained to question, whether it be from subconscious thinking, manners or ‘respect’. Maybe we’re all divergents, maybe none of us are supposed to fit into one category in life and only excel at that. Maybe we can be good in all of them, selflessness, peace, honesty, bravery and knowledge and practice them in every area of our lives, not just under certain masks or around certain people. (And yes, again, still a work in progress – right here!). Instead of thinking because our neighbor doesn’t work 60+ hours a week, he’s lazy, or because they don’t have initials behind their name, they’re stupid or because I don’t own the things my friends have I must be the odd man out. Maybe we should be focusing more on the good we could do, like instead of worrying about what bragging rights we have on account of what we own, we not only donate money to an organization, but we go work for them as well. Maybe bravery doesn’t have to come with a bullet proof vest and an M-16 standing on foreign ground, fighting for shit we think we deserve and own, maybe it can mean sticking up for something that isn’t morally right, even when it isn’t the ‘cool’ thing to do. Maybe the problem is we don’t question enough, or we’re questioning the wrong things and the wrong people. Maybe by starting to step outside of the box and tearing down the box that we’ve all managed to do a fine job of fitting in to some degree, we take a step back and ask “why” like a 3 year old does! Why do I think that, why do I do that, why am I this way, is there a reason behind my way of thinking or doing? Most likely, yes – you’ve just never taken the time to sit down and question it. Instead we all just keep yelling at brick walls trying to get a point across that has been slammed into us and we don’t even know why or if we really truly believe that on every level! Maybe, we start having faith in ourselves, more love and forgiveness towards ourselves – which will eventually overflow into other aspects of our lives which will become a domino affect, little by little. Maybe we should stop seeing it as we have no options/it is what it is/that’s just life and start seeing that we have more options then we think! We are the people – we do have choices – we do have a voice – it’s a matter of learning to quiet it when it comes to arguing and speaking it when it comes to the real truth. Maybe we’re just giving into what has been embedded into us by thinking we have to take a side, be something or someone specific. Maybe it’s learning to send each other off with a blessing, even when they are still screaming and knowing we’re worth more then that type of treatment.

I hope this planted some seeds and I hope you continue to question and water them and make them grow – for noone but yourselves. I hope you learn that there are things, ways and people outside of the ‘norm’ that aren’t quite as batshit crazy as you’d think, if you took the time to break down your own walls. That outside of the ‘norm’ can be where the exciting shit happens, where conversation spreads beyond who did what last weekend, which team is going to win the next set of playoffs, what garbage came out of Kanye’s mouth now or who sways which way in what election. To remember that we are the gate keepers to what and where we want to go, in the limited time we have to be here – I hope your revolution has begun – one of another way of thinking! 🙂

 

 

Blind Faith

/ Revolution.07 / 5 Comments

blogfaithsunset

The first bible verse I memorized was Matthew 5:8 – “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.” The only reason I know it is because it was on my letter from Josie. I was born and raised Catholic. Not strict Catholic, but we attended mass on a regular basis, I completed my sacraments through Confirmation and we prayed before meals and bedtime.  These were all things I knew and learned, but nothing I was ever able to really connect with. They were motions that I went through, because that was the ‘right’ thing to do, but I never had a true desire or connection to it. Although on occasion, I do enjoy a good sermon, and I’ll be honest when I say I can’t imagine having a funeral outside of a church, I certainly didn’t feel ‘cleansed or glorified’ per se after leaving mass and a part of me hated that I didn’t “get it”. I was secretly jealous that my grandma, mom and sister did. What was wrong with me? After I had my daughter, I found myself repeating the same cycles, feeling as though she might be damned if she wasn’t baptized or enrolled in religion classes. Finding it necessary that we make as many masses as possible and that she grow up knowing how to ‘properly’ act in the church. I remember gloating about being Catholic when I was younger, honestly, I think for no other reason then feeling as if I were superior to others because of it. Because it is the largest religion, the highest money making religious institution and Lord knows we must have the most morals! Right?!

Both of my parents came from strong faith based families, whether Lutheran or Catholic, they were both raised with the importance of having it in their lives. They didn’t sit in the front row for show and I don’t remember talk of one religion downing another or thinking another to be superior -I just remember it being a base to their households and something that was carried into ours. From my perspective, on my mom’s side, it wasn’t about the religion as much as it was the faith. The connection between them and God, and yes, the importance of the institution to practice that. It was something that was built from having nothing else to stand on, from enduring times when the weight of the world seemed to collapse on their shoulders. From my grandparents watching their 3 year old son go through the Ramsey Burn Unit due to 80% of his body being burned, to losing their home and livelihood, a house fire, struggles with addiction, 2 bouts of breast cancer and a many other shenanigans in between! To my parents having me at the age of 16, enduring a strenuous marriage, from being broke throughout their 20s and having to build financial security from the ground up,  to losing their daughter, depression to dealing with Melanoma – I think it’s fair to say between them, they’ve been through some shit! And never wavering – I got the same answer every time – “our faith is what got us through, without it, we wouldn’t have made it.” And no matter how many times I heard that – I would still think – but HOW?!

Looking back, the real game changer for me in regards to the church setting, was after she died. I don’t know if it was as much of a hatred towards God or the church, but more of an absent feeling and even more so, was replaying the funeral everytime I entered the building. Every time I walked down that aisle for communion I had all I could do not to lose it. The only thing I saw was a packed church while we followed the casket down. While I lost interest in the church, I was immediately compelled towards a different form of faith – one that I’ve been drawn too ever since. 

I began reading so many books in regards to life after death and what happens to the soul once it leaves this ‘shell’. She died in my parents home, the kitchen to be exact. For many people, losing someone in the home is ‘creepy’, but for us it was a comfort, feeling as if she were still present and there with us. I began relying on that comfort, constantly talking to her and asking for guidance and support, while trying to be aware of the signs she put in front of me. And she more then delivered them! From my ex being freaked out because he overheard our daughter saying “good night Josie” at the age of 3, to her walking into my parents house and saying “hi Josie!” while looking over my mom’s shoulder, and then “I’m swinging up to heaven with Josie”. While reading her a book and watching the door start swaying just to have my ex run around trying to figure out if there was a window open while I sat and smiled and said “thanks Jos.” These were comforting, not creepy. they were and still are vital to us, that wave of relief hearing her name or the song Santa Monica. This was the start of this faith, which had less to do with Sunday morning sermons and memorized prayers and more to do with me and a direct relationship with God. Learning that although they’ve left the physical plane, it doesn’t mean they still don’t play vital roles in our evolution. 

I’ve realized I don’t have to sit in an institution every week to feel as though I’m being judged, shunned or approved of by others as to whether I’ll see the Pearly Gates when my “time comes”. That God is in every single living thing that surrounds us, and maybe if we paid more attention to the sunrises and sunsets, the green grass, snow covered trees or sitting and playing a game or coloring with my daughter, we’d see more of him. Maybe instead of bitching about how we’re entitled because we have jobs, while others are trash because they don’t, instead of judging on account of race or the home in which they live, instead of debating over politics and religion and which one is better and why – maybe we’d be putting more ‘God’ in our lives in a more useful way – each day, and not just for an hour a week. Maybe if we did more “I’m grateful for…” and less blaming the next guy, maybe if we paid less attention to social media and more to the ones in front of us, or read more Upworthy articles instead of listening to CNN, maybe if we smiled or complimented strangers more instead of instantly pointing out their outfit or weight gain or loss – then maybe we’d be a little more in alignment with that sermon? Am I saying I’m perfect in all these areas – ummm, NO – I’m still a work in progress too! 

But I feel like I’ve found a faith that is more concrete then I’ve ever had before, based on beliefs such as these. To realize we’re all souls just having a physical experience, this is just our ‘shell’ for awhile, but in the grand scheme of things we/they are still here to help guide us. That we’re meant to keep moving forward, always bettering ourselves and seeing things in a larger light.

I’m starting to see that we’re all bits and pieces of this Universe and each other and I don’t need a priest to absolve my sins, nor to bless me. I remember my cousin telling me after seeing the Dalai Lama, that people in the audience asked him to bless them and he said no, they didn’t need him, nor anyone else to do that for them. We’re all equal, we’re all of something bigger and higher, we don’t need someone at the pulpit to make us ‘right’, ‘better’ or ‘saved’ – we’re here to save ourselves – do we need God to do it? Yes. But since Josie has left, I’ve found a faith I didn’t know I had – one stronger then I could’ve imagined, and although this faith may seem unorthodox to many, it’s one that I’m finally able to connect and be comfortable with.

Continue reading The Aftermath

*If this resonates with you, please share on social media to help others in their journey!**