For the Record.

I do not feel surrounded by death. I do not feel like I am cursed.

I feel sad. Not cursed. I feel grief. Not guilt. I feel abandoned, this is a trauma response and not indicative of the intentions of the universe. There have been endings. To be honest, all of them tragic and with tragic tailwinds. Are there some regrets? Yes. But not the kind that send me (or should send anyone) into a dark hole to never return. Normal regrets…

• Why didn’t we know?

• Did we miss something?

• When grandpa fell at Wendy’s that day, was it more of a head injury than we realized? We thought it was a bruise and a scrape…was it more?

• Did we miss something in Zach’s voice?

• The last time I was with grandpa, did I say everything I would have wanted to say if I had known then that he’d be gone so soon after?

For me these are just simple questions I cannot convince my human brain to not think about. But I don’t hold them. I let them come and go. What can I do now? Why torture myself with his when I have plenty, plenty of other ways in which I can torture myself.

What tortures me? Sudden and gut-wrenching realizations of finality. Grief has a mean sucker punch. For instance…I was walking our puppy Porter around my Grandma's property just a couple weeks ago. I walked into the old barn, used mostly for storage now. But in my childhood, it housed horses, and cats, and at one time, a mini horse. When I walked in, I could still smell the cat and dog food which was kept in over-sized trash cans with lids. I could smell the hay and see Grandpa Bud walking in front of me through the gates. He's holding a horse muzzle. I can smell the horses and see him place his hand gently on the horse’s head, just between his eyes, saying no words he commands the horse into position to place the bit in his mouth and muzzle around his head and neck. It came back to me like a flash. I had to steady myself against the barn wall. Pain rose in my throat and tears sprang to my eyes. Grandpa has been gone for almost 19 years now. Grief has a mean sucker punch.

Yes, I am currently more vulnerable to being stung by that punch than normal. Yes, it is because I am living in grief and have not yet moved toward mourning. (two different things, google it) The thing that is sometimes assumed about me or anyone going through a really hard time with a lot of loss at once is that the beauty of it all is missed. It’s not missed by me. I have said in these past months that 2023 can respectfully fuck right off. That’s just a knee jerk reaction to pain. In 2023, tender moments accompanied loss. Would I erase this year and miss those tender moments? No. I’ll always carry with me the pain of losing those I love. I’ll also always carry with me these tender moments:

• The last moments with my bestest boy Cooper…my soul dog. He ate a steak dinner and an ice cream breakfast. I laid on the floor with him for hours and we both knew those would be our last moments.

• The night I stayed with my grandmother and slept with her through the night. It was one of the most harrowing and most tender nights of my life. Probably the last time I’ll ever lay down in bed with my grandmother and she’ll kiss my hand and say…” Goodnight, Goodnight…Far flies the light.. still God’s love shall shine above”. “I love you Mandy Jo”.

• The day our daughter shared she was doing a school project in memoriam to Zach and allowed us to be a part of it, then played us the most beautiful tribute I could have ever imagined.

• All the many moments I spent with my grandfather helping him to manage life while my grandmother was in the hospital. Just him and I, eating good food in quiet. Smiling at one another sweetly in between bites or laughing together at the Lawrence Welke show.

• Chris and I sharing long warm embraces where words were not spoken but all was known.

• My mom and I sharing time together and talking about her last moments with her dad.

And so, so many more...

I once heard that maturity comes when you can find the lesson in hard times. I feel pretty mature (read old) as I realize that the lesson might just be to know…there is a lesson waiting to be revealed. So, thank you 2023. For the tender moments. For the pain that would not exist without first having loved. And for whatever lesson is coming, I’m ready to receive it.