She's Alive Because He Lived

The other day, my niece posted a status update/question on facebook, tagging those she particularly wanted to respond. Her question regarded our idea of eternity, and how we all keep from getting scared by it.

I smiled when I read it, but my smile was twofold. The first, was that I love how she put herself out there. The second, was that it immediately made me think of Sarah. We had these conversations a lot. I’m not sure who coined the term (it was probably Sarah) that we used all the time, but we would call each other and say we were having an “existential crisis.” We might have liked to be dramatic! haha

I answered my niece’s question, and then went on about my day. I was in my car and couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah. She was my niece’s facebook friend too, and she would have LOVED that question. She would have responded to that question. She would have loved even US having a conversation about that question.

Sigh

I started wondering what she would have said. It had been awhile since we had had any such conversation. What would she say today?

A tear welled in my eye. I thought out loud, “Sarah, my niece is having an existential crisis and I want you to weigh in,” and I laughed a solemn laugh.

Stupid. Not like Sarah can hear me. What is the point in crying and asking a question to the air??

I started thinking though, when Sarah was here on this Earth, it always seemed to happen more than not that when one was thinking of the other, we would quickly discover the other was thinking about the one. Why wouldn’t it still work that way?

I turned on my radio. I thought to myself, “okay, Sarah. Tell me something.”

I scrolled through my pre-sets.

Nothing.

“Come on Sarah! Please?” I said out loud to my steering wheel.

I decided to push scan instead. I listened attentively to the seconds the radio would stay on one station before scrolling to the next.

Nothing.

Until.....

“I was dead in the grave. I was covered.....(scan)

What was that?? I scrolled back.

“Amen, Amen, I’m alive, I’m alive because He lives.”

I listened to the rest of the song. It was on a Christian station. I don’t typically listen to Christian music. I reached my destination and googled the lyrics. I then listened to the entire song.

The song is entitled “Because He Lives” by Matt Maher. I won’t bore you with the entire song, but the rest of that stanza read this:

“ I was dead in the grave I was covered in sin and shame I heard mercy call my name He rolled the stone away Amen, Amen I’m alive, I’m alive Because He lives Amen, Amen Let my song join the one that never ends”

I smiled. Holy shit (excuse my profanity as I discuss these matters). There she is. She answered that question through a song. I knew she couldn’t resist an “existential crisis” talk afterall. ;)

I immediately downloaded the song on iTunes.

A few days later I had another dream. A very, very, very short dream it was kinda disappointing. Sarah was working at a restaurant. I went to see her and we snuck into a hallway by the kitchen and were giggling like teenagers again. I became really serious and showed her a mosquito bite on my hand. She looked at it and took out her cell phone and pointed it at my mosquito bite, and then the phone started vibrating.

The dream ended.

Sarah loved dreams. I couldn’t resist looking this one up. It made me happy and nostalgic and I felt connected somehow.

Mosquito bite - bitten - indicates something “gnawing at you.”

Cell phone - indicates the

desire to communicate

Vibration - suggests the need to pay more attention to your intuition

Ha!

I may sound crazy and I don’t care. The desire to communicate with Sarah has been gnawing at me, and she was urging me to pay more attention to my intuition.

I thought of the song earlier in the week. That was her. I don’t care if I sound crazy.

I have peace. She’s alive because He lived.

Love you Sarah. I pray you have

peace as well.

All my love,

Kay 

Her Parting Words

Perhaps the most paradoxical truth to Sarah’s death, is how she lived her life finding beauty, only to end up in a place of complete darkness. Sarah, even in her darkest last days, posted pictures of beauty around her. Sunflowers in a field on the way to her mom’s house, a sunset smoldering over the Denver city lights, frost clinging to tree branches.

Sarah’s sister read a poem of Sarah’s at her eulogy. Written before the age of 21, it still captures Sarah’s brilliance, artistry, beauty, and depth, even at such a young age. She truly was an “old soul,” timeless, beautiful and brilliant.

“Life is to be lived, to appreciate its smells, sweet and bitter, its bright colors… don’t just see black white and gray. Know innocence. Believe. Talk to your ancestors. Talk to your angels. When you look, look at faces and bodies. Appreciate them. Appreciate your own. Know you. You may be controversial, but be you because you always have you. Believe in something bigger than you so, you are not the center of the universe. Recognize the good and bad, sweet and sour, all opposites, because one does not exist without the other. All opposites except one Love. Love exists without hate. Love and be loved. Live for each sunrise and sunset. Remember, Love is unconditional.”

A Visit in My Dreams

I remember one time calling Sarah after I had a dream about her. “I dreamed about you last night” might seem a weird conversation starter, but it was never weird to Sarah.

On a few occasions she would excitedly tell me she dreamed of me too! On others, she would smile thoughtfully and say ,”How cute you visited me in your dreams.”

Sarah was very interested in dreams. I even have a dream dictionary because I was so fascinated about how she would look up and interpret her dreams, that I started wanting to know what my dreams meant too. Being part Native American from the Chickasaw Nation, Sarah also loved dream catchers and had them around her house, even to her passing. Dream catchers are supposed to catch the bad dreams, leaving only good dreams behind.

If we had a dream about each other, we always called. In our younger days, if we had a perplexing dream, we would both consult our dream dictionaries and philosophize on what it had meant.

I haven’t dreamed about Sarah since her passing, until last night. I was in a blue pickup truck near my parent’s house. Inside the cab were two large original paintings that I was (pitifully) attempting to analyze. When I looked up, Sarah was standing on the street corner. Her hair was brown and shiny, her eyes were sparkling green, and she was waving at me happily.

I stared back at her with no reaction. My eyes were dead. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t. Sarah’s happiness turned to sadness. Her lips turned downward and she mouthed to me, “I’m sorry.”

I continued to look back, seemingly indifferent. Inside though I was crying. As the pick-up truck kept moving forward, she was quickly moving out of sight. Looking through the window, I managed to pull myself together and take my two hands and blow her kisses goodbye with tears running down my cheeks. She blew back.....

the dream was over.

I’m too sad to analyze the dream. I know if I had called her, every detail would have been important and she would come up with some amazing theory on what it all meant. I just wanted to tell her today though, “how cute you visited me in my dream. Thank you.”

The Viewing

I saw you today, resting, peaceful. Lips full like I remembered.

I stared at the reality: quiet, intangible, final.

A young boy looking through cornered eyes. Scared, confused.

Occasional muffled inhalations holding sorrow’s hand.

Beads of prayer dutifully prayed by faithful kin.

Sadness clinging in the air like fog, sticking to your skin.

Questions left unanswered linger in earthly vessels.

Loving fingers touch hair one last time and hope to say,

I love you. Thank you for loving me. Until we meet again.

Her Unknown Impact

I have been with my husband for 14 years, 10 of which we have been married. He is my absolute best friend. When I met him, he was incredibly kind to me. He opened doors, made me lunch, and always made me laugh. He has told me he knew I was the “one” from the moment he met me. Maybe that is why he was so charming.

Imagine my surprise then when I took him to meet my friends and family and he acted anything but! I quickly discovered Cody had NO filter, and that’s not a good thing if he doesn’t think you were the “one!”

My family and friends all struggled to like him, and honestly we broke up multiple times because of that on our road to happily ever after. My mom has said she thought he was and I quote, “The rudest human being to ever walk the face of this Earth.”

LOL

It’s funny now only because they totally get along.

So what changed?

Well, let me tell you a little story about Sarah.

I have to set the stage. Sarah had a prolific vocabulary and was incredibly witty. I remember many times being proud to be her friend, because if you dared to challenge Sarah with a war of words, she would indefinitely win; or at least amuse you and make you laugh out loud in the process. I could be wrong, but I think it’s fairly safe to say Sarah never went to bed with the thought, “Oh, if I had ONLY said this....that would have really got ‘em.”

So, what does all of that have to do with me, my husband, and my family?

I was at a karaoke bar one night with Sarah and Cody (you know, because Sarah helped me realize I could sing) and it was probably the second time they had hung out. I went to the bathroom, and came back to find Sarah’s finger pointing at him.

“Uh-oh.” My heart dropped. Damnit, not her too!! Will everyone end up hating him??

“Cody, cut the bullshit. I see right through you. You have the same insecurities as everyone else, and it’s obvious and quite frankly embarrassing.”

Sigh. Great. Sarah hates him too.

I looked at Cody. He was.......smiling? I had no idea how to read him. Was he incredulous? Amused? Pissed? I couldn’t tell.

I’ll tell you this though, they went on to be friends after that and she even got him a job at the Wells Fargo phone bank, where she was working at the time.

Because of that interaction, I was able to tell my family to “give it right back to Cody!” Whatever he dished out, dish back!

My mom was skeptical.

“I’m not going to stoop to his level,” she muttered with disgust.......but after awhile, my family started giving him grief back. He loved it! He was never offended. They will tell me about “zingers” they have waiting in their holster. He laughs everytime. Cody is NEVER offended. He loves a good joke and a good zing.....even if the joke is on him.

Sarah taught us all that, and oh how I loved her for it....how I love her for it.

Sarah, you were instrumental in my life in soooo many ways. I’m so sad I couldn’t be there to save yours.

How do I live without you?

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Being over 6 foot tall made Sarah an easy target for ridicule. She still always stood tall and proud. She would joke she was an amazonian goddess, and you know what? She really was. I know she had her insecurities, but they never stopped her.

That was not true of me. I was easily embarrassed, sensitive, and would fall apart when people made fun of me. One year in highschool I tried out for the advanced choir. I came from a musical family and both my brother and sister had been in choir, so I wanted to follow in their footsteps, and plus, I absolutely loved singing. Well, the tryout went awful. Mr Farrell (yes I still remember his name because it was that humiliating), had individual tryouts and you were to match your voice to a key on a piano. I had never been around pianos. I knew I was bombing the tryout, but there was nothing to do but keep forging ahead. Needless to say I did not make choir and I was devastated. I decided singing wasn’t for me. That is, until one day in Sarah’s car.

Sarah did not have the greatest voice. (Don’t get mad Sarah! You were already smarter, a better poet, a better writer, and a better artist, so I think I can have this one). That never stopped her from belting out a tune when she wanted to sing.

One day, LeAnn Rimes’ song “How Do I Live?” came on the radio. Sarah was unabashedly singing along, and I started to join in quietly. After a bit she turned off the song.

“What are you doing? Turn it back on! I love that song!” I exclaimed.

“You’re really good. Sing it,” she demanded.

I started making excuses and she frowned disapprovingly. It was like she was disappointed I couldn’t stop caring about what people think for one second to sing to just her alone in the car.

Sigh.

I started singing. Quietly at first, but as she kept smiling and laughing, I started singing louder.

She looked so proud when I finished. I don’t remember exactly what she said, but that doesn’t matter. Maya Angelou said once “people don’t remember what you say, but how you made them feel,” and Sarah made me feel like the best singer on the planet. I sang everywhere after that. I became addicted to karaoke bars. I’ve never stopped singing since. I’ve actually won money and trophies at karaoke. Dumb I know, but every time I wanted to show them to Mr. Farrell. He couldn’t see I could sing, but she could.

Sarah had a special talent of finding the good and beauty in everyone and everything. Oh how will this world live without you Sarah?

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https://youtu.be/MUFasKZcH_c

From Paris, With Love

Tonight I pulled this shot glass down from the shelf. I was drawn to it for some reason. I smiled as I remembered it was my good friend Sarah who had bought it for me. It’s authentic, all the way across the ocean from the city of Romance, Pari.

Sarah Elizabeth Aldrich Dall met her husband in Arizona, but he was visiting from England. They were immediately enamored and thus ensued a love affair. She proceeded to talk to this man from across the pond daily. They would talk for hours, and she was completely in love.

The times they were able to physically see one another were in the form of vacations. Luckily for them, Sarah was brilliant, and at a young age managed to secure lucrative employment in marketing. This job allowed her to travel to far and away places in her twenties. A gypsy at heart, traveling fed Sarah’s soul.

One year, and I have absolutely no idea of when but it was sometime in our twenties, Sarah achieved a bucket list item of traveling to Pari! The city of Romance! The city of the Louvre! She was there with her love. I have searched now and wish I could find more pictures. This one is perfect though.

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It’s a classic picture of Sarah standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. She is tall, strong, and wearing a smile a mile wide.

I remember being giddy for her when I saw it. I wasn’t jealous at all. I was genuinely happy my good friend found her way to Paris and she was only in her early twenties. I was content to watch images of Paris on the show Sex in the City, but I was so happy my friend was seeing it in real life, achieving her dreams!

She brought this shot glass for me from that same trip.

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My husband and I were acquiring a shot glass collection (before I had kids and now it’s a magnet collection) and she brought this back for me. Honestly, to this day, it remains one of my favorite pieces. Souvenirs are special because of the MEMORY. I have no memory of being in Paris, but I have EVERY memory of seeing Sarah there. Young face, wide smile, in love, embracing life. This is how I remember Sarah. It’s funny, because though she is gone, her memory is as clear as this picture taken more than a decade ago. I can still hear her voice as she told me of her adventures.

I was thankful to have this tangible glass memory, and tonight I raised it and remembered her legacy.

So cheers Sarah! This glass is for you! Your gypsy soul now has an even larger terrain to explore. May our travels cross again once more.

Love you. Thank you for loving me.

The viewing

I saw you today, resting, peaceful. Lips full like I remembered.

I stared at the reality: quiet, intangible, final.

A young boy looking through cornered eyes. Scared, confused.

Occasional muffled inhalations holding sorrow’s hand.

Beads of prayer dutifully prayed by faithful kin.

Sadness clinging in the air like fog, sticking to your skin.

Questions left unanswered linger in earthly vessels.

Loving fingers touch hair one last time and hope to say,

I love you. Thank you for loving me. Until we meet again.

Lessons I learned after sharing the story of my friend's suicide

I lost my friend of 21 years to suicide on January 18th, 2016. In September of the same year, I decided to write an article on it for Suicide Prevention Week. I felt like I was educating others on what I wanted them to know about suicide, specifically, that my friend died by suicide and didn’t “commit” it.

Many took my article as I intended. They related with regret and guilt, and many were enlightened to look at suicide as a result of a mental illness. For reasons I’m still quite unclear, my article struck a note with readers. Many family members praised me and my vulnerability. What I was most affected by were the comments from those who deal with suicidal tendencies on a daily basis.

Many comments were harsh and difficult to read. Many others were kind but enlightening. Either way, the article opened up a dialogue, and this is what is important. This is what transcends any judgment. This is what transcends any misunderstanding. This is what transcends stigma and what helps people.

I wrote that article hoping to change the dialogue around suicide. Paradoxically, I realized I had only started the dialogue. How egocentric of me to think I, a person who has never experienced suicide or suicidal tendencies, could have changed the dialogue simply because I deeply loved a human who has passed because of it.

No. What changes the dialogue is hearing from those who are actually struggling, These are the top five lessons I’ve learned from opening up a dialogue, quoted directly from reader comments.

1. Many people who are struggling do not reach out.

“She needed someone to reach out to her. Sometimes people don’t know how to ask for help.”

2. Name the disease, not the method.

“I appreciate that you don’t say she “committed” suicide, but I still feel like it’s just not right. The cause of death was depression.”

3. People can relate.

“Thank you for sharing your story. Your words brought a rare sense of comfort over me.”

4. People shouldn’t wait until someone asks for help.

“It’s often too late, but nobody just knows that. Most people have no idea what to do.”

5. Continue to share your story.

“If suicide wasn’t such a taboo or there wasn’t such a stigma attached to it, then I would write volumes.”

That last one says so much. If there wasn’t so much stigma, then she would write volumes. Sarah and I loved Maya Angelou. She once said, “If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.”

I don’t like that there is stigma. I don’t like the fact it’s taboo. Maybe if it wasn’t, my friend would have received the help she needed and be alive today. I don’t know what else to do but write. So I’ll write because I sure as heck can’t change my attitude about something that literally means death.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. You can reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741.

 

What I would have said to my friend who died by suicide

September was Suicide Prevention Awareness Month. I must admit, I never thought too much about needing a month for prevention before. I realize now this thought process selfishly was because suicide wasn’t something that personally affected me. That was, until January 18, 2016.

My good friend of 21 years died by suicide. I hope you noticed I didn’t say “committed suicide.” The Sarah I knew would never have “committed suicide,” left behind her two young sons and a life full of promise and opportunity. Saying she “committed” suicide is like saying you intentionally went into a diabetic shock from lack of insulin. It’s taboo to say your brain, another organ in your body which is susceptible to disease or illness, is sick.

That’s what I want to change. I said “died by suicide” because my friend had a mental illness.  No one seems to care if you have a mental illness in this country. They call you names like “crazy” or “addict,” and they never look beyond that. My friend was the “victim” of a suicide. Maybe that explains it better. She was a victim of a mind that turned against her. She was a victim of a system that couldn’t help her.

Sarah was absolutely brilliant, even when I had met her at the young age of 14. Standing tall and proud at 6’3”, she was an unmistakable presence. Her outer shell was witty and tough, but her inner shell was vulnerable and insecure. I remember her battling depression when we were teenagers. In our 20s, she managed (under the care of a therapist) to go off medication and was using meditation and yoga to help manage her symptoms.

When she had her first child at 26, I remember having a conversation with her about postpartum depression and how we would have a plan if I thought I started to see it. She was thoughtful, agreeable and logical. The birth of her beloved child came and went without incident. Depression never reared it’s ugly head. In fact, the time during her first son’s young years was some of her best. Park outings, fishing trips, splash parks, Sarah did them all with her young son as any mother would have.

Our friendship saw a renewed uptick during this time as well. I had my first child a couple years later, and we once again bonded as juggling the life of being mothers along with our life as working, professional women. I think we both forgot about depression. That’s a lie.  I’m sure it was just me who forgot about depression. Either way, it seemed that cloud of darkness had left, and it lulled me into complacency.

About five years after her first child, her second child was born. She was giddy and happy about her new baby. I never suspected postpartum depression until it happened. Unfortunately, by then there was no plan as we had with her first child, and she was simultaneously going through a separation from the kids’ dad. She became estranged, and I was unable to reach her.

One incident a year before she died landed me at her house with others, convincing her she needed to go to the hospital to “rest.” We knew if we said for mental health reasons, she never would have gone. I was able to be available for a part of this. Yet, I wasn’t next of kin, and, thereby, unable to be her advocate. HIPAA privacy rules are strict and deep. I understand their purpose, but honestly I truly believe they are hurting more people with mental health issues than helping. That’s an entirely different post though.

Instead, my smart and savvy friend was able to talk herself right out of the hospital and informed us all she only had a dx (or diagnosis) of “exhaustion” and needed more sleep. My heart sunk. Sarah knew she had depression, but now she wasn’t even admitting that. She was sick, and I was powerless to stop it.

One year almost to the month after that hospitalization, my friend was dead. Estranged after that hospital incident, I had only spoken to her through Facebook comments and likes for the last year. Had she reached out, even a little, I would have ran to her side. I really would have. She never called, messaged or even texted me though.

I’m mad at myself for becoming complacent. I’m mad I didn’t realize suicide was an end result, even after knowing she had battled depression since she was a young teen. Had she texted, I would have told her one small phrase that is now the name of a non-profit started by a mutual high school friend of ours. If you haven’t heard of it, check it out. She’s on the internet and on Facebook.

At any rate, I would have said, “You matter. You matter to me and I know things suck right now, but they will get better. Let me help you. I will help you. You don’t need to live this way.”

You matter.

You matter.

You matter.

I love you Sarah.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. You can reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741.