That Moment

They said it would happen, but I couldn't believe them.  The pain consumed me and grief fogged my thoughts.  Death seemed to be right around the corner.  There was simply no way I would survive such a profound loss.

Suicide shatters.

My life and the person I was before Dude's death lay in a million pieces on the floor. There would be no way to rebuild without cracks in this new puzzle.  The new puzzle otherwise known as my life after Dude's death.

At first, it took every breath I had to make it through the day.  The excruciating pain harbored in my heart made me question how many breaths I had left.  People I would now consider my dearest friends rushed to my side.  They wanted to help.  I wanted them there too, but could not articulate the help I needed.  A hug. The freedom to cry. Food I may or may not be able to eat. I begged people -  please, PLEASE do not tell me to be happy or to remember the good times.  Remembering Dude loved me was hard enough.  Now was the time to feel however I wanted to feel, and I hated that I felt like I had to ask permission to express my feelings.  I gravitated towards those who gave me a pass to be who I needed to be no matter how ugly that looked. 

Why was I still here? Why did he leave me behind? What was my purpose? What are my dreams? You have to ask those questions because asking why Dude took his own life or what more I could have done to prevent this is a vicious cycle.  I never believed this could be a reality, but he did.  He took care of me despite his own pain.  I did everything I could to help him and show him how much I loved him.  He was thankful and I'm thankful, too. 

Suicide shatters but God redeems.

God put the right people by my side and in my life.  He awakened a dream I had put to bed many years ago.  He opened my eyes to the small things that bring beauty to life. The last two years have not been without struggle.  Who sues LSAC before going to law school? I do.  Who got rejected from every law school to which she applied?  I did.  But none of that was as bad as Dude's death.  And my support structure remained in tact. Dude had given up (or rather, decided to end the pain).  I couldn't.  I wouldn't.  I had to press on.

My friend has whisked me away to NYC for some fun.  Another planned some wonderful weekends in Texas.  My parents and I have been able to travel.  I thank God every day for my newest mentor and our strong bond.  My acceptance and scholarships to law school. The overwhelming response to Dude's fundraising campaign.  Mary and her wisdom. These blessings and many more are not lost on me.

Every day I think about Dude. This experience is life changing and will not go away.  But... slowly but surely joy mixes in with the pain. They said it would happen, but I couldn't believe them.

I can smile without tears in my eyes (most of the time).  I can laugh without feeling guilty.  I can remember Dude saying he wanted all my dreams to come true and I can chase after those dreams no matter how crazy others think I am.  I can remember that he loved me, love him, and still more forward. 

They said it would happen.  I couldn't believe them. But, they were right.  That moment you realize you are embracing your new life is SWEET.

In a month, I will embark on a new adventure.  One that Dude went on before me.  I could have never predicted my life would be like this.  The last two years have been horrific yet redeeming. 

I'm nervous and scared and excited for what's to come.  But I know God is picking up those pieces and building a new life for me. There will be cracks - but those cracks. They leave room for the love and light of God and Dude to shine through. 

Just Around The Corner

The night before I took the LSAT I had a dream about Dude.  I have only had a couple dreams about him since he has died, and I don't normally write them down.  Oftentimes, it takes me a long time to tell anyone about them because I feel like they are my secret and nobody should know about it except me and Dude.  I want to write this one down, but I think it is an important message for me to remember -- and an important message for our close friends to remember, too.

Here's the dream --

I went to visit Dude's brother in the hospital.  He had a badly broken leg and had surgery to repair the damage.  As I approached Matt's hospital bed, I saw him playing with some Redskins matchbox cars.

"Matt, where did you get those cars? I had given them to Mike some time ago.  And, you are a Steelers fan!  What are you DOING?"

"Mike just gave them to me."

"What?!  How is that possible?!  Where is he?"

"Jess, he's just around the corner."

"What do you mean?!  What is he doing there?"

"Working at the Verizon store."

"Does he have a phone?"

"Yup.  All we have to do is "call" him and he will be with us."

"But, if he is working there, we have to give everyone their money back.  They think he is dead and have donated to honor him.  I am going to get the list together to give everyone a refund."

"Jess, we can't tell anyone.  It's just for us to know.  But if you want him, just ask."

He's just around the corner!

Until I see you again... 

Learning to Dance with the Limp

I am finally feeling the deep grief start to dissipate.  This year kicked off with a lovely invitation from my neighbor who invited me to her annual New Year’s Eve party.  I knew I wouldn’t know many people there, but was thrilled to have been thought of and was excited to go.  Last year, I would have immediately declined the invitation because I couldn’t handle the fact that I was in an unfamiliar situation.  It would have taken far too much energy to fake having a good time.  And, yes, I would have faked it because legitimately celebrating a new year was not possible.  This year, I tried on four different outfits before deciding on the perfect one and happily joined in on the festivities.  Almost everyone I talked to I had just met and the conversation did not feel exhausting as it had in the past.  This party was a big step for me and I knew if I had a good time then 2014 would start off on the right foot!

Just two and a half weeks after that I flew to Texas to celebrate my birthday with my dear friends.  Normally I go to Texas in the summer, but it was Carmen’s idea that I come for my birthday this year and what a brilliant idea that was!  I don’t worry about anything with these friends.  I can completely be myself, whatever that looks like.  Last year, I went to visit, and Carmen and Jason had so many fun things planned.  The Houston Rodeo topped the list!  I cherished every minute with them and appreciated all that they had done for me, but it felt difficult to truly enjoy it all.  I was grateful to be there, but I was anxious. I was sad.  But I was trying.  This year it was a true gift to be able to celebrate – to celebrate my birthday, to celebrate our friendship, and to celebrate the ability to feel joy and recognize it as such.  As Carmen noted, last year I was not myself, I wasn’t all there, but this year, I’m back! I boarded the plane back to DC thanking God for a heartfelt and joyous weekend with such dear friends in which I was able to fully participate.  I’ll post a separate blog on all that I did to usher in 32.

I’m also pretty excited about my upcoming ski trip, some fun weekends ahead, and my family vacation to the Caribbean.  Our trip, of course, purposefully corresponds with the anniversary of Dude’s death, but I’m grateful for the opportunity to enjoy some fun in the sun and sand with a drink in my hand.  It lessens the pain just a little.  Grief counselors told me there would come a time where I could mix joy with pain.  I looked at them like there were nuts and believed that might be the case for other people, but certainly not for me.  Now I see it.  There are still days or moments when I slammed with pain, but I can now recognize and appreciate happy times, too.

Ann Lamott sums it up perfectly:

“You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved.  But this is also the good news.  They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up.  And you come through.  It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly – that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”
 

For me, 2014 is the year to learn to dance with the limp.

What I've Learned From Tragic and Profound Loss

When Dude first died, I thought I'd be in relentless pain forever.  I couldn't imagine living again.  People told me time would not ever take away the pain, but would ease it.  That was hard to believe, but now a little over a year and a half later, I see what they meant.  Time does help.  Through doing my grief work I have learned some other things, too...

1.    God is there even when He seems absent.  Wrestle with Him.  He can take it and you will learn more about yourself and your faith from doing so.

2.    You cannot help yourself alone.  Ask for and accept help provided to you.  Some people will be there for you; some will walk away from you.  Both are okay.

3.    It is okay, and sometimes necessary, to say no

4.    Joy without guilt will eventually creep back into your life.  By moving forward, you are honoring your loved one, not forgetting about them.

5.    Deep grief makes you more thankful – for the little things, for every day, for what you still have

6.    People will encourage you to be happy.  That's mostly because they are uncomfortable with you being sad.  Feel however you need to feel whenever you need to feel it.  Experiencing a wide range of emotions is an important part of the "process".

7. A grieving process?!  That's baloney!

8.    Follow your dreams! Life is too short to wait for a better day.  A better day may not come, so just do it now.

“Grief goes with you every day, whatever you’re doing, when there’s great moments, when there’s hard moments…[but]There’s an empowerment that comes with grief.  At some point, you find it.  It’s very hard, but you will find it.  I think at a certain point you can choose to sort of fall from this or you can choose to rise.  And that’s what I am just trying to do…I know that’s what he would have wanted, to just do my best and hopefully make something positive from where I go in the rest of my life.”

– Lea Michelle (couldn’t have said it better) 

Zero to 60 in....2 years?

The months, if not the year, before Dude’s death were troublesome.  He was so sick and in and out of the hospital.  And he wanted all of it to be kept a secret.  I still feel bad that many of his close friends did not know what was going on, but I encouraged him over and over to share with them.  He refused, and I had to honor that for him. All of the effort put into making him feel like life was worth living ultimately ended in failure, but I hope that it kept him alive for a little while longer.  Towards the end, he took extremely good care of me despite his own pain.  I didn’t know what was about to happen, but he knew, and I am forever grateful to him for the love he showed me up until the last minute.        

April 4, 2012 – the day I was officially notified of Dude’s death is also the day I hit rock bottom.  Intuitively, I knew he was dead on April 3rd, but my fears weren’t confirmed until the next day.  When I hit rock bottom, I hit it HARD.  I felt like I had just been in ripped in two, like my heart looked like the Grand Canyon, and someone took what was left and was just simultaneously and repeatedly stabbing me with swords and punching me.  My prayers alternated between “Please God. Just keep my heart beating” to “Forget it.  I can’t live like this.  I would rather be with him.  I won’t take my own life, but heaven is where I want to be.  Make it happen. ”  My faith, my family and friends, and some grief counseling carried me, but I was in bad, bad shape.  My world as I’d known it was blown wide open.  Forever changed.  I had to start all over.

Law school has always been in the back of my mind.  My parents encouraged me to attend law school immediately after undergrad. I told them that I was not ready for that. It is a HUGE commitment and I feel you need a good reason to go to law school.  At the time, “my parents think I’d be a good attorney” did not qualify as a good reason, so I said no, and ventured into the workforce.  Dude and I discussed the possibility of my returning to school and a move to London seemed much more appealing.  This relocation never (or hasn’t yet) happened.  As I continue to advance in my career, law school kept popping up and seemed to make more and more sense.  After Dude’s death, the grief counselors encouraged me to get a goal to push me forward into this “new life”.  I told them I wanted to go to law school.  Without missing a beat, they said, “go for it!” So I did.

I told my friends and family of my plan and got some crazy looks.  Some questioned my ability to take on such a huge commitment of studying for the LSAT during a time of such deep grief.  A few encouraged me to go find a husband and have some children instead.  Some thought one masters was enough.  Many didn’t say anything discouraging, but I think they were thinking this was a crisis move.  I tossed around the idea with my bosses and other colleagues to ensure I wasn’t just overreacting to trauma.  The response was overwhelmingly positive, so I continued.

And then I ran into speed bumps…but God being as awesome as He is, gave me a mentor.  And not just any mentor, but one who is ridiculously respected in the legal community across the US.  And then I applied to law school and had nothing but a pile of rejection letters. My mentor believed in me when no one else did and backed me 100% when I told her I was not giving up.

I sued LSAC (the testing board) for violating the American Disabilities Act.  We settled three days before the October exam.  I was sick at the time, but was not going to miss an opportunity that I’d worked so hard for, and I took the exam. My score was much improved, which meant I’d reapply. 

I submitted my applications and said a prayer.  Within 4 days, I received my first admission decision.  It was an ACCEPTANCE to American University Washington College of Law.  At first, I thought it was just a second email acknowledging they’d received my application.  I was annoyed because they’d already notified me that they had my package and earlier that day declined to meet with me.  I opened it up and the first word I see is “CONGRATULATIONS!!” Not used to seeing those words, I keep re-reading it.  They just got my application on Monday and it was Friday.  It had to be a joke.  It had to be a mistake.  But it wasn’t.  I now have the paper letter and a magnet to prove it. It was God’s confirmation that despite all of the tragedy and trouble and crazy looks that have come my way over the last 1.5 -2 years, He has a plan for me.  Dude has left, but I have work left to do on earth.      
A firm believer in needing a reason to go to law school, I now have two interests – government procurement law and disability rights law.  I feel strongly about doing disability rights law pro bono because I can’t bear to have others pay the amount I did to simply get the accommodations they need and are lawfully entitled to have.  In addition to my new interests, I also gained the most amazing mentor who is overwhelmed with joy at the news of my acceptance. Best of all, this man,

the “Most Outstanding Student” of UR Law Class of 2007 watches over me.  

It’s been a slow climb up from rock bottom.  I am still working on it.  Law school brings with it loads of work, but a hope for the future – a new life.  I get sad that Dude is not physically here to be with me on this new adventure, but as two of his friends told me when I shared the news, “Mike knows.  He is very proud and is smiling down on you”  Yes, yes he is. And life is getting much better.

“If your heart is broken, you’ll find God right there;
if you’re kicked in the gut, he’ll help you catch your breath.”
- Psalm 34:18, The Message

         "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you - plans to give you hope and a future"  - Jeremiah 29:11

The First Time

Yesterday was a difficult day.  My parents and I drove up to Washington, PA to attend Jim’s (Dude’s dad) funeral.  Jim passed away on Saturday, November 9, after a long but well fought battle with Alzheimer’s.  I remember the day I learned that Jim had Alzheimer’s.  I remember exactly where I was (and what Dude was wearing – strange).  He and I decided that we would go check out this new cupcake place that had just opened up by me.  We had just had a fun night with our friends in DC, but as we sat across from each other munching on our cupcakes, his face got long and the conversation turned very serious.  The fun that we’d just experienced was miles away.

“My dad has Alzheimer’s.  We have to close the practice. “

“What?!  Your dad is 55.  What the heck does that even mean?!”

“I don’t know, Jess, but it’s bad.  It’s going to be bad.”

In that moment, neither of us understood the impact Jim’s illness would have on the family, and on Dude, in particular. In the succeeding years as Jim’s illness progressed, I was excited when Jim still remembered who I was and was touched by the fact that Dude visited his dad in the nursing home as often as possible, lighting up as he would tell me about the moments he shared with him each time.  We both understood the importance of constant contact with Jim and I’d encourage Dude that, no matter the circumstances, that contact was essential.  He agreed.  The last email Dude ever sent to me contained a photo of his dad at Falling Water, an outing the two of them shared just shortly before Dude died.  I remember the excitement in Dude’s voice as he recalled the fun they had visiting that landmark and then he exclaimed, “I’ll email the picture I took!”  He was close to his dad.  And, as Jim’s illness claimed more and more of his mind -- but not his spirit, sense of humor or faith – Dude struggled, too.

I always knew I would attend Jim’s funeral.  I had never imagined attending it without Dude.

As I drove up yesterday, I anticipated things.  I looked forward to seeing all of the family.  I didn’t think the funeral would be as hard on me, but it was incredibly difficult.  Not only was it the first time I was attending a family function without Dude, Dude and his dad were so much alike that as I listened to the eulogies, I felt like they were talking about Dude.  Technically, Dude’s funeral was the first family function without Dude, but I was in such shock, I didn’t remember my name and can’t really recall one detail of that whole day.  This time, I was alert and it was painful.  Really painful.  I cried for his mom and brothers.  I cried because I always thought Jim would make the best grandfather and he didn’t get that opportunity.  I cried looking at photos of Dude when he was little and remembered the stories Jim would share.  I cried because as much as Jim was not my father, he was a part of my life for 12 years, I traveled this long road with Dude and now it was over.  I cried because the two of them were reunited in heaven.

 Dude’s family has always been welcoming to me, but they’ve been even more loving and supportive in the wake of his death.  It was wonderful to spend time with all of those with whom I was familiar and to meet a few I hadn’t met.  This time I ate my whole lunch – at Dude’s funeral, I didn’t touch it – and the reception was full of love and laughter and
reminiscing.

Then it got hard again.  Ava asked if I wanted to go see Dude.  Of course I did!  I tell her at least once a month that I need to come up and see him.  Yesterday was the day.  The first time I would get to see Dude’s grave. I expected pain that would split me in two to creep into my heart.  I even asked if I needed to stop on the way to get a bottle of wine and a bucket of Sarris chocolate to make it through this experience.

As we drove up to the cemetery, we passed his high school.  At Trinity High School, they are named the “Hillers” because their school sits on a hill.  And, Dude was King of the Hill – class president, prom king, you name it.  Just past his school, we approached these beautiful gardens that held tombstone after tombstone.  We found the undertaker’s house and went in to find out exactly where Dude was.  He highlighted a map and off we went.  The mausoleums were right by a lake – just a beautiful spot.  As we were getting out of the car, we looked up, and this graceful deer ran right in front of us.  I reached for my phone to take a photo and the deer was gone.  The sun shone down, and despite what the thermometer said, it did not feel cold.

I walked up to the first mausoleum and opened the door.  There were walls of marble slots with names and birth and death dates.  My parents and I looked and looked and didn’t see Dude.  This was the one the undertaker said he was in, but we couldn’t find him.  We went inside the little room contained within the big building and looked.  No Dude.  We went in the building next door.  Again, we searched and searched to no avail.  There were a bunch of chairs in the middle of the room, so I sat down and pivoted to try to get a better look.  Frustrated, I called Ava, but she didn’t answer.  Back to the other building we went to look again.  This time in the little room, we find a note someone left and family photos of him and a candle with his name, but where on earth were his ashes?!  Now, I am getting really mad and Dad offers to go back to the undertaker’s house to ask again.  He does, and comes back and says Dude is up high.  We look and look.  No Dude.  At this point, I sink into the chair tucked in the corner leaning up against what look to be empty graves because there are no names on them. I yell “Dude, where ARE you?” and just relax my hand on one of them and continue to look.  About 30 seconds later, the door opens.  It is the undertaker.  He runs in saying that he had totally forgotten that he just moved Dude into a bigger grave last night and has yet to put his name back on the grave because he is about to put his dad in and will put both names on at the same time. 

“Where is he? I asked. 

“Right where your hand is”, said the undertaker.    

 It was a very difficult, but very special day. 

Make that dash count!

I was once told that the dates on your tombstone are exactly that.  Two days.  It's the dash that counts.  The dash is when you were really living.  Lately, I've been reminded to make the best of that dash. After I returned home from London, I went to the DVR to catch up on the Cory Monteith/Finn tribute episode of "Glee".  It's a good thing I watched it alone because I pretty much sobbed through the entire episode.  From start to finish, tears didn't just stream down my face.  It was an all out ugly cry.  I kept watching even though at every turn, I was reminded of Dude's death.  I was brought back to those early days.  To the days when nobody hid their tears, and many spent hours trying to comfort me, his mom and brothers, and all of us most affected by the tragedy.  I don't remember much about the episode, but something "Kurt" said hit me hard.  I will paraphrase because I don't remember it exactly. 

"People want to know how Finn died.  I don't care how he died.  That's not what matters.  That was one day in his entire life.  I care about how he lived."

The quote struck me.  In the early days and months after Dude's death, I met with many of his friends.  Some were my friends too, and some I'd not met before or would only consider an acquaintance. All of them wanted to know one thing.  What happened.  How did a man full of such life and energy give up on what he would have once deemed a great adventure?! I understood why everyone asked this question yet I didn't want to answer it.  I was in the trenches for all of the ups and downs, so of course, I could have provided an answer.  Do I truly know the real answer?  Probably not, but I know enough to provide something that would suffice.  Yet I'd always redirect the question.  I'd shy away from answering not only because I wanted to protect Dude, but because to answer the question would be to tell them of a man they did not know.  See, Dude was not Dude when he died.  As one of his brothers said, "he got lost and forgot who he was."  I could recall those last few months.  I could discuss the transformation I saw in him.  The hopes.  The fears.  The good. The bad. The ugly.  But, it would not be an accurate description of the man they knew.  The man who had touched their lives.  So, in response to the question of "What happened?", I'd politely say focus on the man you called your friend.  Focus on what you loved most about him and how he made you feel.  Focus on what he did that touched you.  Focus on the lessons you learned from him.  Focus on how he lived.  Not how he died.  It is in this way that Dude's spirit is kept alive in our hearts.  It is in this way that we carry the best of him with us and "introduce" him to those who sadly did not have the opportunity to meet him.  I'm sure most of the people I met with may not have been satisfied with that answer.  They felt that knowing the details of his illness, his downward spiral that ultimately lead to this death would help them heal.  Maybe I did them a disservice by not going into all of the tragic details.  If so, I'm sorry.  But, his death was one day.  The last thing I want is for people to remember him for how he died.  Very few people want to be remembered for how they died.  It's how you live that matters.  It's the dash that counts!

Tonight, I was once again reminded to make life count.  University of Richmond, where I went to college, is a small school and everyone knows everyone.  Andrew Holter was a couple years younger than I, but he was an opinion editor of The Collegian, our newspaper, and I remember him and his columns well.  They were always funny yet thought-provoking.  Even when Andrew was studying abroad, he took the time to write his columns. Perhaps the most thought provoking thing Andrew wrote came shortly before his accidental death -- he drowned while visiting some friends in Italy. Before his death, Andrew (unknowingly)  wrote,  

"In life, the gains come on slowly, and the losses happen in an instant. Life is tragic. If you're reading this, that means you're alive. Do something with it. You don't want to die without any scars, do you? "

It's the dash that counts!  

Dear Dude: 18 Months Later

Dear Dude,

It is hard to believe that it has been 18 months since you left this earth.  It is a struggle to believe that you are gone at all.  There are still days that it just seems like a horrible nightmare and I'll wake up from it all.  Still nights when I have to listen to your voicemail to fall asleep because I was so used to talking to you before I went to bed.  There are days when I just want to gchat you or call or wait for you to call and say, "Hurry up and get ready.  I'm coming!" 

I imagine it will always be like this to some degree. 

There are days when it seems like you've been gone for so long.  Days when I burst out laughing remembering something you said or did sometime.  Days when the pain is not so sharp; when the longing is not so desperate.  There are days when I feel like I am starting to adjust to all of this.  There are times when I "hear" you say, " I am here. I did not and will not leave you."  There are conversations that begin with "If Mike was here.....or Dude would totally dig that!"

I imagine it will always be like this to some degree, too. 

 So much is different yet so much is the same.  My/our friends continue to surround and support me unconditionally.  Memories of you come flooding in from others in the form of a story, old photos, a donation to your scholarship, or even just saying your name.  I love that they share these things with me.  And, DUDE!  Your scholarship!!  It's hard work, but you totally deserve it.  Everyone has been generous -- my family and friends who have never met you, people you touched on campus or people you knew in other ways.  Please echo my prayer to Jesus that that fund will soar and we will reach our goal by May 8th.  You deserve the best of the best, Dude, and I'll do everything I can to make that happen for you. 

You may be gone, but you are not forgotten.  Ever.  And you are so very loved.

I know it will always be that way.

Love, me

Goodness in Grief

Last week marked 15 months since Dude left the world.  Not a day goes by that I do not think about him, what happened, and how this has changed my life – and all of the lives of those who loved him – forever. I/we are different now.  One devastatingly tragic moment resulted in gradual change. 

It used to be that the physical and emotional pain was palpable and constant.  It wouldn’t let up. I thought it would never end.  I literally thought I would die.  I wanted to die.  I would never take my own life, but I didn’t think I’d have to do that.  In my mind, there was no possible way I could survive such a tragedy. The expression “Good grief!” would come to mind and all I could think was there is NOTHING good about grief! (I know that’s not what that expression intends but that’s what I would think.)  

 Now, it is not as bad.  There are certainly horrendous things about grief, especially deep grief.  There are more awful consequences in dealing with the death as a suicide.  It is incomprehensible that Dude would deliberately and intentionally chose to leave the world forever.  He definitely wanted to die, and that is just heartbreaking and tragic and all things horrible.  I’d be fooling myself if I said one day it would make sense.  It won’t, at least not on earth.  I’d be deceiving myself if I said the pain and the emptiness will go away.  It will always be present to some degree.  You can’t just “get over” or recover from the loss of someone you loved so deeply.  He will never meet my husband or my children.  That makes me sad.  But he wants me to be happy.  He wants me to move forward.  Amidst the pain, there is some goodness in grief.

Grief is an excellent teacher.  From the start of this journey, I’ve been advised to live one day at a time.  That is so hard for me.  I am impatient.  I was born 13.5 weeks early.  I like to GO!  But this attitude means I miss things.  It means I rush.  I don’t fully appreciate what is in front of me.  In grief, it is impossible to speed through life.  You.Just.Can’t.  Some days, especially early on, it seems like a huge accomplishment to get dressed. I’ve had to slow down.  I’ve had to spend time with myself. I’ve had to think about what is really important in life.  Who is really important in life.  I’ve learned who I can depend on and who I should probably let go. Those are important lessons.

You gain a new perspective on life.  I know life can change in an instant.  I realize the people who are important are really important.  I want to spend time with them, celebrate them, love them, appreciate them because even in the best of times, they could be gone so quickly.  I don’t take the days or people in my life for granted as much as I used to before this.  The simple things in life have much greater meaning – the beauty of the sunset, the warmth of a sunny day, the gentle breeze that blows through my hair, the snuggles from our dogs are taken in with much deeper gratitude.

There are days that are still hard.  Days when I look around and think I can’t believe this happened!!  I can’t believe he is gone.  He is not gone.  Oh, but he is gone.  There are days when his friends and family and I cry together.  Days when a slight smile is all I can muster.  Days when we nearly bust a gut laughing at a memory Dude left with us.  Days when a big ‘ole grin is plastered on my face after learning that someone else donated to his scholarship.  Someone else remembered him. That is comforting.  This is the “new normal” now. 

I wish that I could have learned these lessons another way.  I wish it wasn’t at the expense of losing Dude. But just as his smile, love and the memories we shared will remain in my heart, so too, will what I have learned from this horrific experience.  I guess there is some goodness in grief.

I love you, Dude, and I miss you every day.

Day 25: My Grief Playlist

Dealing with Dude's death has been hard -- unbearable, at times.  Music has helped a lot.  Oftentimes, songs have said the words that I can't even begin to speak. Here is a list of my favorites:

• I Think Of You - Easton Corbin
• Why - Rascal Flatts
• One Sweet Day - Mariah Carey
• Bye Bye - Mariah Carey
• Never Forget You - Mariah Carey
• I Look To You - Whitney Houston
• I Will Always Love You - Whitney Houston
• When I Look To The Sky - Train
• Everything Falls Apart - Fee
• Lovin' You Is Fun - Easton Corbin
• The Hurt and the Healer - MercyMe
• Save a Place for Me - Matthew West
• Before the Morning - Josh Wilson
• Over You - Miranda Lambert
• Didn't We Almost Have It All - Whitney Houston
• Long Way Home - Steven Curtis Chapman
• My Heart Will Go On - Celine Dion (I used to hate this song. Not anymore.)
• Bridge Over Troubled Waters - Various artists
• See you Again - Carrie Underwood
• Rainin' You - Brad Paisley
• Can't Say Goodbye - Josh Gracin

Do you have any favorites?

Not THE Answer But It Helps

Dude's death will never make sense.  At times, I feel like I failed.  I know I shouldn't feel that way.  I know it wasn't my fault.  I don't blame myself.  But I do wonder.  I wonder why God did not stop it from happening.  I wonder what Dude was thinking that day.  I wonder at what exact moment he made the decision.  I wonder why none of us closest to him could get through to him and show him life is/was worth living.  I wonder how mental illness and depression can just suck the life out of one of University of Richmond's most eligible bachelors.  How such a bright light in the world can be completely enveloped in darkness - a darkness I hope to never understand. 

Those of us closest to Dude have sat around trying to understand.  We ask questions of each other hoping that someone has the million dollar answer.  We've poured over the reports from the doctors and the autopsy.  We go back and forth, but I liken it to being on a seesaw.  You keep moving up and down, but you never truly go anywhere.  Unfortunately, no matter how hard I/we try, we will never know the real answer.  I am not even sure if Dude would know the true reason he did what he did.  He might, but I won't find out til I get to heaven.  And, at that point, I won't even care!  I'll just be so excited to see him again.

I've done a lot of grief work over the last 14 months.  It's been absolutely essential to my grief journey.  No matter how hard I work, I can't bring him back.  I can't truly understand why this happened.  But, I do have to and want to move forward.  To honor him.  To honor God.  To live the life laid out before me. 

For the most part, I've accepted that this has happened.  I don't like it, but that doesn't change a thing.  I will always struggle with this to some degree.  But, every once and awhile, I find something that provides a little solace. 

“I had tried years earlier to kill myself, and nearly died in the attempt, but did not consider it either a selfish or a not-selfish thing to have done. It was simply the end of what I could bear, the last afternoon of having to imagine waking up the next morning only to start all over again with a thick mind and black imaginings. It was the final outcome of a bad disease, a disease it seemed to me I would never get the better of. No amount of love from or for other people-and there was a lot-could help. No advantage of a caring family and fabulous job was enough to overcome the pain and hopelessness I felt; no passionate or romantic love, however strong, could make a difference. Nothing alive and warm could make its way in through my carapace. I knew my life to be a shambles, and I believed-incontestably-that my family, friends, and patients would be better off without me. There wasn't much of me left anymore, anyway, and I thought my death would free up the wasted energies and well-meant efforts that were being wasted on my behalf." ― Kay Redfield Jamison, Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide

It's not THE answer, but it helps.

I love you and miss you, Dude.

" Random" Acts of Comfort And My Earth Angel

After Dude died, I received many, many expressions of sympathy.  Many of the messages came from people I went to college with but hadn't spoken to since we graduated nine years ago.  I dubbed these "random" acts of comfort because they came from kind people who were not our close friends and family. I so appreciated them taking time to express their condolences and share stories of their interactions with Dude, and in some cases, the impact he had on their lives.  I don't know how they knew to reach out to me, but was so touched that they did.

One of the "random" acts of comfort came from someone named Mary.  Truth be told, I think I friended Mary on Facebook because I saw one of her wedding photos and thought they were so pretty I wanted to check out more.  C'mon, you know you've done the same thing. You just might not ever publicly admit it.  Mary and I may have had one class together, but our school was small so everyone knew everyone.  She wasn't really friends with me or Dude, but she had definitely had interactions with both of us throughout our four years on campus.  As I sorted through all the condolences, Mary's stood out.  She said that she wanted to share her story with me because she felt she could help me.  Totally grief stricken and heartbroken, I had no idea how I was going to handle the situation I suddenly found myself in.  If someone, anyone, was willing to offer advice, I was willing to listen.  I could use all of the help I could get.  I asked her how she knew to reach out to me.  Her response was that the bond between Dude and I was evident to everyone who came in contact with us.  My response is God sent her to help me.  That's why I call her my Earth Angel.

Mary lost her best friend seven years ago.   She is six years ahead of me in this grief process.  She's been through those dark, hard moments when you just clutch your pillow, lift you head, and realize the pillow case is sopping wet!  She understands the pain.  The confusion.  The utter sense of loss.  She "gets" me. My situation is rather complicated, but Mary's been in my shoes.  Mary has gone from barely surviving to thriving.  God sent Mary to show me that there is hope and a future after suffering such a devastating blow.

She reminds me of the love Dude and I shared.  That, no matter what, that love is a gift that is mine forever.  The memories are treasures that only I will have.  She assures me that I can move forward without having to pretend Dude never existed.  She begs me not to ever make such a sacrifice.  Mary also sends me surprises.  I love surprises.  Dude used to love to surprise me.  Look what just came in the mail!

That's dark chocolate.  I told you she was an angel!  Accompanying the chocolate was the perfect message:

life is an ocean you must swim across with salt in your eyes and big waves to cross; there are storms and sharks and sunburn to face, but despite the current, you must keep your pace; weak and tired when you reach the beach, yet strength and wisdom the waves of life teach.

One of the most difficult things about grief is no matter how hard I work to get through the pain, I cannot bring Dude back.  But, I sure am glad I have Mary to join me on this difficult road.  She knows it's not easy, but a little dark chocolate makes it more bearable.

A "random" act of comfort led me to my Earth Angel.  So thankful. 

     

It's The Little Things

It is said that in grief, the first year is the hardest.  In some ways, that is true.  Initially, the loss manifests itself like daggers in your heart.  It is so painful you can’t imagine that you will possibly live through this, and quite frankly, you don’t want to because you’d do anything to be with the one you’ve lost.  The pain starts to get less intense and then a birthday comes, the holidays, or the anniversary of the death and you are slammed up against the wall (or more likely, curled in a ball in your bed) with grief once again.  I made it through the first year and breathed a sigh of relief thinking things would get better.  I had bought into the fact that the first year was the hardest and I was over the hump.

There are a few people that actually say the second year is harder than the first and I am starting to think there is some truth to that.  The first year, the pain is intense a whole lot of the time.  You expect yourself to be a mess because it has only been X number of months since the tragedy.  By the time the second year rolls around, you know you will survive the excruciating pain that will, at times, inhabit your heart.  You don’t always erupt into tears at inappropriate times and in inconvenient places.  You don’t even cry everyday anymore. You are able to welcome more joy into life and not feel guilty about laughing and being happy. Smiles come at the memories of the love you shared.

That’s where the second year can get hard.  Grief is like a kick in the pants.  It can motivate you to do wonderful things (more to come on that so very soon, I promise), but it also still has a tendency to knock you flat on your butt – sometimes at the most unexpected times.
One of the most important lessons I have learned over the past year is that it is all about the little things.  That is two fold. The first applies to how you can help someone you love who is grieving.  The little things are magnified so big.  I realize that it can be so hard to know how to help someone who is grieving.  I have been there myself.  Just at a complete loss for what to do.  But, the fact of the matter is, no grand gesture is needed.  A phone call, a text that says “I love you”, a song, a card, a hug, someone just asking how I am doing and really wanting to know the answer, sharing a joke, ice cream, cupcakes, anything to bring a smile makes such a difference.  All of those things you might consider little seem SO VERY BIG.  The important thing to remember is that you can’t make someone who is grieving cry.  The tears are already there.  You may just be giving permission to let them fall, which is often the best gift you can give.  The worst is just leaving the griever alone.  Even though it is probably not true, that can make them feel like they have lost everyone.

This weekend, I had a hard time.  I am not quite sure why.  There was no real reason, but as I mentioned, the second year is surprising.  Amidst the unexpected tears are also little surprises.  Good surprises.  Reminders that life should not be taken for granted and it is the little things that matter the most.

Little things that made me happy this weekend:

-    The Kentucky Derby – I bet on Orb and went to bed Saturday night $135 richer.  Winning!! (Hadn't heard that for awhile, had you?)

-    A friend who helped me clean out my summer and winter clothes.  I had 15 shopping bags full of folded clothes to give away, donate or consign.  That is ridiculous, but my mom makes me keep all of my clothes because “you never know when you might wear them again”, so many of the clothes I have had since high school.  Yikes!

-    Tackling the Type 2 questions on the LSAT.  Now to just nail those Type 4s and logic games.

-    A conversation with Mike’s mom.  This instantly makes me feel better.

-    Rockin’ out at church to some awesome music (Oh Happy Day!) and a message that I needed to hear.  Pray big prayers!  More on that later.

-    A lunch date with my dad

-    Time at my parents house with “the girls” aka our dogs

-    Watermelon and Boom Chick-A Pop.  Have you had Boom Chick-A Pop?  It’s my new addiction love

-    Finding an awesome graphic designer to give my blog a new look.  Stay tuned!

-    A few text messages from some friends.

-    A compliment from my mom

-    Carrie Underwood’s new single, “See you Again”.  I will see you again.  This is not where it ends. I will carry you with me until I see you again.  Sometimes I can feel my heart breaking, but I am strong.  I carry on because I know I will see you again.

I am learning day to day to appreciate the little things.  They mean so much.

The View From The Other Side Of The Table

Last December, I attended a neighborhood Christmas party.  I wasn’t really sure I wanted to go because Christmas was hard for me this year.  Dude loved Christmas and not having him around to help celebrate his favorite holiday was tough.  I felt this constant dull ache throughout the season.  I sucked it up and went to the party because it wasn’t too far from home, so I figured if I felt overwhelmed with grief, I could just leave and be home shortly after to be the mess that I needed to be.

The party turned out to be so much fun that I hope it happens again next year!  I saw people I hadn’t seen since high school or elementary school even!  That’s a long time – at least 13 years.  “The kids” all sat a little off to the side with wine in hand (that probably helped me feel better ;-) ), and caught up a bit.  The general consensus among the group was that 2012 was a difficult year.  I could hear my mom blurt out to the people she was talking to, “Jessica has had the worst year of her life!”  That is an entirely true statement, but I tried to play it a little cool among the group and just said that it was a tough year and I was adjusting. My goal was to make it through the party without divulging the details of exactly why it was a tough year (however, as loud as my mom was talking everyone could probably hear anyway!).  I was using this as practice for when I am in new social situations and meeting new people and do not want to pour my heart out all over the place. 

I tried and tried not to discuss the horrific moments of the year, but it became tougher and tougher.  I felt this tug on my heart to share.  I fought this internal battle with myself and then just decided when the group had dwindled down to just three people, I would spill the beans.  Don't ask how I came to the conclusion that only 3 people would be a comfortable setting.  I went on to explain that my very best friend had been diagnosed as bi-polar and took his own life in April. I feared the looks that I would get, but there, I said it.  It was out in the open and there was no taking it back. Much to my surprise, Joe piped up with, “Hey, I am not being completely honest.  My mom suffers from bi-polar disorder and I was just diagnosed a month ago.”  I so appreciated this admission and knew at that moment that the tug on my heart was from God.  That I was, in some way, supposed to help.

The first thing that came out of my mouth was “Keep going.  Please keep going.  I know it is a tough battle, but you are equipped to fight it.” I wanted to be as encouraging and empathetic as I could.  It didn’t work for Dude, but it might work for Joe.  Joe and I decided we would exchange numbers and look to meet up in the near future to just hang out and maybe seek to better understand each other’s perspectives.

I have to admit I had a blast at the party and knew I was there for a reason, but I went home and cried.  Sometimes I get so angry when I meet people who have been diagnosed with bi-polar disorder and live a normal life.  Why is it that they can survive and Dude could not?  It just seems so unfair.  Life is not fair, though.  To put it in more perspective, I like to think that depression is similar to cancer.  Some people are diagnosed at Stage 1 and beat it.  Others are diagnosed at Stage 4 and don’t stand a chance without a miracle.  Knowing Dude as well I as I knew him, I would say he was diagnosed at Stage 4 (looking back there were signs from way back that I didn’t know how to identify, but I can’t beat myself up for that).  Joe was fortunately diagnosed early enough and God sent me to be an encouragement to him.  It is not about me and my loss.  It is about what God wants to do through me.

After exchanging many text messages and having to cancel a number of times, we finally met up this week. On one side of the table sat a woman who lost someone she loved so deeply to an illness that the man on the other side of the table lived with on a daily basis.
I never had the opportunity to discuss Dude’s illness with him.  We “lived” it.  No, we did not live together, but we had daily conversations and I could “see” the pain and transformation occurring.  In all of the hours we talked, we never specifically carved out time to discuss the actual illness and how it was affecting him.  Maybe it is because we didn’t have to.  We both knew it was severely affecting him and spent our breath only on what we considered the most important words – words of encouragement, words of affirmation, of love and support (riddled with many inside jokes) –on both sides – his and mine.

My coffee date with Joe was an opportunity to understand.

To understand that even though Joe was only diagnosed months ago, he reflects back that maybe this illness inhabited his body nearly 20 years ago.  As he says, the seeds were planted long ago.

To understand why it is difficult for him to work at a 9 to 5 professional job right now.

To understand what it is like to live with this illness.

To understand that he is able to identify the triggers of what will send him into a “perfect storm of overwhelming circumstances”.  These words he used are the exact same words echoed by Dude’s psychologist. This “perfect storm” is what led to the tragic outcome.

To understand that mental illness does have a stigma attached, but that Joe is open about his illness because it is hard to keep a secret and it is now a part of who he is.

To understand that Joe has accepted his illness and will do what he has to keep the triggers at bay so that he can live a normal life.

The coffee date was also an opportunity for me to encourage Joe.

To affirm him in being open about his illness.

To encourage him in the direction of being a peer mentor for others who suffer from the same illness.

To express the importance of understanding the illness, the triggers, and following the prescribed treatment.

To touch on the devastation and havoc that is now present in the lives of those of us closest to Dude.  If only he had listened to people like Joe….

I was/am so proud of Joe.  He is doing the things that Dude could not do.  I will never understand why Dude could not or did not want to do them.  Dude did not want anyone except those closest to him to know of his suffering yet his final act broadcasted it to the world.  Joe’s approach is productive and positive.  While it is not an easy road to travel, he has willingly accepted the journey.  This will do wonders for him. 

I look forward to meeting with Joe again in the near future to further understand the view from the other side of the table, to give him a little bit of my perspective and a lot of encouragement.  And, to just hang out with him and his girlfriend because he is fun!

I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I wished the man sitting across from me was Dude…

But it’s not about me and my loss.  It is about what God wants to do through me.           

Sun In My Belly

You can tell I am slowly adjusting to everything that has happened to me over the last year because I am back to traveling.  In fact, I have been on 3 trips in the last three months.  I love to travel, and while I always imagine DC will be my home base, I can’t stay in the same spot for too long.  I have this insatiable desire to see the world. For the last year, grief has squelched that longing.  Dude would be so upset with me for not jet setting because we both had that travel bug and planned to go many places – and even live in London for a brief stint, which I would still most definitely consider.

I’ve been so busy going places and making new memories that I haven’t blogged about our UR reunion in Atlanta that took place back in February!  My friends from college are some of the most genuine, adventurous, loyal, caring, curious, and intellectually stimulating people I know. We come from all different backgrounds – some are from the North, some from the South and we are in a variety of professions – lawyers, doctors, dentists, professors, managers.  Our differences unite us and our bond is strong. 

Since 2005 (year after we graduated), we have been having an annual reunion.  We are geographically spread out around the United States, so we rotate houses each year.  There are about 10 or 12 of us that try to make reunion.  This year, only 4 of us could make it as it is getting increasingly more difficult with pregnancies and babies.  Eventually, though, I hope and imagine us having family reunions with all of our munchkins running around as if they were “cousins”, and Brad being "Uncle Brad" and spoiling our kids because he doesn’t want any of his own and can’t imagine why the rest of us would think becoming parents is a good idea (love you, B-rad)!!  I guarantee you he will be the one that buys our children the toy that the kid thinks is the absolute greatest yet according to the parents, it is the most annoying.  You know the ones I am talking about -  Ones with the never-ending beeps and sounds.  Yeah, I am in for it, one day. I just know it.

Our 2013 reunion was in Atlanta at John and Alyssa’s house.  I’ll pretty much let the photos speak for themselves. We ate a lot, but I didn’t get many photos of the food.  By the way, you know you are a blogger when you become crazy about taking photos of food.  I mean you just might need to show the rest of the internet how delicious you meal is, right? So, no photos of my meals out of the house, but my favorite place we ate at was this adorable restaurant in Decatur called Sun in my Belly.  I wanted to go every day.  I asked if we could go every day.  I got overruled.  We couldn’t go every day because we had so much more to see and experience.

Decatur, GA.  We had fun doing a little shopping and eating at Sun in My Belly

No Sun in My Belly today.  Homemade crepes instead!!

Hanging around in our jammies!  Just like college -- sort of

We tasted a ton of Coke products.  Inca Cola? GROSS!

Waiting for the Coke movie.  The glasses were much more fun than the movie!

"Uncle Brad"

We would tour by day and laugh the night away with games of Apples to Apples and Mad Libs.  Playing Mad Libs at age 12 and at age 31 is quite different.  If we weren’t laughing, we were engaged in some intellectual debate or stuffing our mouths with the M&Ms that were just left on the table all day that Sydney (their dog) never touched! We were amazed.

UR in Atlanta 2013

What a fun trip with such dear friends!  Sun in my belly, for sure.

You Are Not Alone

I did not write this, but I felt every word.  If you are a suicide survivor, you can most likely relate to this.  If you know someone who is a suicide survivor, this will give you some insight into their pain and grief.  You may want to pass it on to them.  

My Journey of Loss

Losing a loved one to suicide is the most painful, gut wrenching experience anyone can ever go through. You look around and wonder how everyone is carrying on with life as normal when it feels like the world has stopped turning. Not only have you suddenly and unexpectedly lost someone you loved and cherished, you must also come to grips with the fact that their death was a deliberate choice that they made, even though they knew it would hurt you.

This realization rips you in two – you are grieving the loss of your beloved while simultaneously battling feelings of intense anger and betrayal. “Why?” is a question that plays on repeat over and over in your head and nothing in the note or their final words or actions can answer it. So you vacillate between blaming yourself, while desperately trying to believe the well-meaning people who tell you that there was nothing you could have done. For a moment that thought gives you peace, but the “should have, could have, would have” is just around the corner waiting to take its hold on you.

You replay every single moment of their life, trying to pinpoint the moment when they made the decision to end it. Trying to understand how you couldn’t have seen the pain that lived behind their eyes and smile. Trying to understand WHY they didn’t reach out for help. Desperately trying to understand how your deep and unending love was not enough to make them want to live.

The sudden, bitter anger that you feel confuses you. You’ve been taught that when people die, you should feel sadness and grief, not anger. But this isn’t like any other death. This person chose to leave you knowing they would take a huge part of your heart with them.

You scream: WHY did they do this, knowing how much it was going to hurt me?! Why didn’t they ask me for help? Why wasn’t my love enough?! Where was God when this was happening?!

And the next minute you feel deep, immeasurable sorrow for how sad and lonely they must have been to have taken such drastic action. And you can’t help but wonder if you had given them more love, reassurance, and support, if that would have made a difference…if there was anything you could have done to make them choose to live.

In between bouts of anger and sadness, you miss the person you loved – their laugh, their smile, every single thing about them. You want them back so desperately, you bargain with God that you’d give up anything for just one more second, one more “I love you,” one more hug. The desperation you feel is unlike anything you’ve ever known.

It’s a viscous cycle that plays on repeat for days, weeks and months on end. You feel that it’s never going to stop, that you will surely lose your mind with the roller coaster of grief you are on. Sometimes you even wonder if your life is worth living without your loved one.

As time crawls by, the edges of your emotions slowly start to soften. The sadness isn’t so strong, the anger isn’t so bitter, the grief not so palpable. You still ask yourself, “Why?” each and every day, but it isn’t so desperate and frantic. One day, you catch yourself laughing and wonder where that small bubble of happiness came from. It seems impossible that you could experience any joy when your heart is still hurting so much. You feel guilty experiencing any happiness at all when your loved one is gone.

Just when you think the worst is over, the holidays, their birthday or the anniversary of their death comes along, knocking the wind out of you. A few weeks before the anniversary, something imperceptibly shifts inside of you. Sadness, tension, and anger slowly bubble to the surface, where freshly scabbed wounds rip open. You remember exactly how you felt the day they passed away as if it were yesterday. It feels as though you are starting the grief process all over again.

You wonder if other people remember your loved one and think of them on this day that has so much magnitude for you. If they don’t, you wonder how they could possibly forget something so important. You feel as though the whole world should acknowledge this day and grieve along with you.

As the years go by, your grief slowly subsides, leaving with it a hallow ache. Never a day goes by when you don’t think about your beloved and pray they would come to you in a dream and explain why they decided to end their life. You look for signs of your loved one everywhere you go – a butterfly landing on your shoulder, a song on the radio, a star shining brightly in the midnight sky – anything to give you just a glimpse of their beautiful soul.

And in this deep, aching loss, you are forever changed.

source 

 I do not believe that Dude understood the magnitude of his decision.  He never intended to hurt any of us, but was trying to end his own pain.  He wants us to carry on and live life with the zest he did when he was healthy.  Tuck his gorgeous smile in your heart and "keep on....we're gonna make it.....I know we're gonna make it...." 

Steven Curtis Chapman -- Long Way Home

This a throwback from over a decade ago, but remains one of my favorites.

I'm still formulating my thoughts on the terror in Boston.  Right now, I have no words except a verse that has helped me through the grief of Dude's suicide and other heartbreaking events, including yesterday's tragedy and today's anniversary of the Virginia Tech shootings.

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted.  He comforts those who are crushed in spirit." 

Psalm 34:18

Responding to the Storms of Life

Ever feel like you are exactly where you need to be?  I rarely feel that way these days, but sitting in church on Sunday, I knew I was supposed to be there, at that specific church, to hear that particular message.  My dad and I were hesitant to go to church on Sunday because we were tired.  I reasoned that we hadn't been there for two weeks because we were in Aruba and we should suck up our sleepiness and go.  So we did.  When we got there, it turns out it was the 210th anniversary of the church and there was going to be a celebration.  Awesome. They are going to take a walk down memory lane and we aren't going to be able to relate to any of this because we've just started going to this church.  We could have slept in, I thought.  Boy, was I wrong!  They did take a little walk down memory lane, but the pastor discussed the storms in life and touched on the storms the church has gone through in its 210 year history.

In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world 

John 16:33    

Ah, yes.  In this world, I will have trouble.  In this world, there will be storms.  How I know that so well.  If you've followed my blog for any amount of time recently, you will know that I've had a lot of trouble.  It might be easiest to break it out into three storms -- the death of my very best friend, my dad's unknown heart condition, and my struggles to get into law school.  The pastor addressed the congregation saying that you are either about to head into a storm, are in the middle of a storm, or are just coming out of a storm.  Uh huh.  Hopefully, we are just coming out of the storm related to my dad's health and I will know by the end of August about law school.  As for the storm of Dude's death, well, that will most likely be an ongoing storm -- not a full blown tornado, but the rain from that will periodically fall for the rest of my life.  Suicide survivors are ripped apart at the core of their very being, but at the same time, are united under a pain that is unlike any other.  It's something I will live with for the rest of my life, but I know that Dude did not realize the devastation and lifelong effects that would result from his decision.  He would want me to move forward and be happy, so I am committed to looking for the rainbows amidst the rain of this lifelong storm.  So, storms.  I know storms.  But what does all of this mean?

The pastor discussed two responses to the storms of life:  FEAR and FAITH.  F-E-A-R stands for "False Expectations Appearing Real" and F-A-I-T-H stands for "Forsaking all, I Trust Him."  Fear is a natural and self-preserving response.  I've written here about how grief can manifest itself into all encompassing fear.  But, as the deep grief dissipates little by little, you come to realize that you are still here -- and you are still here for a purpose.  What my "new life" will look like is totally terrifying at times, but that's when faith becomes the best response.

"Forsaking all" -- Before Dude's death, I held onto him tightly, and honestly, would not have forsaken him at any cost.  But, he ripped himself from me.  I have unwillingly given one of the most important people in the my life. With that, I have given up the life that was comfortable and familiar to me; the life I enjoyed even in the hard times.

Starting April 4, 2012, I began to live a new life -- a life completely unfamiliar and painful and full of fear; a life that did not involve Dude in the way I thought it would.  This "new life" has potentially set me on a path to law school.  That has not been a cake walk.  We'll see what happens with that.  And, to top it all off, this "new life" involved my Dad, my hero, being rushed to the hospital and undergoing heart surgery.  First, my best friend removes himself from my life forever. Then I encounter obstacles in a dream I have put off for too long.  And my dad, my hero, was almost taken from me....

So far, I am not a fan of this "new life".  It's confusing and frustrating and lacks some serious clarity.  However, it is in these times, when I/you truly do surrender all to God -- even if only because I/you just don't know what else to do. 

I am completely out of control.  He is in complete control.

Forsaking all, I trust Him. 

Trust me, and don't be afraid.  Many things feel out of control...Let Me lead you to the rock that is higher than you and your circumstances.  Take refuge in the shelter of My wings, where you are absolutely secure.  Jesus Calling, April 15.

Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid.  The Lord, the Lord, is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation.  Isaiah 12:2

One Year

Dear Dude,

Normally, I would blog this letter to you on the anniversary of your death, d-day as I call it, April 3.  But, as you know, I was in Aruba then and didn’t want to touch a computer with a 10 foot pole.  More importantly, I was busy soaking up the sunshine and participating in one of the most memorable experiences of my life.  I cried, I could literally feel my heart breaking over and over, but I didn’t want too much idle time because I wanted to do something special to remember you.  I wanted to do something you would do.  Do something to make you proud.  I know you would be upset if I sat around and cried all day.  So I didn’t.  I wanted to but I didn’t, and I am glad I made the choice to celebrate your life.  But I was busy celebrating and didn’t get the chance to “pen” this letter.

I am not sure I know how to describe this last year.  It has been so incredibly painful and confusing.  It has been full of loss.  Obviously, the loss of you looms the largest.  There are secondary effects to you no longer being on this earth.  I’ve loss a huge part of myself.  You were so important and such a part of the woman I have become.  I knew you for nearly half my life and you have helped shape me and challenge me.  You made me laugh; you made me cry; pushed me beyond my limits, and encouraged some of my (some of our) wildest dreams. You loved me.  Now you are not here.  And, I am different.  I will never be the person I was when you were a daily, tangible presence in my life.  I know God is continuing to mold me into the woman He wants me to become, but I am still learning what your absence means in all of that.  The only thing I know for sure is that nothing will ever be the same and I will forever feel your loss.

Friendships have been interesting.  I have lost a few.  I’ll probably never know if that is because of what has happened to me or just the natural course of life.  The few that I’ve lost pale in comparison to those that I have gained.  Our friends have been absolutely incredible in taking care of me.  Our bond was strong before you left us and we continue to look out for, encourage, and love one another. I’ve also gained a few of your law school friends, which has been neat. They all try to tell me not to go to law school, but I have to give it a shot for myself.  My small group, “The Faithful Four”, as I affectionately refer to them have been incredible, too.  When we all get to heaven I want to make sure they meet you.  You’ve heard a lot about them, and they a lot about you, but we’ll make the face to face contact in the clouds one day.  My other friends have been stellar, too.  Nobody’s known how to handle such a tragedy, but they’ve done a good job of comforting me and helping me “get my sparkle back”.  Speaking of friendships, did you make a new friend in Matthew Warren (the son of Pastor Rick Warren) this week? Everyone jokes that you met everyone in heaven within 3 days of being there.  I can’t wait for you to introduce me to your new friends!

With the good, comes the bad.  Grieving your death has been so painful.  I thought I would join you in heaven many times this year.  My heart didn’t feel like it could handle it, but it did.  I am still here. 

Your death has also brought a lot of self growth.  I’ve learned more about myself and who and what are important in my life.  I also hope to start down the path to law school.  Remember when you and I talked about my going to law school?  It didn’t seem like the best idea at the time because of other plans, but now, I’m giving it a shot.  I’ve also learned who I can count on and how to say no.  In addition, I haven’t been able to take care of others because I’ve been in too much pain myself.  Consequently, I have also learned a little bit about what it means to take care of myself.  I’ve got a lot of work to do in this area, but one step at a time.

One year ago today was your celebration of life service.  Until that day, the fact that you were gone seemed like a figment of my imagination.  At times, it still does.  On one hand, it probably always will.  My mind will never be able to make sense of the fact that you took your own life.  I saw the remarkable (in a negative way) transformation you went through before you took your last breath, but I don’t want to remember the hard times we went through that led you to that point.  I want to remember you for you.  There were close to 500 people “at” (present and online) your service and it was a Wednesday morning at 11am.  If it was on a Saturday, I bet the Consol Energy Center would have had to be rented!!  You touched so many lives, Dude.  You had no idea.  One of the things I love is that “random” people contact me to offer their condolences and share stories about you.  I love this.  I love that somehow they knew we were so close and I love listening to the ways you enriched their lives.  We used to joke that between the two of us we knew all of UR.  Well, guess what?!  Now, I am meeting “the other half” that I didn’t  know. You lived such a blessed and influential life in such a short period of time on this earth.  I am sad.  So sad.  But, you have given me so much to celebrate, too.

Ever since you’ve died, I have been longing to know what your new life with Christ is like.  Can you see me down here?  Does it hurt you when I cry like it used to when you were with me?  Do you and God discuss things that are going on down here like prayers that I pray?  Is it like an Easter Celebration Service every day, all day in heaven?  Do you still have talents in heaven?  If Whitney Houston is there with you, does she perform on “Cloud 9” every once in awhile?  Bad joke, I know.  There are things that happen down here to me and to our friends that truly have no explanation.  Is that you letting us know you are OK?  Sometimes it feels like I can feel your presence with me.  Is it all in my head? I know you are healthy, you are happy and you are free from pain.  You must really be enjoying hanging out with God every day.  You enjoyed spending time with God, reading His word, and talking to Him here on earth.  Now, you’ve taken it to the next level.  I’d love to know what it is like, but I just have to wait and see.

You know my hopes.  You know my fears.  You know my dreams.  This year has been the most difficult year of my life.  I never expected to be where I am and to feel the way I feel.  I never expected to have to live without you.  But here I am.  Please, if you can, stay close.  I miss you more than I can describe and love you to heaven and back.

Ti amo, JB 

What I Need Most From My Friends

Hi Friend,

That’s right!  I’m talking to you.  The one reading this blog.  My parents don’t read this blog.  Maybe I should be offended by that, but I’m not. It’s probably for the best. So, yeah, this is directed at you, my friends (and people I don’t actually know but I’m sure if I met you, we’d be friends in real life and not just in the blog world.)

Let’s just be honest and say the last year has not been easy for either one of us.  My world was blown wide open and I hit rock bottom.  You’ve rushed in to be there for me even though you may not have known how to help.  I certainly haven’t known how to tell you to help me.  It’s been this messy dance of try this, try that, “Is she OK?  “Did I say/do the right thing” from your perspective and “Am I responding in the right way?” from mine. This whole grief thing is tricky.  Tag the word suicide onto the death and things can quickly spiral into totally foreign territory.  What a heartbreaking, life altering experience.

I’m here to tell you, it may be messy, but it’s beautiful - like an oriental rug.  If you actually flip over an oriental rug, you will see there are all sorts of knots. It doesn’t make sense how such a mess can create such beauty on the other side.  It may take me a long time to see the beautiful things that have come from Dude’s death, but there is no question that I have felt loved and supported by you in this darkest and most difficult time.  Thank you for everything – for the phone calls, text messages, Facebook messages, cards, emails, earrings, necklaces, photos, songs, poems, quotes/Bible verses, prayers, hugs, shoulders to cry on, food, cupcakes (those are separate from food because they are just THAT important). I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

I may not have been able to tell you what I needed in the beginning, but now that I am a year in, I am better able to articulate my need.  So, what do I need?

I need you to understand that even though it’s been a year, the grief will not disappear. I am learning that this is a very slow and painful process, but from April 4th 2012 on, I have been moving forward with my “new life.”  I may not move forward as fast as you or I would like or in the way either one of thinks is “the right way."  One day at a time, one step at a time, progress is being made.  There will still be days that I am overwhelmed with grief.  With that said, when the intense pain comes, I know I have been here before and will survive. I know how to handle it.  I have also developed the ability to say “no” and to better ask for help.  Before this experience, I said yes to a lot just to make others happy.  Now, I know that I need to take care of myself and that might involve me saying no.  And, I don’t feel guilty about it, which is a big step for me. I have never been afraid to ask for help, but I didn’t know how to ask for help through this experience. That isn’t as much of an issue now. The grief doesn’t consume me as much as it used to, so I can actually have a conversation with you without Dude’s death constantly being in the forefront of my mind.  It’s still important for me to talk about it, but if I want to, I will.

I still need your prayers.

Most importantly, I need you to just be YOU! I loved you for you before this, and this tragedy in my life has not changed my feelings. Yes, I may be sad, but I want to support and celebrate you! It truly does make me happy to see you so happy.  Hopefully, one day, you can celebrate with me, too.  In the meantime, let’s have fun!  Summer is right around the corner!  We’ve got outdoor movies to watch, Nationals games to catch, long strolls that involve window shopping (or real shopping), eating ice cream, and dining outdoors. We’ve got babies to love on, parties to attend, BBQs to have, and margaritas to make a la Casa Bigby.  We’ve got laughs to share and memories to make. I’ve not been up for all of those things for quite some time, but I feel ready now….even if I might need a little prodding at times.  You are a whole lot of fun and I want to spend time with you.

Thank you for your love and support, but most of all, thank you for being YOU.

Always Something There to Remind Me

Hey Duuuuuuuude,

{Remember that show on Nickelodeon?}

Not only did I lose my best friend, but I lost my confidant.  I lost the one who knew me better than anyone else.  I've lost the man with whom I shared my hopes, dreams and fears.  Sure, I have my family, friends and coworkers to talk to, but it is not the same.  As one of our friends said, "You and Mike had such a strong connection.  Your bond was evident to everyone who knew you, even if they barely knew you".  That's so true.  We did and sometimes I fear that I won't find that again.  Mary reminds me this is not the case and I have nothing to fear.  God will take care of me. That strong bond is an incredible blessing, but it also means that there is always something there to remind me that you are not physically here anymore.  I miss our conversations.  I miss planning adventures or fantasizing that one day we will fulfill all of our wildest dreams.  I miss talking about everything and anything and nothing.  I miss "the poop icon" on gchat.  I still don't know how to create it.  Italian lessons.  Late night conversations that would put me to sleep because they were calm and peaceful not boring.  I miss reminding you of things you might miss because you were always late or sometimes overbooked yourself.  Chatting about sports, challenges, how much food I can eat, our families, friends, politics, work, school, dogs, my crush on Justin Bieber (100% false), The White House, the list could go on and on.

Lately, there have been so many days I have just wanted you here.  Right here.  Where I can physically see you, end up wrapped up tight in your arms, or at the very least, talk to you on the phone. I talk to you all of the time. Sometimes it is out loud, sometimes through blog posts like this one, sometimes I pray to God and ask Him to give you a message.  At times,  it feels like you are close to me; like you are holding my hand or telling me to "Calm down, Killer" or reminding me that "God's got this!"  It could all be in my head.  I don't know.  I won't know until I get to see you again.  It makes me feel better, so I don't really care.  Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me and I think you are still here.  Then I realize you aren't. That realization is a big bummer when it happens, but I don't erupt into uncontrollable sobs like I used to when I finally woke up from those daydreams.  Progress, Dude, aren't you proud?!  Yes, I knew it.  Of course, you are.    

The trouble with being so close to you is that almost everything reminds me of you.  Frostys at Wendys, DQ Blizzards, cookie cakes, Ironman, the Steelers, the Pirates, the Penguins, anything Pittsburgh -- our weatherman always mentions Pittsburgh when he is delivering the weather forecast.  I am never sure why because it is not like "The 'Burgh" is remotely close to DC. Golf, Subaru Forresters, gchat....

I used to get terribly sad when I would see a car with a Steelers bumper sticker or a Subaru Forrester or when the weatherman would mention Pittsburgh.  Now, those things bring a smile to my face.  You may even hear me shout my nickname for you, Dude.  From my perspective, it's as if you are saying "Hi!"

I was reminded of you at work this afternoon.  I wore my new favorite pair of pants.  They are skinny and red -- bright red.  I was on a mission to find red pants to wear to my Christmas party.  I walked into Ann Taylor Loft and told the sales representative about my desire.  She was a big 'ole mama and brought me to the skinny pants section.  I gave her a puzzled look and said "I'm not sure my butt and thighs will fit into skinny pants!" "I wear them.", she said.  "OK, I'll give them a whirl!"  I had to go up two sizes for them to fit properly, but that just means they are big in the waist and make me feel skinny!! Win-win!

Now you know why they are my favorite pants. ;-) Anyway, so I was wearing them today and one of my colleagues said

"Hey Killer, whatcha doin' in those red pants?"

"What did you call me?"

"I said, Hey Killer"

"My best friend who recently passed away called me that all the time.  That was one of his nicknames for me. "

"Well, it's rather fitting", she smiled.

That little exchange brought a big 'ole grin to my face.

There's always something there to remind me that you are with me.

I miss you.  I love you.  Gonna bust!

xoxo, Killer