You keep finding ways to tell me to pick myself up. Ray LaMontagne's Be Here Now came on this morning. Then Pearl Jam. One of your favorites. And now a Coldplay song that says it so well- "Warning Sign". Friends telling me to live my best life for you. To honor you. And I know that's what you want. I feel it. I just can't get there.

The truth is- I thought of you as my final destination. There was so much love, promise, and light between us. So much spark when we were together. No one had to be anything they weren't. We just let it all hang out.  I have no one else like this in my life. No one with whom I feel I can be completely myself. You were so one of a kind. I fear I will never find that again in my life. And what's possibly worse, I'm not sure I want to. I want you to be my final destination, even if it's not here and now.

I am so miserable today I texted my best friend to tell her not to bother picking me up for tonight's gig because no human being should have to put up with me. And that's the truth. No man or beast should have to deal with this. I am so full of sadness, grief, anger, and frustration, and it just wells up and pours out. I have no control over it. I have never felt anything like it.

Part of my frustration stems from the fact that no one understands where I'm coming from. Not that they should. It's a very unique situation. We were dating. We had a falling out. We reconciled, and were attempting to get together. Had set a date to get together the evening of your accident. And it never resolved because you were taken from us. I can't get over it. I don't even know where to start. How does one get over the loss of a love that was so promising?

And tonight I am supposed to sing a gig that includes "Set me as a Seal." Set me as a seal upon your arm, as a seal upon your heart; for love is strong as death. Even typing it brings tears to my throat. How will I possibly sing that?

There will never ever be another you

Platitude: A statement that expresses an idea that is not new; a flat, dull, or trite remark, especially one uttered as if it were fresh or profound.

Let me start by saying this: we all know how awkward that moment is when you try to comfort someone who is going through something awful. We all want to be the one who says something that brings some momentary comfort. Never before did I know that that is truly impossible. Ok, to be fair, maybe not impossible. But you're bringing maybe a small ray of sunshine into an otherwise cavernous abyss. I never knew what it was like to be the one on the receiving end of the platitudes.

"He's not suffering now, and he would've." ; "He's with God."; "God has a plan for this in your life."; "Remember the happy times."

Let's tackle these one at a time.

1. You're absolutely right on this one. He would've. And being the Christian woman I am, I tend to see this as God's mercy and grace. God took him partly to spare him what would've been a horrible reality for Nick. Nick loved the great outdoors. He loved to barbecue, ride his bike, and work in his shop. I didn't really see him sit except to drink a beer with friends or wait for some que to cook. So yes, he would've suffered. But that doesn't make this reality any less awful. I'm here. He's there. And I must live out what feels like eternity before I see him again.

2. Yes, and again, thank God for that. This one is a comfort, actually. I know my brain cannot possibly comprehend the peace my friend must feel being in God's presence for eternity, but again, I also know he's not here with me. I can't call, text, or visit.

3. Please don't ever say this again. It makes me want to throw things. What good plan could possibly include the death of someone so near and dear to me at a time that was so full of promise? I had finally thought God was answering my prayers. And it's not even that. Regardless of the way things ended up with us, Nick is loved and needed by so many here. This plan sucks. Sorry, God. God can take my anger. He's heard a lot of it lately. Check out the Psalms. I'm not the first or the last to scream at Him.

4. I do. All the time. And it is amazing and heartbreaking all at the same time. When you spend enough time with someone, you talk about the future. What you want to do, dreams you have, and how they fit into that. To think of all the happy times is also to remember all the conversations about trips to the Adirondacks, and down to Nashville. The headboard we still had to build. The dresser in your shop that needs a woman's touch. The media room in my house. All the projects we wanted to do. The trips we wanted to take. The concerts we wanted to see.

The most heartbreaking reality in all of this is that no one can ever be you, Nick. No one. I try to remember all the things I love about you because as the days pass, I imagine all those things as sand in an hourglass, slipping through my hands. Your laugh- I could listen to it forever. Especially the devilish one when you had a prank prepared. The way you'd look at me like you couldn't get enough. Your love of your dogs. The way you could take a project and put your own spin on it. The way your eyes would light up when you'd talk about your siblings and nieces and nephews. The way you could just as easily talk about something philosophical and deep, like your biggest fear. The way you could make anyone a friend. Your smile. It is one of the most beautiful things to me and one forever ingrained in my mind's eye.

God makes each of us beautiful and unique. He brings us into each other's paths for distinct reasons, at just the right time. He is the creator and cares for each of us more than we can know. I hardly think it's an accident that you reached out to me this past June. We spent two awesome months together a very short time before you went home. God designed that. And I'm so thankful to Him for it. It has made your leaving so much more difficult. But I have so many memories of you. When I prayed today, I told God that when He took you home, you took a piece of my heart with you. I suppose that's a platitude. But it comes from my heart, Nick. You will always have a piece of my heart. A big chunk actually.

A friend recently said to me: I'm sorry your heart has a Nick shaped hole in it. I couldn't have said it better myself. You are one of a kind, Nick. Always have been, always will be. I know I'm one of many here missing you, but I like to think that I have a piece of your heart, too.

"Death has no power to keep apart a love forged so deeply in a person's heart."

August 18th, 2014. 3:54 p.m.

Stumbling around the kitchen in a lazy summer nap stupor, I glanced down at my phone to see a call from a good friend. I had just seen her earlier in the day, so this call was unexpected. My heart leapt into my throat as I began to choke back tears. Sorrow and I are well acquainted. I had a feeling this call was not a good one. 

"What's wrong with Nick?" Those were the first words I heard. I knew immediately what they meant. My dear friend had been in an accident. Call it a hunch, call it an inner knowing. I had a feeling. 

The details came in in bits and pieces. Nick had been in a motorcycle accident on his way to work. It was not good. He couldn't be stabilized. There were many breaks in very important places. He was in critical condition. 

The day had started off like any other. I was off to a 10 am CrossFit class. I stopped at a friend's house to record my ice bucket challenge video. I lounged around the house, a luxury in the summer since I am a teacher. And this phone call changed my life. 

I called my mom, sobbing hysterically. She said she had heard Mercy Flight come in at that time, and we put things together, and realized how serious it truly was. I went riding to take my mind off things, but quickly realized I was on autopilot. Nothing was going to make this right. 

To make matters more difficult, Nick and I had planned to get together that evening, and I had so much to say. I had spent much of the day lounging because I was thinking about all the things I needed to say, and how I wanted to say them. Now a few hours later, I didn't know if I would be able to say them. 

I barely slept that night. I think I may have gotten an hour just from sheer exhaustion. I have never felt so helpless in my life. I didn't want to bombard his family and I am all too familiar with ICU rules. There was no way I'd be able to see him. All I could do was pray, so I did plenty of that. Pray, cry, repeat. 

Tuesday's early morning rays greeted me. It didn't seem right that the sun should shine and the earth continue to rotate on its axis when my world had fallen apart. But the good news was Nick had made it through the first night. I felt hope course through my veins. Nick has always been a fighter, and I knew he was fighting now. I spent most of Tuesday in prayer. I worked out, tried not to drive myself and others crazy. By Tuesday afternoon, good news was coming in. He'd been stabilized and there was blood flow to the brain. I began to think he would do it again. He'd come back from a horrific accident five years ago, and here he was, about to do it again. 

It was not meant to be. That evening, I got the call. "He's gone." I type through tears as I write this. The pain is no less searing nearly three months later. 

It's not supposed to be this way. I have faith, and I am a Christian woman, but I would be lying if I said this has not made me wrestle with my faith everyday. A beautiful, young, loving man; full of life, kindness, and in the best of his days, taken in a matter of seconds by someone's wrecklessness. 

Who was this woman who had hit him? What was she doing when she hit him? Why Nick? Couldn't he have had something hold him up that morning? While I don't understand why it was Nick and why now, I also struggle to think these things happen for no reason. I am one of those people who truly believes everything happens for a reason, the good, the bad, and the ugly. But it's a little different when tragedy comes knocking on your own door. 

So here I sit, nearly three months later, with the same question. Why, God? I am so angry with you. I am angry that you took someone I loved so much. He means so much to so many people. Why do you need him now, when so many of us here need him? I hate knowing that I have some purpose here to finish before I can see him again. Nothing seems important with him gone. And at the same time, I know Nick would not want me to cry. He wouldn't want me to give up. So I do my best to honor him everyday with my thoughts and deeds. He was the guy who would drop everything to help you. Everyday, I try to remind my friends and family how much I love them. I hope they know I'd do anything for them. And I can do this because of Nick's amazing example. 

Sleep and I are enemies now, for various reasons. Partly because to sleep means you must slow down. And as anyone grieving knows, it's in the quiet moments that the pain is unbearable. Quiet and alone with your thoughts, you live out the best moments with that person. It's beautiful and so heartbreaking at the same time. And then you beat yourself up for every mistake you ever made with them. I shouldn't have been mad about that. Why didn't I come over that night? So very many things left unsaid. They swirl around my head like ghosts that refuse to stop haunting me. The would'ves, should'ves, and what might've beens. The other reason sleep and I are at odds is because sleeping usually means waking up. There is a moment before you awaken and are fully conscious when life seems full of promise and hope. Then you come into the room and into reality and realize that you're right back where you started a few hours ago. He's still gone. You're still here. 

I plan on making this a daily recount of my musings, and I promise they won't always be so deep. But we all go through seasons in life, and this is mine right now. I'll leave you with a quote because they are about the only things that really speak to me these days. 

"I wake, haunted by a searing sense of the unfinished. By how things might have been. If only I possessed the magic power to give us a second chance. But I am no wizard; the trick I must perform is to accept what is."