CHANGE IT

I've been feeling really convicted about this lately. Attitude. It really is everything, as cliche as that may sound. Last night my mom and I were talking about Edd, as we often do. She's going to a group grief counseling meeting every week, and it's interesting to hear about different people's stories on losing a loved one. Some didn't have good relationships with their partner that died. Some were left in a debt hole they'll never dig out of. Some were left with nothing but nightmarish memories of the last days and months before the death they are grieving. And of course, there is some of that with Edd--nightmarish memories of what the disease did to him near the end. But what many people can't say they have is this amazing, amazing example of attitude over matter. Edd left us with a legacy and a lesson. That no matter what happens to you in life, you still control one thing: your attitude.

As someone with a bit of an attitude problem from time to time, this hits home for me. Most things in life you have power to change. Some things you don't. But those things you don't? You have more power over them than you'd think.  This goes for everything from the genetic lot you were given in life to the asshole that cuts you off on the freeway.  Big life things to little life things.

Just felt like maybe this needed to be said, and heard, today. Happy Wednesday. :)

A birthday note to my mom

 

August 11th… my mommy’s birthday. This past week I searched for a birthday card just right for her—I must have stood in the greeting card aisles of Target for 30 minutes, scouring over dozens upon dozens of cards with messages like “may the next year be your best one yet,” and “here’s hoping all your dreams come true this year” and other similarly hollow sentiments if directed at someone who just lost the love of their life—whose life was just, essentially, shattered into a million tiny pieces no meager 4 months could put back together and whose coming year would be difficult and filled with firsts without. (first birthday without Edd, first cool morning of Fall without Edd, first holiday season without Edd, etc…)

So what do you say to someone on their birthday, your own mother, especially, when she’s lost so much?

I’ll never forget the call I got from Edd a couple weeks before Valentine’s Day this year. I hadn’t spoken to him on the phone since the cancer really started affecting his mind, and as soon as I hit “end call,” I burst into tears. He wanted me to go to Helzburg Diamonds and pick out something pretty for my mom, since he could no longer drive. He gave me a $500 budget, but said it’s OK if I go over. He was talking really slowly, carefully, stuttering a little, and it seemed hard for him to have to ask this of me. Of course, I didn’t mind a bit, but it was just so unfair, what this disease was doing to him. I knew in my heart it would be their last Valentine’s Day. And it was. Less than two months later, he was gone.

And today, on my mom’s birthday, I can’t help but think of how he would have done things, if he were here. He’d make her feel like the most important thing in the world. Invite us all out to dinner at one of the best restaurants in town, and say “Let’s celebrate. Order anything you want! We’re just happy to have you all here.” Edd really had a way of organizing his priorities—recognizing what’s important in life, and making sure you knew you were it (what’s important).

So on this day, I guess I just wanted to say, yes, Happy Birthday, for what that’s worth, but also that I’ve seen at least a glimmer of what you lost, and I know this year will likely be your hardest yet as you figure out what life will be like without this wonderful man in it. But never stop seeing yourself the way Edd did, and also, the way I do. You were and are loved beyond measure, and that has to count for something... that has to transcend even death. This next year of being alive—it will be hard, and we will miss him. But you’ll honor his memory, and go forward bravely, and live the life he would have wanted you to live… and there will be a kind of happiness mingled with sadness, but sometimes I think that’s the sweetest kind of all.

Three Months

Three months. How can it be that long already? How can it be that short? Strange how it seems like a lifetime ago that Edd passed, and yet it seems like just yesterday, all at the same time. I still surprise myself with how quickly I can go from completely normal and carrying on with my day, to a sloppy, tearful mess. Like the other day, when I walked into my mom’s house and suddenly a wave of grief washed over me, out of nowhere. Their house. The place where Edd lived. The place where I held his hand and watched him die. The place where they carried out his body for the last time. The place where his ashes returned to rest, for now. The place where there’s still a closet full of his clothes, and walls full of his memory. 
I know I’m nowhere near the end of the “grieving process.” I find myself shoving feelings down—pushing them back through the cracks when they threaten to spill out. Memories flit across my mind sometimes, especially the dying ones, and I force myself to think other thoughts, because it’s still too much.  Whenever I sit down and try to write about it, I realize how much I’m still NOT close to coming to a place of peace. I avoid this because I break down every time. I miss him. I wonder where he is. I relive those gut-wrenching last breaths—the way, just seconds before he breathed his last, he opened his eyes for the first time in days, turned his head, and looked straight into my mom’s eyes for several seconds. Like goodbye. It was electric. And then he was cold, and gone, and it’s all so final, and even though I see it in beautiful ways sometimes, other times it just feels frightening and unfair and unreal and like too much.
My mom tells me stories of this beautiful love that the two of them had. It was positively magic, and the way he planned and prepared and organized during his life is still evident now, even after he’s gone. You do that when you love someone, you know? One time he told my mom, “I’d rather have cancer and have you, then not have cancer and not have you.” Wow. I want to love like that.
So I guess on this day, exactly three months after Edd’s spirit went on from this world, I just wanted to say that we still miss you so much, Edd. Do they have Internet cafes in heaven? Can you read this, and know?  You and I never had the affectionate kind of relationship—you were brilliant and an engineer and afraid of seeming “creepy.” But I knew you loved me, and my mom would tell me things you said. Towards the end, when you really weren’t you anymore, you told me that you always wanted daughters, and now you have them, and then you laughed sheepishly. I know that was you, shining through. I love you, Edd. You make me not afraid to die. Thank you for the way you lived.

A last photo and a last word

The other day I was looking through folders of old photos on my computer, and I found an especially meaningful one that brought back a flood of tears and memories.  The lighting is terrible and it was never meant to be a good picture, per se, but I had stopped by my mom’s house shortly after purchasing my new 5D, and I was just sort of snapping away. This was the very last photo I ever took of Edd.

I remember him well in that spot. He was often sitting there when I’d come over to visit… reading the paper or a magazine or watching a show on TV. He’d say “hiiii Jenni,” or get up and come sit at the bar to talk to me. Whenever I go over to my mom’s now, I like to sit there in Edd’s spot, where he was in this picture.
It’s funny, the memories in a place. How a particular piece of space can hold such strong memories of a person that was there at one point in time. Like that old saying goes… “if only walls could talk.” If walls could talk over at my mom’s place, they would speak of so much love, you can’t even wrap you head around it.
One memory both Matthew and I have of Edd made a deep impact on both of us. We were over for dinner one night, and Edd was sitting in the kitchen at a bar stool and we were all chatting as my mom cooked dinner. I don’t remember how the conversation reached this point, but I remember this so vividly. Edd’s face was red and broken out a bit from chemo.  His body had really been ravaged, but there he was, with tears welling up in his eyes as he said, “yeah, I have cancer, but I’m really happy.”
I attribute much of that happiness to the fierce love between him and my mom—the way they gave each other strength when one thing after another was taken away from them. Sometimes maybe it’s a blessing when all you have left is the love.
And it really makes you think, you know? If everything was taken away from you, all the things you have no real control over, what would be left? I think I’ve found that the answer to this question is 1. your spirit (the part of you that doesn’t die), and 2. your relationships. And it makes me think about what I’m really “nurturing” in my life.  Really makes me think.
I tend to boil everything down to lessons learned in Harry Potter (ha ha), and one quote by Dumbledore always stood out to me. He said, “Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love.” And that’s so true, don’t you think? Edd’s life and death was proof to me that cancer and dying isn’t the worst thing that could happen to a person. But a life without love and friendships and close, healthy, meaningful relationships that transcend time and space and pain and, yes, even death? That would be the worst of all.
“Yeah, I have cancer, but I’m really happy.” What is in your life that brings you joy, even when life isn’t perfect? How can you build on those things, those relationships?
Just things I’m thinking today. Happy Tuesday. :)

Sunday Thoughts

I’ve been having stomach issues for two weeks now, and it’s gotten to the point that I’m sort of a wreck… tired and lethargic all the time due to lack of nutrients, and grumpy and quick to anger because I’m always hungry.  Earlier today I was sitting on the couch with Gracie and Cooper, when Cooper took off running and barking towards the front door (as he often does, for no reason… I joke that “he heard an earthworm moving a mile away”), and then Gracie, who was partially on my lap, followed suit and bolted after him, knocking my water glass out of my hand and sending its icy contents flying.  Well, an event like this one would have normally pissed me off, but this time it sent me into a rage, and I was probably screaming expletives and definitely slamming kitchen drawers unnecessarily as I went to find a towel.  Point is, some stuff’s not right inside my body at the moment (and don’t worry, I’m going to the doctor again tomorrow).
However, during these last couple weeks of mild suffering and my first time ever experiencing real, lasting hunger, I’ve been humbled to think of just how my problems stack up to that of others’.  Yesterday my mom tearfully recounted an exchange between her and Edd in their bathroom, when he was just so overcome by the effects of his chemo, which included intensely painful mouth sores on his lips, inside his mouth, down his throat and, we learned later, also out the other end.  The cancer and the treatments were merciless to Edd, and this was just one of the many horrible side effects he endured in his last months.  It made eating very painful and obviously no longer enjoyable, if not impossible.  Another of life’s pleasures snatched away from him.
Edd was saying to my mom, “I just don’t know what to do… I don’t know what else to do.”
And since he never seemed to, ever, bring this up or even consider it a possibility, my mom said to him quietly, “you could stop taking chemo, you know.”
She said Edd blinked a few times, and slowly some sort of realization washed over his face.  Like he’d never thought of that before.
After a moment, he said, “…But then I’ll die.”
And they cried there in the bathroom together.  It was the first time they’d considered that possibilty—giving up—letting the cancer win. 
That story touched me so deeply, and like I said, humbles me.  The things that man endured.  The reality he lived. 
And the things we complain about! It’s disgusting. Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve found myself praying the feeble prayer that God will take away my stomach virus or bacteria or ulcer or whatever the hell it is that’s causing my issues, but then I caught myself.  I don’t know if I want to pray for God to take away my suffering anymore, now or in any other area of my life.  Or maybe I still will, but I think I’ll understand a little better if he doesn’t, and I’ll be a little braver.   People all over this world are experiencing far more unthinkable pain than you or I will maybe ever feel, and it puts things into perspective when you see that.  When you watch someone live it.  When you know it could happen to you, or someone you love.  It helps you to not take things for granted, and to live a little more in each moment. 
I have a feeling that Edd’s cancer and his suffering and his passing will be teaching me things, and also giving me courage, for many years to come. 

Some words, some pictures, and a song.

I’m feeling strangely stifled this morning.  I woke up excited about a new day and a new week… ready to be honest and open about my feelings and share a little more about Edd’s passing 4 weeks ago tomorrow.  I wrote it all out. It was cathartic, and I cried… a lot… as I typed. 

But then I couldn’t hit publish.  I read what I wrote over and over again, and it just wasn’t enough.  It was just a string of sentences tied together by commas and periods and ellipses. It was just facts. And it didn’t fully express what we experienced… what EDD experienced.  It felt too private, it felt cold, and it felt not good enough.

So I guess right now, until the time comes (if it comes) when I’m ready to write more about the enormity of this thing that happened and that changed me, I just want to acknowledge that no matter what I write here, no matter what kind of sunny posts you see (because those are so much easier to write), it still hurts.  I’m still working through it, as I know my mom is and my step brothers are and everyone else who was deeply touched by Edd’s life and death.  I imagine it will all come out in bits and pieces over the next months and years, and even though it goes without saying, I’m sure, I just wanted to say that even though we carry on and live our lives and eat out at restaurants and take pretty pictures and laugh sometimes, there’s always a part of me (and my family) that’s grieving.  You learn to live with that grief, because there’s no other choice.

A wonderful reader named Sam left a comment a while back that really stuck with me, and I wrote it on a little piece of paper and left it on my mom’s pillow the night before Edd’s funeral, and she even read it at the service.  It said, “someday you’ll walk around the hole in your heart instead of falling in it.” 

For now, though, I think we’re all still falling in it.

One last thing… I found this quote the other day, and it really blew me away.  I wanted to share it here too, for anyone who might need to hear it:

“I actually attack the concept of happiness. I don’t mind people being happy - but the idea that everything we do is part of the pursuit of happiness seems to me a really dangerous idea and has led to a contemporary disease in Western society, which is fear of sadness. It’s a really odd thing that we’re now seeing people saying 'write down 3 things that made you happy today before you go to sleep', and 'cheer up' and 'happiness is our birthright' and so on. We’re kind of teaching our kids that happiness is the default position - it’s rubbish. Wholeness is what we ought to be striving for and part of that is sadness, disappointment, frustration, failure; all of those things which make us who we are. Happiness and victory and fulfillment are nice little things that also happen to us, but they don’t teach us much. Everyone says we grow through pain and then as soon as they experience pain they say 'Quick! Move on! Cheer up!' I’d like just for a year to have a moratorium on the word 'happiness' and to replace it with the word 'wholeness'. Ask yourself 'is this contributing to my wholeness?' and if you’re having a bad day, it is.”

Hugh Mackay, psychologist and social researcher

I like to think that all of this is contributing to my wholeness, and for that I am grateful. 

1. Gracie baby
2. .25 cent books from the Austin citywide garage sale yesterday
3. My gorgeous necklace by Megan
4. Coop.
5. Cute grandparents
6. The prettiest little egg we found in our backyard
Hope you have a wonderful Monday…

Easter thoughts + Instagram Dump (B.O.I. Week 11)

Happy Easter, my friends… how was your weekend? Restful, I hope. Ours was eventful, as you may have already caught wind of in yesterday’s post? Oy!  And I should also add that the giraffe was not the only shipment to arrive from Africa.  My house really is a zoo now…  I could charge admission just to visit.

Anyway, this morning we had a lovely brunch at my mom’s, where we enjoyed a feast of pancakes, eggs, sausage, melon, and coffee cake, alongside some good conversation and, of course, the cursory Easter peeps.  We paid our respects to Edd at the beautiful wooden urn that contains his ashes, and there was something strangely comforting about that.  His presence is still felt.  I couldn’t help but think back to my Easter post last year, and when I looked it up, the tears flowed.  That smile on Edd’s face!  Damn his staggering ability to be happy, right up through the end. It makes me feel deeply ashamed of my own pathetic ability to have a consistently shitty attitude.  For real.

Grace.  We talked a little today about how the grace with which Edd handled his disease was truly astounding, and though watching someone suffer like Edd did can certainly cause you to have some issues with your God and your faith, the grace… it’s hard to attribute it to anything but God working within him, despite the cancer. 

We also talked about how suffering has a purpose, and that’s to strip you of every single thing that’s not important, leaving only what is.  Of course, it’s still hard to embrace suffering—damn near impossible.  But it’s also near impossible to ignore the beauty I saw in the love and caring and stripped-down-ness of my mom and Edd’s relationship.

Just food for thought. 

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After a short sabbatical, I am back on board with Best of Instagram! Here’s a few recent pictures… (username jenniSOML on Instagram)

1. A new favorite dress from Ruche and a lovely bracelet by Miss Jenna!
2. My outfit for Easter today. Necklace by Stella & Dot.

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3. This tea is supposed to help my PMS.  We’ll see. (nailpolish here in “now you sea me”)
4. Beautiful tulips from the incredibly kind Kristin. :)

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5. Gracie and the water hose. More obsessed Gracie photos here.
6. Tuckered out. :)

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7. Spooning!
8. Keeping watch.

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9. I have named it Martin.
10. Never thought I’d see the day I put one of these in my office, but it actually looks pretty darn cool.

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11. Flowers clipped from the yard to keep me company while I work.
12. Cosmetics.

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13. My loves.
14. New favorite necklace courtesy of my blestie (blog bestie, not sure who coined that) Megan.  Its official name is the “Edinburgh,” but I have renamed it the “Edd-inburgh.”  :)  Tonight’s the last night to get a major discount in the Across The Pond shop, so get on that!

Add your links below, if you’d like!

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An outfit and some words

 
Shirt: Forever21 (recent, but not online), Pants: J.Crew, Boots: Franco Sarto (similar here), Bag: Theit, Necklace: Sora Designs: Bracelet: Madewell. Earrings: c/o Acute Designs

I’m not feeling particularly loquacious today.

Really, I just wanted to say loquacious.  It’s a good word.

But no, seriously, I don’t have much to say on this fine Thursday.  If you must know, I desperately need to go grocery shopping (all that’s left in the house is bread, cheese, crackers, and frozen veggies) and I’m also determined to finish that damn gallery wall we started in our bedroom.  Finishing projects is not my strong suit. 

Also, my mom and I go pick up Edd’s ashes at 1:00 PM today. I can’t even wrap my mind around that, and the fact that I just said what I did so flippantly.  It seems wrong. But it’s the truth…

And you thought this was going to be a light-hearted outfit post?

Life feels sad right now.  Showers and long car rides are the worst.  My counselor got an earful yesterday.  He said I should write about this more.  And maybe I will.  But for now, pictures of how I dress myself will have to do.

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Side note: can we talk about those cute Chevron earrings in the pictures above?  They’re from the amazing (and incredibly kind and patient) Gina of Acute Designs.  She has both a fabulous blog AND shop! Everything is so affordable and pretty over there.  Here’s a few more of my favorites…

1, 2, 3, 4

Your soul has a body

The way time marches on after a loss is stunning at first. It’s jarring—to log into Facebook, to watch the news, to go to the grocery store. Everything else carries on as it was before, except for you.  You are changed. 
The world doesn’t stop and wait for you to get it together though, you know?  Last week was such a blur.  Edd passed away Tuesday, his body was removed from the house shortly after, the visitation was Thursday, and the funeral service Friday. It was all so fast. There were flowers, emails, cards, tears, and wonderful words from wonderful people. It was amazing to hear of the reach Edd has had in his lifetime. But it was all so fast.  And now family has trickled back to their respective homes, and this week we carry on.  Sometimes numb. Sometimes not.
It’s Monday morning of a new week and here I am at my desk, sunlight streaming in through the window beside me and my trusty little laptop before me.  I’ve had coffee and a bagel and half an apple, and now I’m sitting down to do something I’ve done a thousand times before (write a blog post), but it feels different now.  More important.  Because last week was game changing…  Totally and completely game changing.  But how do I make people understand that?  What I saw?  What I felt?  What I’m still feeling?
Maybe it’s too early for this.  Maybe I’m not quite ready yet.  But I feel this need to carry on—this urge to do things that would make Edd proud.  To get moving on this life thing.  Because it’s precious, and it’s fragile, and it ends. 
Last Tuesday I watched a life end.  Or perhaps I should say I saw a body die.  Because what hit me like a ton of bricks that Tuesday at 11:35 AM is that we are not our body.  We are something else.  We are what lives inside our body as long as it’s still breathing, but what makes you YOU is not your body. Your body is the shell of you, and it really is a fragile shell. I didn’t grasp that until last week, and it was a real revelation for me. Seeing someone’s shell, with the person missing from it, is the most surreal experience, but also an important one.  We spend so much time fretting about what’s on the outside, and not nearly enough time worrying about what’s on the (proverbial) “inside.”  The part of you that doesn’t die. 
I have a feeling that last Tuesday and the week that followed will be the single most defining time in my life.  It really put things into perspective for me, and I hope I can hold onto that perspective. 
There’s more I could say, but it can wait. I’ll leave you with a piece my mom read at Edd’s funeral…

When death comes for us,
may our lives be already safely stored away
in the minds and hearts and memories of those we have loved,
and in the happiness and well-being of all we have helped,
and may death find no life to take from us
but shuffle off defeated,
having relieved us only of our dying.

                                                                -- Robert Brault

Edd.

At 11:35 yesterday morning, the world lost one of the best and brightest and bravest of its men. He was surrounded by people who adore him, and he was a testament of strength and true love until his very last breath.   I am forever humbled to have known him, to have been a part of his life, and to have been a part of his death.  Edd, thank you for teaching me true selfless love even in the face of cancer and more suffering than most people can imagine. You lost a lot of things—almost everything—but you didn’t lose yourself.  Cancer couldn’t take YOU.  And it never will.
At 5:07 yesterday evening, our 15 year old family dachshund, Nicky, went to be with Edd.  They were best buddies, and it seemed appropriate that they go on the same day. Even so, my heart is broken into a million tiny pieces. A chapter has ended… a long and hard one, but full of characters I truly loved. I’ll miss those two more than I can express.
For the rest of my life I’ll strive to be someone like Edd, and I’ll strive to be the girl he always thought I was.  Rest in peace, Edd and Nicky, and a most heartfelt and tear-filled thank you for all you’ve given to my family.  You fought the good fight. Thank you.

If you’re new to this blog, you can catch up on Edd’s story here.

yes to the dress

Maid of Honor duties called this weekend, and off I went with the BFF and a small posse to search for that perfect dress she’ll don come December 1st of this year. I’m happy to announce that, after a day-full of intensive gown hunting, the ONE was revealed in a bright vision from the heavens (or something like that), and then quickly snatched up at a bargain.  When does that ever happen?!  You find the perfect dress AND it’s the perfect price?  Seldom, that’s when.  The weekend was a success!

In other news, I’ve been camping out at my mom’s as Edd has taken a turn for the worse, and so happy times are peppered in with sad times, but I find myself wanting to feel the full height and width and breadth of it.  This is life… filled with both joy and sorrow; both new birth and, yes, death.  After all, “the deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain,” remember? (from The Prophet.)

We’re thinking hours or days are now left on Edd’s earthly body, but I have to believe that he’ll awaken on the other side with a new body, and that some day we’ll all be together again and all of this will make sense…

Enjoy a few pretty pictures from the weekend, and then go tell the people you love that you love them, OK? Or better yet, show them. Happiest of Mondays to you. :)

    

PS – None of the dresses shown are the ONE Megan chose—wouldn’t want to risk the groom seeing! :)