wish you were here

I feel like I should include some sort of disclaimer with this blog. If the last one I posted about Matt made you nervous and uncomfortable, please do not read this. My intent is not to send you into some sort of panic and make you squirm in your seat. This is my way of coping.

A key part of accepting what has happened is coming to grips with the fact that it's NEVER going to be better. That the pain is NEVER-ENDING. It may morph into a different form of pain but it is a wound that will never heal.
It will leave you with a limp. Sure, you'll be able to walk.. but it will be evident that you were hurt. Badly.
Facing the cold, hard truth that life is forever altered is hard to come to terms with because that means change is inevitable.

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

The five stages of grief. I hate putting any sort of punctuation after each of the stages because it makes them seem so... contained. When in reality there is nothing clear-cut or black-and-white about them. The books I've been reading make the stages sound so cut-and-dried, like they're all packaged and labeled, tied-up with a perfect ribbon.
They neglect to tell you that just because you've accepted it doesn't mean you're not going to deal with denial on a daily basis, along with depression, a dash of bargaining and a sprinkle of anger. Grief is as unpredictable as a toddler. I don't even like putting the stages in a certain order because you can go from denial to depression to searing anger to begging and pleading with God and then land back in denial-- all in about 5 minutes.
I'll think I'm doing alright.. or coping anyway and then all of a sudden I'll snap. Maybe it will be triggered by a memory, a restaurant, a smell or maybe it'll be nothing more than opening my eyes in the morning.

You know you're grieving when you want nothing more than to be haunted. "Inhabited or frequented by ghosts" is how the dictionary defines "haunted."
OOOH, PICK ME! PICK ME! (Uhh.. to be haunted by MATT, not some random ghost, just to clarify.)
The desperation to see him leaves me frantic. Thinking of how there's nothing I can do about it makes me so irritated sometimes. I can feel my heart accelerate and my breathing turns into hyperventilation as I rack my brain trying to come up with something.. anything.. to make it possible.
I'm sitting at the cemetery as I write this and I could swear I feel some sort of presence here, like I'm being watched. I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting to see my big brother walking towards me.
I would give literally anything to see him.. for him to walk up, tap me on the shoulder and tell me this was all just a nightmare and it's time to wake up.

Why don't they include "apathy" as a stage of grief? I have such a total and complete lack of care in so many areas of my life now.
This, of course, does not apply to my family and friends. They are the reason I get out of bed in the morning. Some days all I feel like doing is curling up on the couch (with an unlimited supply of Oreos) and sobbing. I am so thankful for my kids that keep me going. I have my time to grieve but I can't just quit and give up because they are my everything and I know I have to pick up the pieces and keep things moving. Their happiness and well-being is everything and sitting on the couch accomplishes nothing. Their little smiling faces and knowing that my brother would've wanted me to take care of them and myself keeps me doing everything.. from going to class to brushing my teeth (well I guess I do that for EVERYONE'S benefit) to doing laundry (I mean I haven't seen the actual floor of my laundry room for like 5 years but you know what I mean.)
Since Matt died, my sense of care and concern for those close to me has been heightened greatly. Not that I didn't care before but I think when you lose someone you love you start to see things differently. There's no gray area anymore. It's all black-and-white. The things that truly matter come sharply into focus and everything else fades to black.
There are some things that mattered so much to me before October 14 that became insignificant details that will never be thought of again because of that night.
The things that really matter in life aren't things.. they're people. Tragedy has a way of highlighting what's really important to you. You learn that you can't overuse the phrase "I love you" if you mean it.

Do me a favor, would you? When you're done reading this go tell the people that matter to you the most that you love them. Your kids. Your spouse. Your siblings. Your best friends. Your mailman. (Ha, just kidding on that last one. Unless of course your mailman happens to be a family member or close friend.. otherwise I'm thinking that might land you with some sort of restraining order.) Maybe there's someone in your life you care about but history, time, bitterness, whatever it is, is keeping you locked in a state of pride that leaves your relationships at a standstill. Get over your petty differences, put aside any hurt and anger you might be holding onto that keeps you from being close or at the very least telling them how you feel.. and reach out. Call them. Write them. Text them. Do something.. because guess what? We all say we want to live each day as if it were our last but isn't it funny how we make excuses about why we just CAN'T take the first step to repairing damage that has been done? The truth of it is one of these days it WILL be your last and I know for myself I don't want to die without telling the people that matter the most to me that they were my everything.

Grief takes so many forms. It's incredible the way it comes out unexpectedly, the tendrils of it slithtering and weaving throughout every aspect of life.
At restaurants, I find myself ordering the things Matt liked to order. I'm pretty sure if you cracked my head open a bunch of Guns N' Roses lyrics would spill out. One of his guitar picks is on a chain around my neck that I'll wear for the rest of my life.
Incorporating all of the little things that made Matt who he was into my life is my way of showing loyalty to him and ensuring his memory will be kept alive.

So weird how when shock wears off you're left with a devastation that is unbearable. You know like how if you have frostbite or are super cold, it doesn't really hurt when you're outside and frozen? It's when you get to someplace warm and the feeling starts returning that there is pain.
I read this book about a surfer named Bethany Hamilton that had her arm bit off by a shark. She said she felt no pain when it happened, while she was in shock. Your body doesn't even bother with pain receptors during that kind of trauma because your brain knows that you are very aware there is danger and it is life-threatening. She said when she woke up in the hospital the next day that's when she felt the pain, when the shock had wore off and the healing began.
The shock of my brother dying is gone and in its place is this horrible, burning, heart-wrenching ache that rises and falls like a rollercoaster.

Death doesn't change what you are to someone. It doesn't mean Matt isn't my big brother still. He always will be. All death means is that it will probably be a while before  I get to see him again. It puts some time between us but I'm thankful I knew him well enough so that I can hear exactly what he would say in response to anything I would ask him.

It's been 66 days. How is that even possible?

My parents used to have a Cessna when we were younger and as a family we'd fly all over the place in it. I'd always get stuck in the back, which was fine by me because Mike or Matt would sit next to me. Anyone that's flown can relate to the adrenaline that pumps through you as a plane takes off. The engines screaming louder and louder. The gravity that pins you against your seat as you ascend into the air.
I can remember sitting in the back of the plane with Matt with our headsets on, grinning at each other as we sped down the runway. It was our favorite part of the flight.
Since Matt died I keep having that feeling of taking off in a plane.. but it's not in a good way. It's not like how I remember it was when my dad was at the controls. It's like taking off in a plane you know is doomed to crash. That feeling of being thrown back in your seat and all you can do is pray the plane won't explode. It's the feeling of total helplessness and knowing that there's nothing you can do but hold on to the seat in front of you with white knuckles and ride it out.
It's an out-of-control panic, fueled by grief.

I really, really miss my brother.

About this time last year Matt and I went out for lunch and I remember him, with a mug of coffee in his right hand, running his left hand through his hair, asking me how my writing was coming along.


I shrugged. "It's ok, I guess," I had said, "I'd like to write a book but I don't know what to write about."


The corners of his lips curled upwards and he grinned over his coffee, "I can think of a few things."


I laughed. "Well yeah, me too, but for those things I would need a pen name.. and a place to run to in Mexico if Mom and Dad find out."


Smirking, he replied, "Do whatever you've got to do to get it written. Writing is your talent and I'm looking forward to reading it."

So what am I gonna do? I'm gonna write a book, that's what.. and dedicate it to my brother.

I can't think of a good way to end this but I guess that's fitting since it's about grief and this grief is one that will never really end.

for Lisa: me and you & you and me.

Two years. That's how long the world has been Lisa-less. For those of you that didn't know her, she was my cousin. She was born six months to the day before me. Up until two years ago I didn't know life without her. To be in a world where she is not is so... odd. Not right. It feels very much like I'm waiting for her to get back from a faraway vacation.

My favorite picture of she and I was taken about eight years ago. She's wearing a tank top and shorts and I'm wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. I love it because it shows how different we are from each other.
During the summer my grandma would make us eggs for breakfast and Lisa would eat the yolk and I'd eat the white part. Symbolic of our unspoken agreement that although we were total and complete opposites in so many ways, we fit together perfectly.

I'm sure you have someone in your life that just GETS you. Gets everything about you. Gets why you feel the compulsion to count the number of words in a sentence, or the way you want to just SCREAM when the person next to you slurps the soup they're eating or how murderously annoying that relative is that always INSISTS on kissing you ON THE MOUTH or how they know to immediately eat the mushrooms out of the chinese food on your plate before you start gagging.
All it takes is a half-second glance out of the corner of your eye and they know EXACTLY what you're thinking. You become a firm believer in ESP when you have a connection like that with someone. We had an empathy for each other that can't be put into words.

Lisa spent her summers in Michigan. During those months we were inseparable. All good things must come to an end though and when the summer was over we'd begin the countdown until the next time we'd see each other.
There's roughly 1,272 miles from Grand Ledge, Michigan to Bradenton, Florida but distance was never really an issue with us. No matter how long we'd have to go without seeing each other we would always pick up right where we left off. Time could not touch us. No amount of miles would have mattered.
I am in no way exaggerating when I say when I was younger I got in trouble every single month when the phone bill came because Lisa and I would talk everyday for like, HOURS. I mean sure, I had plenty of other friends but no one could compare to her. We'd sit on the phone together in silence sometimes, one of us reading and the other playing a game on the computer.

Four months before Lisa died she came to Michigan. Patrick, Anna and I met her at the airport and from there we decided to grab some lunch. Mind you me, my children were just shy of being three and one year old at the time so you with kids know what those ages mean: chaos reigns wherever you go. That day was NO exception. It was a Mexican restaurant we chose and let me tell you, Anna was covered head to toe in her lunch-- she was basically a walking enchilada-- and Patrick was pretty much swinging from the light fixture hanging above us. The severity of how traumatic it can be to have small sleep-deprived children tends to fade as time goes on but this memory will forever be freshly imprinted in my mind. I wouldn't have blamed someone that had a tremendous amount of experience with young children to have gone RUNNING AND SCREAMING out of there.
I will never forget watching Lisa calmly pick Anna up from her highchair, cleaning her off and walking around the restaurant, cuddling her. Or the way she held Pat's hand walking out to the car and buckled him into his car seat.
She told my kids she loved them and there was no doubt in my mind she meant it. Although we lived across the country from each other, she loved them like an aunt would because she was just like a sister to me.

She had a heart of gold. When we were young I can remember being impressed by the way she cared and loved each person in her life. She had such a respect for other and was careful to not want to offend anyone.

Lisa, I know to say you were in unbearable pain would be a vast understatement. I don't understand why you went through what you did and the day you died the world got so dark. I miss you so much sometimes it feels like my heart's in a vice.

Lisa was ALWAYS the responsible, level-headed one of the two of us. She thought things out and analyzed. I, on the other hand, ran with whatever crazy idea flashed through my mind and sounded like a good time. We pulled each other in different directions until we met in the middle. A perfect balance.
She was always worried about how long I'd be grounded for whatever unbelievably insane plan I had concocted for us when she came to visit. Our evenings usually began with me spending forty-five minutes reassuring her that we wouldn't get caught (and even if we did I wouldn't care anyway because it'd be SO worth it). She was forever trying to keep me out of trouble.. and get into trouble with me at the same time.
We'd sneak out the basement window of my parent's house, throw my car into neutral and push it a ways down the driveway (which ALWAYS resulted in uncontrollable laughter.. I mean HELLO?! Pushing heavy machinery + trying to be quiet + being with your best friend = hysterical laughing) until we were far enough away from the house that Dad and Mom wouldn't jolt awake when I started the car. Then we'd drive off and the night belonged to us. (While I have no problem revealing our escape plan I feel as though 99.9% of what we did in the wee hours of those mornings should remain unknown as the stories haven't aged enough for my parents to think they're funny yet if they found out...) Needless to say, we were pretty wild, not wanting to waste a minute of the time we had together.
As the sun began to rise and light started splintering across the sky we'd slide back through the window to my room. Crawling upstairs an hour later with bloodshot eyes, we'd exchange smug smiles as my parents wondered out loud why we looked exhausted. In hindsight, I think they knew we had been up to no good but let us get away with murder because they knew how much we missed each other when we weren't together. (I could be COMPLETELY mistaken about them knowing though, so do me a favor and maybe don't mention this to them.)

I miss her. It's as simple and complicated as that.

I hate suicide.. everything about it. Aside from the obvious tragedy of losing Lisa, I hate that it strips her of her identity, reduces her to nothing but a number, a statistic.
Those of you who knew her, be honest, what do YOU think about when she crosses your mind? Do you think of her magnetic personality, the loyalty, her contagious laughter that seemed to take in everything around her, the empathy she had? Or do you think of the way she died? 


I've read that worldwide there are approximately one million suicides per year. That comes out to someone ending their life every forty seconds. By 2020, it will be every twenty seconds.
Those statistics are a suckerpunch to the stomach. To think of the lives ending every few seconds of people that mean as much to other people as Lisa meant to me.

When someone you love dies, you expect the world to stop turning. Maybe it's because your world does stop turning or maybe it's becuse you can't imagine being in a world without them. You hold your head in your hands and brace yourself (For those of you that are Lost fans, you know when they time travel and there's the blinding light and headache-inducing noise? That's what it makes me think of.) You wait for gravity to fail and the Earth to turn inside-out. The most horrific thing, to me, about tragedy is the moment when you realize that life will keep going regardless.

Then there is nothing but emptiness. A cave has been carve in your heart that will never be filled.

I'm not really the violent type but when I hear someone describe suicide as a "selfish decision" I want to strangle them. Selfish?? Do you have ANY idea what it took to push them to end their life? What they had to endure? It's not that they wanted to die, it's that it was too painful to keep living. I don't expect anyone to understand that but take a moment to try and wrap your brain around what that would feel like. Remember that there is far more to the story than you know. Don't you dare judge her.
I'm not saying that I agree with it. I'm not saying I don't wish every day that Lisa hadn't made that choice. She backed every decision I ever made so if she is at peace, and I believe she is, I will deal with it. You can't change the past or anything that has happened to you and since there's no way to make some things better, she did what she thought she had to to end the pain. I miss her every day and although I have pleaded with God to make it all a bad dream, it is reality. She is no longer hurting and for that I am thankful.

I dream about her on a regular basis (which is actually a HUGE comfort), when I'm at a family gathering and someone tells a family story it's hard to not look around the room for her so we can roll our eyes and laugh about hearing it for the billionth time and I have even dialed the first numbers of her old phone number to stop mid-dialing, in horror, and realize I haven't come to grips with the fact she's gone.

In the end, she is always on my mind. Memories of her fly at me daily in a Tazmanian-Devil-whirlwind kind of way and suddenly it's like she's with me. She visits me in swirls of matching ladybug tattoes, code names for virtually everyone we knew, our dream of being the crazy cat ladies of the town, living together in a creepy old mansion when we're old, unprecedented memories together and of course, a mutual love of raspberries, to name a few.

Whether you want it to or not, life goes on. Even though she is gone I incorporate her into my life as much as possible. No, there will be no new memories but there are the old ones and thankfully, there are a lot of them to relive. There are pictures of her throughout my house that remind me of good times and her laughter. My baby girl Ella has the middle name "Marie," in remembrance of her. Every year on December 4, the anniversary of her death, the kids and I buy twenty-five balloons to commemorate each year of her short life and I tell them about her as we let the balloons go into the sky.  On her birthday, September 2, I watch "Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken," a movie we were obsessed with when we were younger. Through those memories, her memory is very much alive.
She is gone but her memories are not.

It's been two years, Lisa. I love you. I miss you. Forever.

superman, mud puddles & tyrannosaurus rex

Happy Birthday, Patrick Matthew.. FIVE years old today!

Five years. How did it go so quickly? How can my little boy POSSIBLY be FIVE years old?! *sob*
I blinked and suddenly my baby man that came into the world tipping the scales at 8.5 lbs. now stands in front of me wondering about God, naming off the planets and telling me all about his friends at preschool.

I'm sorry but WHAAAAAT? I'm telling you it was like five MINUTES ago the doctor placed him in my arms for the first time.

THAT'S IT-- NO MORE BLINKING.

I gotta admit though, Patrick Matthew, the older you get the more amazed I am by the way your mind works. I love the way you look at the world and how excited you are about life. You see the possibility in the world around you and I hope you never lose that.
I LOVE that you are ALL boy. You see things in terms of mud, monster trucks and dinosaurs. Splashing in puddles, collecting bugs and anything that makes LOUD noise are of course some of your favorite things.

The moment you were born was one of the best of my life. I'll never forget the first time you were put in my arms and how I felt my heart explode with a kind of love I never knew existed until then. You were our dream come true wrapped in a blue blanket.

You didn't cry when you were born. I remember the doctors wanting you to cry but instead you gazed around the room with big, dark eyes, taking everything in. As if you were piecing together the muffled noises and fuzzy lights from when you were in utero.

From your first breath it was obvious-- you were born READY.. for anything and everything.

Watching you grow up and witnessing all your milestones has been one of the greatest joys I'll ever know in life. From your first tooth to your first step to your first day of preschool-- I am so thankful to have witnessed them and to be your mom.

"I can see him right now, knees all skinned up.. With a magnifying glass tryin to melt a Tonka truck.. Won't he be a sight with his football helmet on? That'll be his first love 'til his first love comes along.."~ Brad Paisley

Your first LOVE?! Oh wow, I can't even go there.. and yet I know I'll blink and it'll be here. Thinking of my baby boy being in LOVE is a little much for me at this point but I can't deny I am so excited to see who you're going to turn into, the paths you'll take and all you'll achieve in life. I have no doubt that with your drive and determination you will be a rock star at whatever you choose to do in life.

"God created boys, full of spirit and fun.. to explore and conquer, to romp and run."

You are FULL of mischief. Wait, I take that back.. you ARE mischief. I LOVE that about you. The way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you smile and the spark that leaps from them when an idea flashes into your mind. Pure mischief.

Those who know you well remember the days when your stuffed Tigger, "Tiggy," had to go everywhere right along with you. I'm talking E V E R Y W H E R E. I did not DARE run the quickest errand without taking that stuffed tiger along also.
Nowadays, Tiggy sits on your bed, waiting patiently for you to tell him "goodnight" before you go to sleep. Gone are the days of dragging him every place you go. His comfort is no longer needed and is yet another sign of you growing up.

"Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero." ~Marc Brown

Over the past five years you have become a big brother twice. I LOVE what a great big brother you are and it's been so awesome watching you with your little sisters.
Anna is your partner-in-crime. It amazes me that the two of you do EVERYTHING together. Mind you, you might be arguing and shoving each other the entire time but you're attached at the hip. Your bond is unlike any other-- you're best friends.. and I love that. How funny that you think it's okay to tease Anna but when someone else does it you're all over them like white on rice. I love how the two of you will do anything to get the other to laugh. You are Anna's HERO.
The bond you have with Ella makes my heart break with deliciousness. From the moment she was born, you have worshipped her. I love how you crawl into her crib every morning and tell her stories. Or how you'll see the seam on her sock isn't lined up JUST right so you'll drop what you're doing to fix it. Or the way you'll give up the toy you're playing with if it catches Ella's eye.
You are an amazing big brother. That makes you not only Anna and Ella's hero but mine as well.

"You don't raise heroes, you raise sons. And if you treat them like sons, they'll turn out to be heroes."

I can not WAIT to see what lies in store for you in the next year. You'll start kindergarten *gulp!* and I'll no doubt have a total breakdown watching you board the bus.
When you woke up this morning, you said, "Hey mom, guess what? Today I'm 5! Next year I'll be 6.. then 7.. then 8.." I felt panic fluttering in my chest as I realized just how quickly time is going. Can't I put you in slow motion? Can't I keep you at five years old?

I love you so much, big kid! I am so thankful for every minute of every day with you (no matter how exhausted I am.. :D). Here's to another amazing year and everything it holds for you!!