Some writings on my journey through loss and grief.

I always thought I had a pretty good grasp on the idea that nothing lasts forever. Every minor Loss a refresher course in this constantly expanding lesson, but none of those small lessons prepare you for the big losses. And letting go isn’t always easy, especially when you’re grasping at love and life. At some point there’s nothing left to grip, there’s nothing left to hold onto and you sit there in shock, left with nothing but memories and pain. Every compassionate word rendered hollow by its inability to change the outcome. With everyday inching us closer to the point where we are forced to lose grip. Dreading the moment our hearts, no longer able to bear the weight, give out and give in. We often avoid the roads that lead to these losses, meeting people and seeing the end of our time together in a fraction of a second and choosing not to walk that path causes us to not enjoy the journey of that path. It’s when we find those special individuals where we only see the bountiful harvest of joy the road offers that we lose ourselves to love, not fearing the end because it’s so far off in the distance. But that end arrives, crumbles the damns so that the fear can flood and destroy the nourishing fields and lays siege to the citadel of love you have built. It’s here where we truly learn the lesson of the finite structure that is life. It is here where letting go and accepting loss is at its most absolute. It is here where we discover our strength and our weakness. It is here where we embrace everything good and everything terrible about being human. What we take from this will further define who we are to become as we continuously emotionally molt and grow into our new selves. Always keep close the memories that give you strength, because the memories that leave you weak will always haunt you no matter how far behind you felt they were discarded.

I’ve been pondering a lot of trauma lately so here’s another small excerpt from my life. On Tuesday, December 18th 2017 I got into a car accident within minutes of finding out she has cancer. I’m standing there watching them pull a lifeless man from his car as I open my phone to a message that they found something in her X-ray. I went numb. I’m looking at mangled steel and flesh while I’m completely free of injury trying to figure out how the only wounds I ever incur are carried within me. Never really truly processed any of that let alone the next three years of ups and huge downs that followed. I was raised by “work through the pain people” I remember after the accident, like 6 hours later it took a long time to get everything figured out, my mom and I went and grabbed food because the whole ordeal was exhausting and I was starving , and my sister said that seemed cold, me and my mom both said, “there’s nothing we can do, so why be sad and hungry.” I missed one day of work then went back in because I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve considered talking to counselors or therapists, but not sure what good that’ll do. So I throw myself at projects and events in an effort to create positivity out of the ruins all the while I carry this heavy weight. I remember traveling by bus as a kid to visit family. Carrying heavy bags through the many cities we traversed, and I know now that it was a metaphor a sort of training for my life as an emotional pack mule. Not sure what putting all of this out there does, but it might lighten the load and make room for more weight later. There’s always more weight later.

I feel that being vulnerable online is easy, there’s a separation through a screen that isn’t possible in person. I know the moments when I talk about this in person are harder on me then staring at my tablet and typing things out. I don’t tear up online, you don’t see the fear in my eyes or hear the choking on anguish in my voice. I can write a million words to display my emotions and you can read them and digest them and it’s like reading a book. For those who don’t personally know me I might as well be a character in a novel and this is but one chapter in my story. A tragic nonfiction that so many before me have lived and so many after will as well. The human experience is a tragic and beautiful tempest that causes the currents to ebb and flow and often careen into the shorelines of our hearts. Always eroding and reforming us as we drift through the sea. No matter how connected we are it’s still seldom that we have the opportunity to truly, deeply, madly share these experiences with each other.

We often find that Life is but a glorious symphony graced by tragic lyrics.

Whose losses can be so utterly overwhelming that all our victories feel pyrrhic.

I lost 25 pounds over the course of this pandemic. This was due to stress, not eating enough and not going to restaurants. This was not a healthy way to lose weight, but I’m actually comfortable in how I look and feel so that’s good. Now I just need to find the motivation to keep fit and stay focused on not getting stuck in negative thoughts or habits. This is going to be extremely hard considering the awful shit I’m staring straight into. The last several years have been a pretty traumatic blur. Lots of problems ahead of that time but this climactic build started with a fatal car accident followed within minutes of receiving word about my partner having cancer, to moving. out of long established residence after my landlord passed away, to loss of a great dog Homie, followed by a fire in the building where the printshop was, followed by a flood in the new spot and it’s all been a build up to one of life’s heaviest breakdowns. I’ve fought hard and held onto my positivity and amidst all this I’ve accomplished a lot. I’ve learned things and met great people. My cynicism diluted as this community came together to support events and fundraisers and artistic efforts with fervor and passion and that has carried me a great emotional distance. I learned a long time ago that the heaviest weight I carried was a mountain made from rocks of my own ego and guilt. I whittled that stone like a great river carving desert canyons working to spill out onto a verdant oasis in which life is nourished and sustained. Now I look out as a drought approaches, wondering if the oasis can hold out long enough to survive the foreseeable lack of rain.