Moving On

    I hate those words, but I feel like it's what is necessary. Tonight I went on a second date with a guy who is very genuine, sweet, and has real potential. We went to a release party at one of the local wineries, no more than .5 mile from your place. And I felt you there. Why? Were you there? Was I hoping you were there?

   I thought about the numerous conversations we had about this winery and the fact that some people thought they were terrible neighbors. Motorcycles kept going by and I thought about how many times you must've traveled the same route on your bike. I guess it would be hundreds, and yet, all it took was one split second on one day for someone to end your life.

    I thought about the ripple effect one life has. Your life was ended by someone and that ended so many of my dreams. And I am one small part of that picture. Then we've got your family and friends. And you touched so many lives, Nick.

   It's been a year since we reconnected. I remember our third date so vividly. "Hey. You want to do something later? I need to be near water!" I was in. I grew up on the Finger Lakes, so water is my krytoponite. We went out to the river in NT and walked and held hands. We talked about moms and dads, siblings, dogs, music, dreams. I remember the feeling in my heart when you grabbed my hand. It was electric. I just miss you so much.

   It comes and goes in waves now. I used to wake up EVERY day and think of you immediately. Now I don't. And that is sad, but also easier. I feel a lot of guilt lately. I feel guilty that I don't think of you as often and that I've started to move on. And I wonder, when I'm on dates, whether there will EVER be a moment that I look at him and accept him as he is and not wish, at some level, that he was you.

   "It's been a long day without you, my friend, and I'll tell you all about it when I see you again."

New Challenge

I found this journaling challenge on Pinterest. Journal Challenge

So here goes!

Five ways to win my heart:

1. Love my pups. Even if you don't. Make them a priority because they're one of mine. Love of animals =hot.

2. Work hard. At whatever you do. Give it your all at work, at home, and in the gym. Whatever you do, do it with all your heart, or don't do it!

3. Be real. Don't give me half of you. Let me see it all. Good days, bad days, and everything in between.

4. Don't quit. Quitters scare me. When the going gets tough, as it inevitably will, pull yourself up by the bootstraps, give me a big hug, and remind me that we're in this together. Emotional strength is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

5. Love my family and friends. Yes, they have annoying quirks. So do you, and I love you anyway. Invest in their lives. Ask about their kids and their pets. Love those around me and I'll love you even more.


I think I'm gonna like this challenge.

8 months closer to seeing you again

Today I went to see "The Longest Ride", and it really spoke to my heart. It's two love stories, really. The one that takes place in the present is between two unlikely candidates, the female a cultured intellectual scholarship recipient planning an art career in NYC, the male a talented bull rider. This love story is intertwined with the story of Ira and Ruth, a jewish couple married in the 1940s. Their stories collide when Luke and Sophia (the young couple) find Ira off the road in an accident after their first date. They rescue Ira and Sophia develops a friendship with him. In the end, it is Ira who brings them together after his death through an auction of the Levinstein's art. After Luke bids and wins a painting of Ira's wife by one of her students, the Levinstein's lawyer announces that it was stated in the will that whoever bid on and purchased the "least valuable" painting would inherit the entire collection since it was the most valuable to him as it reminded him of his beautiful, late wife, and the amazing person she was. In his letter, Ira states that while the collection is worth millions, he would give any of the paintings to hear his wife's voice again or see her smile. I lost it at that moment. I can't tell you how many times I have said that I would give anything to see you again, even if for a brief moment. I don't have anything worth millions, but it made me feel validated in some way to know that even someone with paintings worth millions would give them all up just to see or hear their beloved for another moment. Love is a transcendent emotion, one that unites us all.
Ira and Ruth had a long life together, albeit one that required sacrifice and wasn't necessarily easy. And still, Ira said how it wasn't enough. And that made me realize that even if we had ended up in a long term relationship, nothing would've been enough. Just some perspective there.

I am just doing the best I can everyday. It still socks me in the gut many days when I face how much I miss you. And then I struggle with guilt. Sometimes I feel parts of my heart wake up that want to love again and I feel guilty because I love you so dearly and don't want you to think that diminishes what we had.

It continues to be a struggle I navigate daily. I love you, and I'll be seeing you.

Remember

"Remember" ~C. Rossetti
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay,
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.


This poem has appeared twice in my daily life in the past couple weeks. It struck me the first time I heard it, and it struck me no less this evening when it appeared as a song setting we will perform in May. I can't help but think that this might be you speaking to me as you watch me struggle. I have been struggling with moving on. Here's another quote, quite the opposite of the above. " Grief is the last act of love we have to give to those we loved. Where there is deep grief, there was great love. "  I guess, subconsciously, there has been some part of me that has wanted to grieve deeply to prove to you and to myself what we had. Since we never got to say those words to each other in person, it's like this is my final way of telling you exactly how I felt. And for that reason, it's hard for me to let go. Letting go means saying goodbye to you, and saying goodbye to the dreams we had.

Recently, a friend asked me how I would want you to act if this situation were reversed. I don't feel that's a fair question, but it certainly is interesting to consider. I don't think I can begin to answer it because I can't understand what Heaven is like from my place in this universe. But you were always about living life to the fullest, so I can't imagine you'd want any less for me now.

As for what that means, that's where I get stuck. I don't think I lead an unhappy life. I was driving home tonight and "Crash" (DMB) came up on my playlist. This song has a lot of memories for me. It's funny how a song can transport you to another feeling in another time and place. I was instantly transported to my high school years when life was carefree and I had not yet experienced the really ugly parts of life. This feeling of hope washed over me. It is something I haven't felt since you died. Yes, I've felt happiness. I've felt excitement. But hope? No. That died with you back in August. In just a few chords though, this song brought that feeling back. It didn't stay, but its fleeting visit was a great feeling. I'd like to have that feeling in my everyday life but I am not sure how to cultivate it. My view of life was permanently altered on August 19, 2014, and I am not convinced it will ever be the same. How does one feel hopeful again after seeing how quickly hope, beauty, youth, and love can be yanked away in a matter of seconds?

 I guess I feel like this was the straw that broke the camel's back as far as relationships go for me. As you well know, I put 110% into everything, and you were no exception. When my divorce happened in 2009, it took all I had to be open to love again. When Dave left, and especially in the way he did, I didn't think I could ever love again. But when we reconnected, our hearts connected on a level I couldn't deny. I opened up again, and you were taken just a couple months later. Part of the reason the whole hope concept is difficult for me is that it is rooted in faith, at least in my mind. And God knows how upset I've been with Him. It's not been pretty. He's heard a lot of yelling, screaming, and crying from me in the past seven months. People tell me to put my hope and trust in the very one who has taken you away. So yes, hope is a foreign concept for me right now.

A heart full of love

Hung with your brother again tonight. Always brings so much peace and so much heartache to hang with your family... simultaneously. As the months wear on though, it's more peace than heartache.

I just can't believe we're here. There's basically been no resolution as far as your estate is concerned. I won't detail that here. But I will say that the legal system baffles me. To refuse to give someone information regarding your estate when you've been gone nearly 6 months? What is wrong in our world?

I feel a tug at my heart to step up and take your house. Would your parents want that? Is that ridiculous? I want to live in the town anyway. It's your place. So much of you there. Is that weird? It might be.

Sometimes I feel like I've got one foot in the past, one here, and one in the future. I feel like that foot in the past will always be there in a sense. I will always love you. You will always have a piece of my heart. Anyone who gets me will have to accept that your initials are on my body forever. #sorrynotsorry They'll have to accept that so much of me is wrapped up in you, and that it's beautiful just the way it is. I'm not saying there's not room in my heart. There is. But a piece of it will always be yours. Full stop. And the right guy will not only get that, but embrace it.

The one in the here and now? She can be a bitch. I wrestle with her daily. Do I self reflect? Do I act purely based on no day but today? She's always got something to say.

The one in the future is the trickiest. The sentimental sap in me says- take the house. NOW. Don't delay. Then the realist in me says "The new guy may be willing to accept the indelible ink, but not so much living in your home." And would I be able to handle it? Could I live there? Could I sit on the couch and make a new life while remembering making the pork rub in the kitchen? Could I ever go near that garage without thinking about the time spent there in your shop? I know I'd sit in the living room and think about HGTV marathons and snuggles on the couch. And the porch? Well, that's a whole other story. So the realist in me says "no". But my heartstrings say yes.

My heart is so full of love sometimes. Now is one of those moments. It's just bursting. I'd like to light up the world with the love I felt for you and with you. Our love was special. It was one that could've been a light to others. And that's why it feels so unfair to me now. It was meant to be that. And in one fell swoop, it was taken from the world. So ridiculously unfair. There's nothing that can be said that can make sense of this. Throw scripture at me. Throw platitudes. None of it matters with you gone. I wish I had words for the love that has filled my heart with you. I wish I could have you here for even 60 seconds. I'd throw my arms around you, hug you until you begged for mercy, and tell you exactly how I feel. And let you go all over again. Just let me do that. You haven't visited since September, and my heart just needs to tell you again. I love you.

Enormity and gravity

The enormity and gravity of one day.

I was on my way to the gym this week when I was overcome with sadness, yes, but more so with a huge realization. My life changed forever on August 18, 2014. When I think back to my life on August 17 and prior, I was much more carefree. I had worries over the stupidest things. Then Nick's accident occured and none of that mattered anymore. So I guess we could even say- the enormity and gravity of one moment. That's all it took to change my life, and the lives of countless others touched by Nick. 

I would liken it to my divorce in some ways. Before my divorce, I had always been the kind of person who set her mind to something, created some short and long term goals, set to work on them, and achieved them. It was always a linear equation for me, and a relatively easy one at that. I set my mind to it, I put in the work, and I exceeded my own expectations. My divorce was the first time that equation didn't see me through. I had set the goals, I had put in the work, and yet, we still failed. Why? Because my ex didn't hold up his end of the bargain. It seems naive 6 years later, but it was the first time in my life I realized that there are two distinct individuals in any relationship. And while those people share life together for a time, they can, at any point, choose to break faith with one another, and choose to no longer invest that time together. That's what my ex did and it permanently changed me. 

I feel the same way about August 18th. Nick was on his way to work on a beautiful summer morning, enjoying the sunshine and his bike. I am positive he didn't get on his bike that morning and wonder if it would be his last ride. But it was. Why? Because of someone else's negligence. Because of someone else and her what...? Distraction? Were the kids arguing in the car? Was the sun in her eyes? Were her brakes going bad? Whatever it was... She changed so many lives that day she chose to run that light. Nick didn't know it was coming until it was too late. I often find myself wondering what he thought in those moments. And in reality, I'm sure it all happened too fast and he likely didn't have time to think of anyone or anything other than how to avoid the impending collision. But I find myself wondering, nonetheless. 

I guess I kind of think of August 18th as the day I permanently lost my youth, in a way. When you're young, you tend to think you're invincible. You don't think about death as something that can touch you. And in one moment, someone I had imagined forever with was rendered quadriplegic with injuries that ended up being fatal. It's just so bizarre how life works. That someone's life can be taken in an instant with no warning. 

I don't mean to diminish the pain of those who have lost someone after a long illness, but it's so different, and I guess each has its blessing and curse. For someone in the grips of an illness, they have time to take care of affairs, spend time with family, and make mental adjustments. But there is the fear to conquer, the suffering and pain involved for the sick as well as the family around them. For someone who loses their life suddenly, I guess we could say it's a merciful experience for the dying. No fear to conquer. But that also means no time to say goodbyes. No time to minimize regret for either side. 

I've just been so preoccupied with the enormity of this. How life can change in an instant. It makes everything seem so trivial. We spend so much time waiting for the right moment. "We'll have kids when the time is right." "I'll go on that trip in a few years." We count on time, as if we have it to spare. And the reality is, we have no idea what we have. I could die tonight. When you start thinking that way, it changes you. It changes how you approach life. Take the trip. Stop waiting for the right time. THIS is it. There is no right time. Just do it. 

It seems so perfect that this lesson would come from Nick's death. Nick always lived in the moment. He was not the type to miss a party or a chance to give you a hug. Teaching us lessons still... 

Memories and photographs

I guess we've come to the morbid part of the blog.

I was thinking today how bizarre and terribly sad it is to me that all we have left of Nick are memories, photographs, and some material possessions. So much of what we know of someone comes from our five senses- what they look like, how they smell, the sound of their voice and laugh, their touch. I vividly remember the sight of Nick- 6'1" of beautiful olive colored skin, big brown eyes, awesome facial hair, long and silky dark hair. I remember the ink sleeves on his arms, the sandals he always wore (trademark hippie style), the chain he always wore around his neck. I remember so much about our time together this summer. The way his hands felt on my waist, the way it felt to hug him as he would hold me. The way he would nestle into my chest and breathe me in. The way I would run my hands through his hair. The way my face would feel after kissing him with all that facial hair. The way he always smelled like a combination of metal and wood from the shop and pork from all the cooking he'd do. The way it felt to snuggle into him as he would rub my back. The way his hands looked as he would prepare pork for the smoker. The way he'd lean into me on the couch as we watched HGTV. These memories are ingrained in my mind. And they are all based in my senses and the way they interacted with Nick.

I put together some of my favorite camp photos today and thought about this. How hard it is when someone you loved so much is gone and you can no longer hear their laughter, smell their signature scent, touch their skin, look into their eyes. I guess I always thought of loss as losing a relationship more than losing a presence, but now I see it is both.

All of these memories are you, Nick, and I worry so much that I will forget you. I worry I'll forget about camp. I worry I'll forget the look of concentration you had as you taught me about your pork recipe. The way I asked "Can I know what's in the rub?" And the way you responded "I want to tell you someday" with a wink. The way you looked into my eyes and said "You should come to Nashville with me this fall. We'd have a blast. You'd love it." That devilish grin you always gave me when you'd tease me. The way you'd whistle to Syd when she was off tracking a critter. The way your eyes would look when I came to you with a project idea and you were thinking of some way to kick it up a notch. The way you liked to tease me in front of our friends for being a "cradle robber" when I was a total of 9 days older. These things are you, just as much as your zest for life, your care and concern for others, your sense of humor, your prankster style, your ability to work with your hands, your love of dogs, your love of the great outdoors, and on and on.

I guess the bottom line is it kills me when I remember that these things are physically gone and I can never see them again here on this Earth. I am a person of faith, so I do believe I will experience all these aspects of you someday in some other place, but it feels like an eternity until that day comes. And every time I remind myself of these realities, it feels like someone has driven a knife into my chest. I cannot kiss you. I cannot hug you. I cannot comfort you. I cannot call you. I cannot help you build things. We cannot build my headboard. We're not going to Nashville. The days at camp will never, ever be the same. The five musketeers will be four, and sadly, a cloud of sadness will hang over the whole affair. I just never realized how much the physical loss of you would bother me as much as the emotional loss of you.

I guess that's why I enjoy visiting your house so much. It's an encapsulated piece of you. Your house remains the way it was when you left it early Monday morning, August 18th. Your bed still isn't made. You always thought it was a waste of time to make the bed, and I tend to agree. Your shop is as it was. The furniture is still out on the porch from this summer. Those bags of mulch I said I'd put in the garden are still stacked by the garage. You'd never let me put them down. "I'd rather spend quality time with you!" But some things are very different and remind me that you are gone. There were always empties by the sink and on the counters. Your siblings have taken those in to be recycled. The bathroom has been tidied up and your jewelry catch all is empty as your siblings have collected those pieces as memorials of you. The bench by the pond has been overturned for the winter. Your car is parked differently than you would've parked it.

Ironically, these things make me feel like you're still here and gone forever all at the same time. Your room smells like you, so how could you be gone? But there would never be a clean counter if you were here, so I know it can't be. You would've brought your bench in for the winter along with the furniture, too. 

I miss you so much it hurts to type this. Sometimes I find myself bursting into tears out of nowhere, and always, without fail, the first words out of my mouth are "I miss you so much!". I do. And I guess I thought it'd be easier by now. I also beat myself up and tell myself I have no right to miss you this much. I wasn't your long time girlfriend. I'm not one of your siblings. I should have moved on by now. These are the thoughts in my mind. But none of it changes the fact that my life changed forever on August 19th, and it will never be the same. I miss you, and I grieve the loss of a 20 year friend, as well as someone I had imagined forever with. Nothing makes this pill easier to swallow. We're going on five months and in many ways, I miss you more now than I did a couple months ago. Thankfully, I don't have that awful, nauseous feeling of fainting every time I think about the grief. It's more physical exhaustion than physical illness these days.

I miss you, I love you, and I'll be seeing you.