An involved dad

 It's quite remarkable, even to me sometimes, how bipolar disorder can completely change a person and make them a shell of who they are.  At the height of mania, bipolar takes my children's dad away usually physically, as he doesn't sleep, has energy for days, and so he spends time away from the house busy with projects and  socializing with friends.  At the low of depression, bipolar takes him away emotionally where he doesn't leave the house but he also doesn't  even seem to hear them talking to him or feel their affections.

Either way bipolar takes away their dad's "presence" in their lives; which is so cruel and unfair because his one goal as a father was to always be present.  We would talk about parenting and he would confide he never wanted to be the dad who wasn't there because a job or money was more important.  He always wanted to make sure they felt they were the priority. 

If Cody is not sick, he lives this philosophy.  He willingly takes less pay to ensure he won't be away.  He turned down jobs that involved more money but included traveling to make sure he was with his family instead.   

My kids are his priority when he is well.  

However, bipolar steals that from him.  From us.  

Today is St. Patrick's day in 2021.  We are in the mountains on a spring break snow boarding trip. Cody is well, and has been well since November when he was released from the hospital after missing my daughter's 10th birthday and Halloween with the kids and put on Lithium.  The COVID 19 pandemic hit the world in 2020, and despite it being a time of increased mental illness issues in others, Cody was unaffected.  I love lithium.  I'm not exaggerating.  It's like a miracle drug that keeps Cody here and bipolar away. We love it when Cody is here.  He is fun.  He is present.  He is engaged.  He is everything he set out to be when he agreed to become a father.

Tonight I'm sitting in hotel room with some much needed peace and alone time while he has the kids down at the pool. He blew up their floaties even to play with in the water.  For a brief moment, I feel a tinge of guilt I'm not with them, but I don't actually like swimming and I remember there were times, months even, where Cody couldn't bring himself to even plan to go on vacation. Such is depression. The few times I planned trips when he was depressed I was miserable.  Not only did I plan the whole trip but all the responsibility was on me.  Meals, entertainment, tickets, pool whatever.  It was exhausting and left me feeling depleted and irreparably sad, grieving the Cody that seemed to have left us for good.

Fortunately I educated myself enough about depression to keep forging ahead knowing everything has a season and nothing lasts forever.  So tonight, as the kids swim with their dad and I sit here in the hotel room, I give thanks and have gratitude for this moment.  

I reflect on how had I not educated myself on bipolar we likely wouldn't be hear on this amazing trip in a mountain resort.  Had I never learned to separate Cody from his bipolar and to set up boundaries when he is sick to protect myself and my children during those hard times, it is unlikely we would be here today.

I think about the other families suffering in silence.  Confused family members baffled by their bipolar loved one.  

I want to help those families by sharing our experiences.  I want to destigmatize mental illness - especially serious mental illness like bipolar one with psychotic episodes.  That shit sounds scary and it is scary.  But it's also scary for the person afflicted. 

I want individuals with bipolar disorder to be better understood, because with this understanding and awareness comes actual solutions and help for the individual and his/her family.

A person with bipolar disorder can live a productive and happy life.  It's possible.  I look at Cody as proof.  However, it didn't come easy.  He had to claw his way out of his mental illness and want to be well more than he wanted to stay sick.  And I had to educate myself as well. I literally feel like I hit the breaking point but overcame it, and I want other families to have support and know how to do that as well.  Because on the other side of the breaking point, was my Cody again.  He was standing on the other side fighting too but I couldn't see it at the time through all the stress, hurt, and fear.  However, had I succumbed to the breaking point, I would have never experienced our happy family the way I remembered it ever again.

Will he stay well?  Honestly, part of my healing was realizing I don't need to worry about that anymore. I stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop a long time ago.  After his fifth episode I realized I have the tools and the strength to get past any other episode.  More importantly I have faith.  I know no matter what happens, we are going to be ok.  The Universe has a way of providing as long as I'm willing to receive when I need help and give when I don't. 

To the tribe whose member was suicidal

I'm part of a tribe I never thought I'd be in.

When my daughter was diagnosed with a speech disability, my world was turned upside down.  Struggling through the diagnosis and fight for services was demoralizing and exhausting.  Not to mention the emotional, financial, and marital strain that no one ever talks about. 

Having a child brings challenges, but having a child with special needs magnifies challenges. I remember feeling so alone.  I remember feeling like no one understood my life but me and it was an emotionally torturing place to be in. 

I found a tribe I never knew existed. 

I easily connected via a social media platform with others who had children who shared my same diagnosis.  Through these connections I was inspired to coordinate a walk for my child and others who shared her same diagnosis.  A team was formed of parents who shared the same vision, and a network....or tribe....was formed that was strong and unbreakable. 

I found a tribe I never knew we needed.

The purpose of the tribe was to spread awareness and celebrate our children who shared the same diagnosis.  Organized fundraising events and happy hours were scheduled and bonds were made.  There is an immediate and indescribable connection when a human meets another human going through the same thing and as C.S. Lewis describes it, "You too? I thought I was the only one." 

After some time a member of the tribe was afflicted with mental illness in the form of anxiety and depression..  The tribe I knew was there to support her son, suddenly rose up and supported HER. 

Find your tribe and love them hard.

A mom in our tribe had anxiety and depression.  It was something some of us knew, but never actually experienced.  This year, anxiety and depression came back knocking on this mom's door, and her tribe, her son's disability tribe rallied around her.  Cards and gift cards were sent.  Phone calls and texts were made since we now know that people in the throws of depression won't reach out. More texts were sent.  Support was poured out.  Love enveloped her son with special needs and a beauty and kindness many people fail to see in the world was uncovered.  Uncovered, right here in a tribe that was formed outside of mental illness.

Mental illness needs a tribe. 

Mental illness is as real as cancer.  It can be sneaky, it can be stealth, and IT IS DEADLY. Mental illness kills.  The brain lies to a person with mental illness.  Mental illness inflicts pain and ill information on the afflicted.  A tribe can counteract that lie.  A tribe can rally and save the person suffering from themselves. Stigma is the enemy of mental illness. Acceptance, understanding, and a TRIBE of loved ones is the cure.

A life was saved this month.  A life who was valued by an entire tribe who reached out. 

Reach out.  

Don't judge.

Just love. 

Save a life.

I miss you

"Why do you love me and what can I do to keep this?" my husband asked one day when I was feeling enraptured and in love.  Not knowing how to respond, I responded simply, "you're you and I love YOU."

Your face got a serious tone and you commented that you are always you but these days I seemed to be particulary in love and you wanted to know why so you could replicate them.  I really didn't have an answer except to say,

"I love you.  I don't love depression or mania.  I'm not in love with them.  But I have an always will be in love with the real Cody.

"That doesn't make me feel better," was your reply.

I didn't know what else to say.  I wasn't trying to make you feel bad, but at the same time depressed Cody is apathetic and manic Cody is mean......why would  like them?

Mania, book dedication, and true love

About a month and a half after a brief marital spat, my hsuband with bipolar 1 ended up in the hospital.  Ironically, a month and a half ago I did not think he was sick, but my daughter was beside herself with anxiety.  I wrote about explaining to her that he was just mad and not sick, but turns out she was right, and I was wrong.

My daughter has special needs arising from a genetic mutation called BCL11A.  She may struggle with socially accepted forms of learning, but emotional intelligence is her superpower. She knew before all of us.

Around this time, I published a book I wrote.  It was the story of my daughter overcoming her speech disability, a disability in which I happen to now specialize.  My husband encouraged me to write a book, and I did during depressive episodes of his spanning the course of 3 years. In those three years, he also suffered 4 manic/psychotic episodes.  Signs of mania can include anger and irritability.  I know this because I've been to counseling and read books.  My daughter, who has no training knew it before all of us.

"He yelled at you, his brain is sick!" she told me frantically.  I assured her he was just mad at me and not to worry.  People get mad and it's okay.  It doesn't mean he's sick.  She wouldn't have it.  "He yells at you when he's sick mommy!" she would press.  I validated that he does yell at me when he's sick, but that he's not sick and he was just mad.  Turns out she was right and I was wrong.

During this particular episode he set off on a Friday afternoon.  He had been at Denny's since 2 AM that morning and then went to work early.  We were on Fall break, but usually Fridays were his day to get the kids to school since I work early.  He had me drop them off at work and then he took them to my parents house. They reported he was overly talkative and my mom shared he had stared at her but was staring through her.  I know now, he was likely experiencing hallucinations.

From there he left and returned to work but left at lunch to "work from home" and ended up at a Dodge dealership where he was contemplating buying a new truck. The salesman, my friend, reported he was cool and calm and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except that he was talking about my new book and how proud he was.

That night he was gone.  He had driven up to Wyoming, ditched my parent's loaner car on the side of the road and was walking to only God knows where.  He lost the car keys, his debit card, and anything else on his person.......except my book.

I only found that out when he was about 11 days into an inpatient stay.  "I'm reading your book and I can hear your voice in the words," he said to me. Incredulous I exclaimed, "You have my book???"  How?? You lost everything on your person but you have my book??"

"I'm so proud of you, Laura," was his reply.  I wept because not even my own parents or family members bought or read the book yet.  I texted a friend who knew the situation and her reply was, "Wow, you really did dedicate it to the right person."

A reason to stay

Sometimes, is it as though time stands still.  Never a fan of birthdays, it’s ironic I can remember so many of them with you.  I have so many memories of our 20 year friendship.  If I close my eyes, I remember you standing tall and proud in our high-school demanding attention with a tie wrapped around your forehead for spirit week.  In a world where everyone, including myself, just wanted to fit in; you ensured you stood out.  Always pushing on, moving forward and finding

a reason to stay.

We had AP classes together our senior year of high-school.  I was your match when it came to English and writing, but you were my cheat sheet when it came to chemistry and science.  Because of you, high school was fun and full of laughs and adventures; although I didn’t always realize deep inside you were some days searching for

a reason to stay.

We decided to go to the same college and earn our bachelor degrees.  We drove the metropolitan train line and impressed ourselves with our newly found independence and our success at adulthood.  Boyfriends, heartbreaks, clubs and shoulders to cry on, I’m so thankful you always were there and found

a reason to stay.

From college graduates, to newlyweds, to mothers; we shared the joys life had to offer.  Faithfully taking pictures and documenting it for each other, we had moved onto the next stage of life and easily found

a reason to stay.

You had kids before me and I remember being annoyed and maybe slightly jealous of your instant enamor with all things baby and kids.  You would proudly boast and post pictures of your precious and precocious babe, living, seeing, and experiencing life again through new wonderful, true, curious, and wander lust eyes. Once I had my first born, I joined in on the fun and was ever so thankful I could share this time of life of you and that you continued to find

a reason to stay.

Dark days had always come through this 20 year timeline.  Not privy to them all, I think you at times, got better at hiding the intrusive thoughts that would threaten to hijack your mind.  However, I only became more fooled that everything was fine.  A long, two years brought changes and actions I didn’t recognize.  Though I tried to reach out I didn’t know how; and when I did, I was met with venom and backlash.  Confused, I would reach one hand out only to have two slapped back.  I didn’t want to make it worse, but I also didn’t know you were struggling to find

a reason to stay.

After taking you to the hospital and calling your sisters; my concern was met with outrage and I started to feel I was causing you more pain.  Had I known then what I know today about depression, I would have not left you alone because I thought it was what you wanted.  I would have kept annoyingly reaching out because I would have known you were losing yourself and losing sight of

reasons to stay. 

You died by suicide almost a year later. I still remember the exact chair and the exact room I was sitting in, when your sister called me.  You articulate sister, gifted in words as brilliantly as you; was wailing on the other end that you had died.    It was not a human cry.  It was the sound of grief itself manifested in human voice. 

My dear friend, my 6’3’’ Amazonian goddess of a best friend; I wish I would have known the extent of your struggle.  I had no idea you were fighting a battle every day in which you were trying to find

a reason to stay.  

Had I known then all I have learned now, things might have been different.  Save me a seat on the other side. Love you.

 

 

Love you, Love you a lot, Love you Forever

Love you.  Love you a lot.  Love you forever.

It's a phrase that just started one day in my house, and was bestowed upon my children by their father, my husband. Despite my daughter having one of the severest speech disorders (apraxia) and struggling her first 4 years of life to even repeat "I love you," the phrase had become common place and well rehearsed at bedtime.  The kids, MY kids, MY heart, enjoyed saying it to their dad and giggled in glee when he would repeat it back or complete the phrase.  I would smile at their secret dialogue.  I was never included.  This was something special between them and their dad and I was 100% totally okay and happy with it. 

I love words.  I'm a writer.  Words have always made sense, and sometimes, certain words are only saved for someone special.  Words MEAN something and I knew these words symbolized a unique and special bond between my children and their father.

That is, until Depression hit.  Depression.  Such an unwelcome, unwanted, uncontrollable cloud that comes to visit.  Depression is not welcome by anyone, including the one it decides to reside in.  Depression chose my husband as its home this past year.  My husband reminded me the other day no one would "choose this," meaning no one would ever invite depression in.

My husband's eyes went blank and his body merely a shell.  My kids, not understanding depression tried for a couple weeks in vain.  On auto-pilot my husband would say "I love you" and they would eagerly respond,
"Love you a lot" and wait with baited breath for him to finish and say, "love you forever," but Depression stole their dad away. Depression didn't know the secret words.  Those words were lost in a foggy cloud as he would stare right through them or play games on his phone.

Soon after the words were forgotten.  I love you was ever barely spoken.  Hugs stopped being given.  Have you ever hugged a shell?  There isn't much satisfaction or connection.  At times, you may press it to your ears and imagine words and sounds, but in the end; you are left with a hard case and only your imagination.

We found a new doctor for my husband.  He changed the meds.  I waited for two weeks determined not to get my hopes up.  I couldn't handle them being crushed again.  I started to hear something peculiar.  I started to hear a phrase I just slightly remembered.

I love you.  I love you a lot.  I love you forever.

I think my mind dismissed it at first.  I can't hear that.  It's too painful.  I must be hoping so hard to have him back I am imagining my kids saying it again.  They had long forgotten it. 
But then, again.

I love you.  I love you a lot.  I love you forever.

There was this moment, as sure as the moment when I knew I had lost him......I realized I had found him again.  He had found a way to send depression packing and the sweetest words I think I have ever and will ever heard, came from the smiles of my children as they told him goodnight.

I love you.  I love you a lot.  I love you forever.

Goodbye depression. Oh, and I hope that door hits you on the way out.

Two's company, three is lonely: Go away bipolar depression

Depression is not something we have usually dealt with, my husband and I.  Manic bipolar I had all figured out.  This though, is new.

I am lonely.  I am so lonely at times.  He is a shell.  Depression for him is not sadness. 
It is indifference. 
It is apathy. 
It is....

Despondent.

I need to learn more about depression, but I'm not there yet.  Life is busy.  After working all day, the frustration I feel coming home to a house that's destroyed, dishes in the sink, and depression lying on the couch makes every ounce of patience and compassion in me boil over.

Sometimes it feels like I'm a single mom with three kids, one of which is depression. To say it's overwhelming is an understatement.  To say I feel lonely grossly misidentifies the feelings inside of me.  I once heard a song that said the opposite of love is not hate, it's apathy. 

Apathy is absolutely crushing.  Hate can make you cry, but apathy leaves you feeling empty too. 

I remember when my husband was first diagnosed, I read all this advice to not "jump on the bipolar train."  To set boundaries and make sure I don't get sucked into the constant roller coaster of mania and then depression and then back up to mania again.

I'm here to tell you that's impossible.

Boundaries can ensure you don't physically sit down on the roller coaster, but they very rarely work to inhibit all the emotions that come with loving someone who is manic or depressed.

When my husband is manic, my already anxious spirit is in overdrive and I experience panic attacks, heart palpitations, adrenaline rushes from panic at night, and a racing heart beat.

When my husband is depressed, as he is now, I experience intense loneliness.  No one asks me about my day anymore, and worse yet, no one seems to care.  I live in a house with another adult, but the only sounds are kids playing, fighting, or crying.  I crave adult conversation.  When I reach out and ask a question, it's met with a gesture of indifference for depression has no desire to talk.

Sometimes my husband comes out for a brief visit.  My hopes get as high and come as fast as a rocket shooting to space. Depression always has the last laugh though and the rocket explodes mid flight and I'm the only one left picking up the pieces.

Please, please, please go away depression.

Two is company and three is just....lonely.

You didn't choose bipolar, but I still choose you.

Dear Husband,
I never knew when I married you 12 years ago that you were bipolar and neither did you.  We were young and in love, and our love story was turbulent but beautiful.  I figured no one else was as passionate as us, so when we were in love we were REALLY in love; and when we hated each other, we REALLY hated each other. In the end though, my heart always knew, and so,

I still chose you. 

Nine months after we were married and you started hearing things and seeing things that weren't there, I didn't understand what you were going through and didn't know it was because of bipolar. I tried to respect your delusions and listen with seriousness, until the night it was all too much and we found you surrounded by police, barefoot and afraid.  They misdiagnosed you that night as having schizophrenia and I sobbed tears that I thought would never end; but they did, and through it all,

I still chose you. 

We figured out you had bipolar disorder and you started medication and gained weight because you refused to get them adjusted and to see a psychiatrist, but you got better.  A lot better.  In fact, so much better you went back to college; something you couldn't sit through or do before.  You graduated with a bachelor of science, we had our first child, we bought a house, life was normal.  I stopped worrying the other shoe would drop.  During this time my dreams were coming true and

It was easy to choose you.

Before our first born's third birthday, we learned she had a severe developmental delay.  Those tears that seemed to come without end came again and I was lost and devastated.  Where I was weak, you were strong.  Where I was sad,  you had hope.  Where I felt the weight of the world, you let me share it on your shoulders and eased the burden.  You were my rock and as I would close my tired weary eyes bloodshot from searching the internet, I would fall onto your chest and

Choose you.

A decade, a fifth wheel, a jetski, and two kids later you decided to go off of your meds.  I was anxious and you listened to all of my concerns.  We had a plan, and a safe word.  Three months later after the summer of our lives you had your second manic episode, a felony, and a wake up call.  I knew I could get you back and every day I visited you in the hospital, sometimes twice a day and I would leave a sticky note for you that you would put on your room wall to remind you that

I still choose you.

I knew being back on medication would fix everything; but then a dark cloud floated above our home and left you sad and empty.  Nothing I could do or say could bring you back to me, and even though you were physically there, your eyes were empty.  After the long winter, the medication that once kept you stable for 10 years stopped working. Mania came back and shooed the dark cloud away, but also brought with it delusions and hallucinations.  Another hospitalization and I thought I would do what I did before, but you didn't want to see me this time.  I would visit and you would send me home.  I didn't know what to do, but

I still chose you.

You still chose me too, but once the mania faded the dark cloud came back to visit.  I don't know how long it will stay.  Sometimes I pray so hard that I see the sun find its way to us again and I think everything will the same, but the cloud is thick and covers it up again.  I see you try day after day, and I want you to know, I'll never give up on you because you're worth it.  You are always there for me, even with bipolar, and I promise I will always be there for you.  And even though you feel I would be better off with someone else, I want you to know that will never be true because I will never, ever stop fighting and

choosing YOU.

Depression takes another victim: Goodbye to Chris Cornell

The sudden and unexpected suicide of Chris Cornell had everyone reeling.  Suicide is a taboo subject and when it happens to someone like Chris Cornell, who just a couple days ago tweeted “Happy Mother’s Day” to his wife in a sweet post and put on amazing show last night, everyone looks to why.

Listening to the radio I hear speculation of marital problems, drugs, etc etc and no one calls it what it is.

Depression.

Mental illness.

This is a man who was incredibly open about his mental illness.  Listen to any of his songs even!  Yet when it kills him, everyone wonders what was happening in his life.  A while ago I wrote a post about my friend who died by suicide too (and please take note I said died by suicide because committed suicide is offensive honestly).   Regardless of what was going on in her life, mental illness was the cause. Everything else she did stemmed from that basic fact and this country doesn’t like to acknowledge that fact. We like to blame it on something else…ANYTHING else than a mental illness. I wish as a nation we would wake up and treat mental illness like any other illness (diabetes, heart disease), it doesn’t just go away. Just because Chris’s life seemed everything was going right doesn’t mean his mental illness (depression) disappeared. If we said “but he was happily married and at the peak of his career, how could he have diabetes?”  we would sound ridiculous.  Yet that’s what we do with depression or any other mental illness.

So next time someone dies by suicide and everyone wants to know why, can we please call it out for what it is? 

Depression

or :

Mental Illness

Maybe then the stigma can change and people can get the help they really need without all the judgement before it’s too late.  

Goodbye Chris Cornell.  There’s a black hole in the bright sun today.  May you finally be free from pain.

When you know better you DO better... A Post about Blue Monday

Have you seen the popular facebook re-post this month? There are variations, but for the most part it reads, “My door is always open, the coffee pot is always on (well, I’ll make some!) and my sofa is always warm and a place of peace and non judgement. Any of my family and friends who need to chat are welcome anytime . It’s no good suffering in silence. I have cold drinks in the fridge…tea & coffee in the cupboard and I will always be here. …You are never not welcome!! Blue Monday is a name given to a day in January (typically the third Monday of the month) reported to be the most depressing day of the year and January the worst month for suicides, it’s always good to talk but even better to listen. This hits closer to home than we think. I’ll always lend an ear and a shoulder…….and my heart. Post if you are an advocate too. This is a re-post, and I mean it!”

I had never heard of “blue Monday” before. You would think I would have been acutely aware of its existence, last year, January 18th, 2016. It was in fact the third Monday in January, and it was also the day my friend of 22 years died by suicide.

I was tempted to re-post the sentiment. Shared undoubtedly with the best of intentions, something in it felt empty to me. See, I’ve learned a lot in this past year. I wrote a piece on my friend’s death that was shared by various news outlets and I read, or did my best to read, every single comment. I learned a lot from the comments. Some of them were very hard to read. In the end though, this is about starting a conversation and erasing the stigma; so if I were to shy away from comments that are difficult to hear, I too just become part of the problem.

The most important piece of advice I took away, was that a person in despair or a person with suicidal thoughts will in fact NOT reach out to you. This was echoed in multiple comments across multiple outlets by those who have been there themselves. Many scoffed at my assertion that had my friend called or texted I would have ran to her side. Some were kinder and tried to gently point out that is not how depression works.

The bottom line though is this: Re-posting a generic facebook status update regarding mental health, depression and suicide is certainly better than nothing, but it’s still not going to save any lives. I’m not saying this to sound callous, cruel or judgmental. I say this as someone that wishes I had known this one year ago. I say this as someone who didn’t even think suicide was an option for my friend until it happened, I say this to maybe be a voice to those who are suffering right now and who took the time to comment and try and educate me on the condition.

The facebook sentiment is a start, but please, please, PLEASE do more if you think someone is struggling. Even if you don’t think suicide is an end result like I did, reach out. Reach out! Reach out in a personal message, a card, a call, really anything more than a generic facebook post.

I can’t bring Sarah back. One suicide is completed there are no second chances. Maya Angelou was a poet Sarah and I loved. She once said, “When you know better, you do better.” I wish knowing better hadn’t been at the expense of Sarah’s life, but since it is, there is only one thing left to do in her honor:

Do better. We have to do better. I love you Sarah.

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.