Just Keep Swimming

I saw my first husband John twice over the last month.  The first time, I woke up in the middle of the night to the smell of a campfire.  I turned to my left and and there lay John right beside me.  I admit this stunned me at first, seeing my late husband in bed beside myself and my husband Tristan.  That's a lot of husband juggling.  Yes you can laugh.  He looked exactly as I remembered him.  He even smelled the same, like sweat and burning wood.  I reached out and touched him and he felt warm on my hands.  I pulled away at first, wondering if I was just so deep in a dream that I couldn’t grasp what was real and what wasn’t.  I reached out again and he was still there, as solid as could be.  John to my left and Tristan to my right.  I left my hand on his chest this time, I could feel his chest rising and falling, I could even feel his heart beating.  Upon realizing that he wasn’t fading away just yet, I inched in closer and wrapped my arms around his chest.  John wrapped his arms tightly around me, and we just laid there in silence, both of us rising and falling to the deep breathes coming from his chest.  All this occurring while snuggled tightly against Tristan.  One may question if this was OK, a strange situation like this one, but I felt content, snuggled between two men that I love.  It didn’t feel wrong at the time, oddly, it felt normal.  I recognized this as another rare and unique visit from him that would soon fade. One that I would look back on when I needed to. 

A few days later I woke up in the early hours of the morning again to the smell of burning wood.  I looked to my right and there was John again, this time standing on our balcony just outside of our bedroom.  His hands were in his pockets, and he was just staring at me.  He had a look of concern, yet John was always so stoic, even in the most care free moments, he could look serious.  I rubbed my eyes and looked again, he was still there, looking right at me.  We’ve had a few encounters like this over the years, I don’t know if it happens to be two different dimensions somehow colliding, but I have been lucky enough to find John in the wee hours of the morning in a stare down every now and then.  I am always happy to stare back, wondering what it is he needs to say.

You know your husband is about as rock solid as they come when you inform him that the two of you possibly shared a bed and snuggle the other night with your previous husband and he doesn't even bat an eye.  Tristan Borgeson is a solid human being. 

A few days later, I witnessed a man approach his death right after getting off the river.  It was a beautiful day on the Gauley that ended in a very steep and strenuous hike.  This young man collapsed shortly after finishing this climb.  When it became clear that he was not going to make it, and that his heart was going to get the better of him, I found myself calling out to John and asking him to come help this person.  While they didn’t know each other, they both had a deep love for the river we had just paddled.  I don’t know what happens when we leave our bodies, but I’d like to imagine that someone is there to guide you to the next phase.  I’m not sure if my John had that.  A few days after John's death, he appeared in my doorway in the middle of the night, still draped in his kayak gear.  He looked sad and confused.  This broke my heart at the time, for whatever he was going through, whatever transition was taking place, I could not help him.  I was frozen, separated from where he was, as if a see through wall was placed between us.  I didn’t want that for this man, so I asked John to come help him. 

The next day I went kayaking with my husband Tristan and some close friends.  I could not get this man out of my head and what he went through at the end.  I had heard many locals say what a nice person he was and how loved he was by the river community.  I was struggling with understanding why things like this happen to young people like him, and once again revisiting why John lost his life at such a young age.  About mid-way through this run, I came through one of the harder rapids and just to the left on the river bank, two blue herons stood side by side.  As I locked eyes with these beautiful birds, the two in unison took off and flew down to the next rapid.  Those two herons stayed together and flew ahead of our group the rest of the way.  As I'd approach each rapid, they'd watch, then fly ahead, waiting for us to arrive to the next rapid.  As I made it to the take-out and slid my boat into the sand, I watched the two one last time fly off together until they disappeared around the bend.

A few weeks later, I found out I was pregnant for the second time.  We felt like this time was going to be different.  It was going much smoother, until it wasn’t anymore.   I don’t think I allowed myself to attach to this one the way I did the first time, but it still felt like my lungs were being squeezed shut upon finding out we would lose this one too and there is nothing we could do to reverse that.  I feel sad, ashamed, even somewhat embarrassed about the whole situation.  I’ve reclused to my house in the woods for the last few days, throwing myself into work and a serious heating pad while the gauntlet throws down in my uterus.  I was even asked earlier this week if Tristan and I have kids, and then given the full talk on how wonderful it is when I told them we did not.  I wondered how this person would feel if I said, “You know, we have two.  One that about exploded in my Fallopian tube a few months ago and one that is making it’s exit from my uterus as we speak.  We could not be more proud.”   Too far?

Through all of this, we had the mid-term elections as well as everyone knows.  My state voted yes for Amendment 1.   When a pregnancy is ectopic, the pregnancy must be terminated, because the mother’s life is at stake and the baby cannot survive in the tube.  I will be in and out of more ultra sounds and blood work every 48 hours for the next week, maybe longer,  just to ensure that this one is not once again stuck in my tube which requires immediate surgery.    Believe me, knowing that you have no choice but to end your pregnancy because that pregnancy can kill you is punishing enough.  If there was anyway at all that my kid could have survived, even if it meant something debilitating for me, I would have done it without any thought.  Having no option but to end that pregnancy months ago is something I have to live with for the rest of my life.  No woman can forget that.  The possibility of my insurance not covering it, or it even being in debate, I can’t wrap my brain around that.  I hope no woman has to face that.

I’m writing about this not because I want your sympathy or any kind of political debate.  To each their own.  Women don’t talk about this enough and I need to talk about it.  I think many women feel scared and alone through their miscarriage and through the termination of any pregnancy.  Women go to work while this is happening, carry on conversations and forced smiles, take care of other children while they feel like their insides are in a boxing match and they can feel that soul leaving them.  I'd love to see women feel completely empowered to share their stories so others can be more informed, so both sides can listen to each other.  Even with Tristan by my side through every step of the way, what seems to help the most through these two losses, is hearing from other women that have gone through this.  I’ve heard stories that are so much worse than mine.  Women that have lost 3, 4, 5 pregnancies; women that simply can’t have children; women that have tried for years and years with no luck.  One of my dear friends almost lost her life over an ectopic pregnancy.  I know women that have had to deliver still born babies.  That is not my story.  I consider myself one of the luckier ones.  I actually can get pregnant pretty easily, so far, I just can't seem to keep them.  My heart hurts with these women, and I also admire them for sharing their stories with me.

My late husband John seems to come see me when things are coming in my life, both good and bad. I think he likes to remind me that he’s still here, just around the bend, and all is well.  Thank you John.  Tristan and I will keep trying, because that’s all we can do.  That's all any couple can do that is struggling with this.  As Dory says in Finding Nemo, "just keep swimming."  We'll keep speaking to that and putting the intention out there to the universe.  

When we become parents, and we will, I'll go back to those rare and unique visits from John and thank him.  When he visits, I'll note it, staying present with whatever is coming our way.  Maybe next time I’m on the river, I’ll look for three herons.  I'd like to imagine that John was there for both of ours, moving on ahead of us, but really just around the bend. To all the women out there, I hope you just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

9 out of 10

The police brought a trash bag of everything they had removed from him before I saw him.  In the bag were his belongings, including a helmet, a dry top, a life jacket, dry pants, a few layers of shirts and long johns, his shoes, and a spray skirt.  Hours later, I would take these items and hang them on our outside line to dry, like I had done dozens of times before.  They would bake in the sun, and then be thrown into a gear tote, just like the many times before.

 Lifeless and cold, he still looked perfect.  Not a hair out of place.  I could no longer stand so I just laid over him, stroking his hair, holding his hands.  I kissed his eyes, his cheeks and his lips, I grabbed his face and pulled it close to mine.   My hands we're so cold from touching him, and I just kept pressing them to my cheeks afterward on my way home.  I wanted the coldness to seep into my bones and stay with me forever.  

 I've had this reoccurring dream for over 4 years now where I find out that John never really died, but instead he just went somewhere else.  He has a different family, a different job (one time he was a mail man), a completely different life.  I can never make it to him in this dream, someone always just informs me with photos and video footage.  It's always a good friend in the dream that approaches me with, "Erin, we've been meaning to tell you something.."  In one dream I remember screaming at John on the phone about how friends and family had completed a river clean up for years in his honor, yet this whole time he was alive somewhere else, how selfish can he be!  In the dream I always feel confused, irritated, even panicked.  What is real?  Is he in some other parallel universe living a different life?  For years I would dream about his death, my dreams would manifest into many different scenarios of what could have possibly happened to him that day.  I would wake up drenched in sweat, unable to breathe, panicked. I rehashed his death with friends for years.  What happened, why did it happen, how could it have happened, this was John we're talking about.  He had more endurance and athleticism than most people I've met.  He had a stoicism to him that seemed to always stay consistent, even when shitty things happened.  He showed no reaction to physical pain.  Many other's always felt safe and confident with him. 

                                        John and Harrison, Z-Drag Rescue, Top Yough, 2012

                                             John, 20 Footer, Blackwater, Broken Nose, Spring 2013

                                                        A few hours later, and still smiling.

John was frugal to a fault at times.  If he could fix it, or make it himself, he would always do that before spending money.  I actually loved this about him and always found it to be such an attractive quality.  For years, when we lived in Richmond, John's "dry top" consisted of a cheap splash top, and his version of a neck gasket was a trash bag wrapped around his neck with duct tape.  He created a throw bag out of a potato sack.  John would purchase cheap, beat up paddles for $20, and then try and fix them with epoxy.  These paddles would always end up snapping.  I got John a brand new Kokatat dry top when we lived in Virginia, I couldn't bare the trash bag anymore.  I bought him a rescue vest when we moved to Oregon.  His dad bought him a nice paddle meant for creek boating.  John never purchased these things for himself, he'd just try and fix what he had.  The one thing that I never did purchase for him was a spray skirt.  John always wore a black mountain surf skirt that he had when I met him back in 2008.  He bought this skirt back in 2004 when he started kayaking.  I remember seeing him in our garage in Oregon over the winter placing aqua seal over the holes that had appeared on this skirt from years and years of use.  By the beginning of 2014, this skirt had been in use by John on powerful rivers and water falls for almost 10 years.  

 I found out a few days ago that John died because of a simple piece of gear completely failing him.  4 1/2 years later.  His spray skirt imploded after attempting to punch a large hole, leaving him with no choice but to swim on a river where swimming simply was not an option that day.  I always thought that if this day came for me, where I would finally know the truth, that somehow I would feel better.  I would receive some kind of closure and understanding that would put me at ease.  I would no longer have to live my entire life wrestling with every possible outcome.  This phone call, this new piece of information in the puzzle of March 9th 2014 really didn't do any of those things.  Instead, it just pushed me into a downward spiral of emotions and stress that I haven't had to visit in years.  It's the kind of news that takes you right back to that moment where everything shifted, where life would be different forever.  That stupid saying, "The truth will set you free."  Will it?  I felt like this truth suddenly imprisoned me.  I found myself back in our Oregon home, laying on my back paralyzed, staring at John in the door way, stuck in his gear, confused and sad all over again.  I felt enraged, and my rage spiraled towards him.

Living in the New River Gorge, I am surrounded by incredible athletes.  People that live here are passionate about what they do whether its kayaking, rafting, river surfing, mountain biking, rock climbing, trail running.  All of these sports require you to trust your gear.  A rock climber that goes out to climb with a faulty rope or harness could easily fall to their death.  You can't put on the lower new at 10 feet with a shitty spray skirt or a helmet that doesn't stay on your head.  Without these things working the way they are supposed to, not only are we putting ourselves at major risk, we put others at risk too.  

Invest in your gear, and talk to your friends if you notice they are wearing gear that is just not safe.  Don't donate shitty gear for someone else to purchase that is brand new to a sport.   If you don't have full confidence in the gear that allows you to do what you love, than buy new gear or don't go.  

Had John been wearing a newer skirt meant for creek boating, things would probably have turned out quite differently that day.  But he didn't, he had a 10 year old bungee skirt on that was way too loose, worn out over years and years of use, old holes patched more than once.  This was a piece of gear that was just not capable of doing what he needed it to do that day.  

Tristan and I have John's skirt now hung up in our own gear closet, never for anyone to use, but as a reminder of what happened to him and how easily that can happen to us and those we care about if we don't take accountability.  I can only hope that by sharing his story, other's will do the same.  9 out of 10 times, maybe it will be OK.  For John, it was OK for years, until it wasn't.  I did not want to write about this, or go back in time, but I have to.  I think John needs me to, and I need to for myself for if it makes someone think twice about that crappy helmet they've had for years, or the skirt with holes in it, or the rope that has worn with use, I'm good with that.   

James River, VA, 2008, same skirt

James River, VA, 2009, same skirt

John, Upper Gauley, WV, 2010, same skirt

John, James High Water, VA, 2011, same skirt

John, "Grace Under Pressure," Class 5, Great Falls, VA, 2012, same skirt

                                       

        North Fork Smith, California, 2013, same skirt

    

John, Chetco Wildnerness, Oregon, Class 5, February 2014, same skirt.  John died 10 days later.

Don't be another 9 out of 10 story.  Think about not only yourself, but your family, your close friends.  Don't let them come visit you in a morgue because you were too stubborn to finally cave and buy what you needed to.  Check everything, and then double check it again, and then triple check it.  Be safe out there and watch out for each other.  

We Love You

A few years ago I was having dinner with one of my closest friends and her 3-year old at the time, Henry.  In the middle of dinner Henry looked up at me and said, “Erin, John is gone.  He went away didn’t he?”  I looked down at this little boy and said, “Well, yes he did, I suppose he did go away.”  He then said, “He’s just somewhere else.  You’re here, and John’s there.”  As the lump in my throat grew bigger during this conversation with a toddler, Henry then said, “One day you will write a book.”  I looked at him somewhat stunned.  His mom chimed in and said, “Well what will the book be about Henry?”  He said, “It will be a book about Erin.”  He then went right back to telling me how the noodles he was eating looked a lot like snakes, and the conversation of John and my future was over.

Every now and then I think back to that conversation with Henry.  He was only 3 years old at the time.  Whenever an adult comes up to me and tells me I should write a book, I always go back to Henry, the first person that ever told me that.  If I ever do, I’ll be sure to thank Henry first.

I believe that children have more wisdom and intuition than we give them credit for.  When my sister was barely 2 years old, she was playing on her toy telephone.  She looked up at my mom and said, “I’m talking to your dad.”  My mom said, “Oh Pop Pop?”  (My mom’s step dad).  My sister said, “No, your real dad.  He told me to tell you that he loves you.”  My mom’s real dad had died years ago, and my sister wasn’t even born when that happened. 

I believe that children (especially very young children) were just recently where we adults all came from.  I think they have a connection back to our creator that is real, it’s a connection that so many of us lose over time as we grow older and become more exposed to our chaotic world.  I think we tend to forget where we came from, and with time we lose the knowledge we were born with.  When I see someone that is so broken and hurting and lost, I always say to myself, “let them remember where they came from.”  When we can remember, love enters.

I found out I was pregnant Monday night, June 18^th.  I had been feeling strange all day at work.  Bloated, exhausted, constipated, my boobs were sore, and that lovely time of the month had not arrived.  I had a meeting that went late so was staying in Charleston that evening.  We wrapped up around  9:30pm and I decided to drive to Target and buy a pregnancy test.  I was staying with a family friend that evening, and in their basement bathroom I sat there impatiently waiting as the test worked it’s magic.  About 3 minutes later, I saw those 2 lines appear and just like that, life simply felt different.   Around 11pm I called my husband and said, “I knew it!”  Tristan in his more grounded wisdom kept encouraging me to not get too excited yet, wait and take another test and let’s go see a doctor.   Well, of course I couldn’t contain it and I just sat up until about 1am laughing, crying, and of course starting to plan because that’s what I do. 

I found out Monday June 18^th I was going to be a mom.  Only 10 days later, I found out Wednesday June 27^th that I was absolutely heading towards a miscarriage.  I’ll spare you all the gruesome details, but I started having complications only a few days after getting that positive result that pretty much kept me on my back with the exception of attending  my nieces baptism for over a week.  I couldn’t go to work, I could do very little activity, and all we could do was wait and hope for the best.  We were in and out of doctor offices doing blood work for over a week.  We even switched doctors through the process because we felt like we were too much in the dark with what was actually happening.  Tristan and I even turned to Dr. Google (not a good decision) through this process just trying to understand if this may turn out OK.

 I've learned through this process that when you do miscarry, it can take weeks for the pregnancy hormones to leave your body so essentially your body thinks you are still pregnant and you get all those lovely first trimester symptoms, but with no baby on the way.  I am still going through this now and probably will be for the next week. Women go to work while this is happening, they take care of other kids, they continue on with daily life. 

I hesitated to share my story, as many times this is such a private thing.  On the other hand, I have some things to say about this journey, and decided to write about this as it’s happening now, and share my experience so far because I think it’s important for people, especially other women to hear the stories that don’t always end in a fairy tale and know that it happens to a lot of women, and it doesn’t mean you won’t have a healthy pregnancy in your future. I've discovered through my own miscarriage that this happens to so many women, sometimes more than once.  I talked with some brave, amazing girlfriends that shared their stories with me, putting me at ease with what was going on with my body and what to expect.  I also learned that it doesn’t matter if it’s 5 weeks, 2 weeks, 12 weeks, or worse, you feel connected to that soul before you even see the positive line and when you lose them it hurts like hell.  I knew women that had miscarried and I always thought to myself.  “That’s so sad, but it happens, they didn’t know that baby yet, and they’ll get pregnant again, they’ll be OK.”  I was so wrong about that.

 Tristan and I shared what was happening with us with some of our closest people because we believe in the power of putting intention towards something that needs a divine shift.  I begged and pleaded with God over the last week, but I also knew that the place I came from and the place my son or daughter came from see’s the future that I simply cannot.  I continued to talk to my kid through this entire process.  Tristan and I both placed our hands on my belly, we played binaural beats on my belly, hell I even let him put a purple crystal on my forehead.  I would have done anything.  I told them that if they needed to go I understand, but selfishly I want them to stay.  I told them about myself, their dad, their grandparents, aunts and uncles and the incredible people they’d be surrounded with throughout their life.  I told them they would always be loved, and Tristan and I would do everything we could to support them through their purpose while they’re here. 

I have to admit I felt defeated this week.  I felt like my body had failed me, and I had failed my kid.  My hats off to you parents out there.  The feeling of failing a child that was probably the size of a rice grain left me in tears.  I can't imagine what it actually feels like when they are standing right in front of you.  On the other hand, I am grateful for the experience.  I felt what it was like to be pregnant only for a short time, and even through all the not so fun symptoms, I felt connected to something in a way that I never have, and for that experience alone I feel ecstatic about. 

I recently heard someone say that “The foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom and the weakness of God is greater than human strength.” 

I believe it.  I have to remember where I came from during this shift, for it is so much wiser and stronger than I could ever be, and it’s love is beyond anything I am capable of.  My child was never really mine, it belongs to the light that I believe loves me more than I’ll ever be able to love anyone.  I rest easy feeling confident that's where they are now.  

Thank you for your encouraging thoughts and prayers this week.  To the women that bravely shared their stories, thank you.  To my husband who is the most positive person I know, I adore you.  Finally, to my child, thank you for choosing us even if it was for such a short time, I so hope we can meet you one day, we love you. 

To Oregon

Oregon,

I make my way back to you tonight.  It has been almost 2 years since my last visit to your rolling green mountains and majestic waterfalls.  Never had I seen a place with such breath taking beauty until I found you.  You have the kind of beauty that is so dramatic and so mesmerizing, so many times I felt as if you were not real.  Surely we had not landed in this place for our new home.  We vacationed to places like this, we didn’t get to live in places like this.  Yet with patience and determination, we found our way to you, a home nestled in the rolling green mountains packed with Douglas Firs.  You Oregon made me feel like an outdoor kid on Christmas Day every day.  Driving to work watching the sun scrape over your mountain peaks that were actually volcanos at rest.  Paddling your rivers that were so clear that 10 feet to the bottom looked like 2 feet.  Your water was so clean I could drink right from your streams.  Mountain biking through green mossy trails bordered with fluffy green walls felt like a scene from Star Wars.  I felt grateful when I walked your trails, lighter, with a view point permanently imprinted on me.  I would never settle for less after seeing you and spending time with you.  You set the bar quite high.

Why couldn’t that had been enough?  I wanted you to be beautiful, a chapter in my life that was an adventure of outdoor heaven, and that is all.  Yet with your beauty came incredible pain.  Pain that crippled me, imprisoned me.   I felt that my view point was suddenly skewed, and for a while I could not see your beauty.  I felt heavy when near you.  Suddenly you were this place that took everything from me.  I saw darkness on your mountains, in your rivers, there was nothing majestic about you anymore.   So I left you, I gave up on the adventure, I got as far away from you as I could, I thought I may never return.

Thank God for time.  The perception of time and space helps us grow stronger and let go of those pain shackles we feel obligated to carry when we lose a part of ourselves.

 I could not avoid you for the rest of my life.  I knew in my heart that my other half stayed with you, a part of me was with you.   I come back to you each time remembering your original imprint on me, breathing in your fresh air, feeling grounded on your trails.  I feel him when I am with you, he is everywhere, for you Oregon are where he was always supposed to be, where he can now rest.  A visit to you is a visit to him.  I feel my past life asking for my attention as I get closer and closer to your mountains.  I heard his voice this evening as I closed my eyes on the plane say “Remember why we came here Erin.”  I think remembering this in my current life, remembering this with these new chapters are so important.  So, I’ll lay aside the distractions of day to day life, and I’ll recharge myself on your mountain tops.  I’ll remember him as I visit you, and everything he was and still is.  Present, respectful, immersed in nature.  I’ll go back in time so that I may recharge and find my balance again.

I’ll embrace and belly laugh with forever friends.  These are the kind of friends where you pick up right where you left off.  The kind of friends that have carried the torch for me for years when I could not.  Friends that cast their own pain to the side for me.  Friends that got me back on your rivers, back on your trails, friends that helped me see through the darkness that clouded you for years.  Strong, badass women that I am so grateful to know.  

Life continues to move forward, and I keep changing as the years go by.   You Oregon sparked that change with the first sight of your beautiful mountains.  I’ll continue to come back and spend time with you into old age, spend time with the memory of him, belly laugh with some of the best women I know, I’ll remember why we came here.  So hats off to you Oregon, through the scars, you are still so incredibly beautiful everywhere I look.  That is all.

As You Were

I walked through the snowy woods this morning as the sun hid behind the grey clouds.  It was quiet, and so cold.  With every crunch of my boots hitting the frozen ground, I called out to you.  Some wished for herons, rainbows, a crack of thunder, any sign that you may be close.  So many called out to me today, reminding me that they too remembered, they too were walking with it in a heavier way than they normally do.  I think we all hoped on this day that you too may call out and remind all of us that you once existed, and somewhere beyond the mountain tops I walked upon this morning, the steps I am sure many of your friends and family walked throughout the world today, we all hoped that you still do.  That you still exist somewhere within our reach. 

It's strange to me that your death day brings out these desires, these rituals.  It's so morbid at times.  We seem to travel back in time on March 9th.  We inflict ourselves with the torture of your loss.  I can remember the smells, the sounds of the sirens, the headlamps, the cold rain, the helplessness.  I can go there in an instant.   I learned pretty quickly after you left that this one day of pain would not be the case for me, and for many.  The absence of you would not resemble in a day, a short moment in time, but with every second, minute, every beat of my heart.   We would walk with open wounds every day until we're not here anymore.  I have learned with time to fuse with these scars, to disguise them through my genuine laughter, my smile, my work ethic, and the love I can still give. 

Beyond my flesh and bones there is a brokenness within me that is finalized.  Apart of me has turned cold since March 9th, and my ability to give everything, to love everything with every part of my soul has seemed to seize.  Nothing taste quite the same anymore.  Am I a good wife now?  Am I genuine?  I wonder at times if Tristan may have been cheated by my scars, my fears, my anger.  Must he always share me with you, you who are gone, you who left, you with your reckless need for thrills, you who I adore, who I love, who I am homesick over?  I'm hurt by these thoughts, I feel cheated, disgruntled, I felt angry at you as I walked. 

As the tears began to build and I felt I just might allow myself to break and crumble into my morbid thoughts, something happened.  Something happened as I stood out over the mountain tops and stared way down into the river below me.  I could hear you screaming up at me through the rapids.  I heard you so loud, so clearly that I froze, my attention turning to face you head on with my anger, with my questions, with my opinions.  There you were as promised, getting stronger and stronger so you could help me.  I felt something electric move within me, a warmth from my head to my feet.  I could feel your heart beating within me, and it was like my eyes were re-opened to the vast beauty all around me.  You told me to chin up as you always have, to look ahead as you always have, and to remember you not for the pain, the rage, the hurt, the sadness, but for the laughter, the love, the adventure that was you, that is me, that is all of us that search for you.  You reminded me to use your heart and your strength to give all my love to my husband, my family, my friends, to those that may be coming one day.  So I soaked you in, I inhaled the cold air until I felt my lungs may explode, I held you in my chest until I felt my heart begin to rest again.

So I smiled back at you through the bitter cold, I blew a kiss to the sky, and I thanked God for the joy and love I can still feel within my heart through the scars.  I thanked God for my life that emerged from you, and for my past life that is forever with me. 

I closed my eyes and pictured you, arms stretched out towards me, young and vibrant, no worries in the world, smiling, laughing, just as you were, just as you are, just as I am.

As you were muffin, as you were.

Go Easy On The Zombies

Fayetteville, WV May 2014 (Myself, Bird and Lizzie)

This was a picture my sister took of the three of us 2 months after my first husband John died.  We were in Fayetteville, I was looking at rentals and trying to figure out if I was truly going to leave the west coast and move here.  I'm miserable here.  I had no joy at the time, I felt weak, I was exhausted but could not sleep, I couldn't even fake a real smile.  I was a zombie.  I avoided pictures for a long time because pictures are meant for smiles, and it took everything for me to muster one up for a while.  Think about this condition as you read my words. 

Three weeks after John died back in 2014, I returned to my job in Oregon.  In a three week period, I had breakfast with John, we went thrift store shopping,  I saw his cold body on a table lifeless and empty, I cremated him and saw his body go from a body to a small box, I held two funerals, I went from married to widow, just in three weeks, and was now back at work.  My first day back, a co-worker stopped into my office and asked me how I was doing.  I remember just staring at him and saying something to the tune of, “well….”. I then asked how he was doing.  He said, “Well, the sun is shining, and I’m not in the obituaries so I am doing GREAT!”  We then stared at each other, no one speaking, for about 15 seconds, and then he left.  I remember feeling like someone had just punched me in the throat.  I look back on this strange memory and can laugh about it now. 

Over the years I’ve had some very odd encounters like this, just to list a few..

5 minutes after finding out John was dead..

“How long have you been married?  My wife and I are about to celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary!”
“Do you want a sandwich?  All I can think about right now is food, we’ve been searching for hours, I'm starving!”

At his funeral…

“Did John accept Jesus before he died?  I sure hope so.”
“Don’t worry, you’re very young, you’ll marry again in no time.”
“Do you regret not having children?”
“What happened?  How did he die?  Did you see it happen?”
“This was God’s will.”

Within the first year of his death..

“How heavy are his ashes?  Do you have much left?”
“You know what I think the worst way to die would be?  Drowning.  Man that must be horrible.”
“Sometimes I wanted to punch John in the face for encouraging others to kayak the way he did.”
“I totally get what you are going through, my boyfriend and I broke up and that was tough.”
“I’d rather my spouse die than cheat on me, at least your marriage ended on a good note.”
“I haven’t seen my husband in 3 days and I feel like I’m dying, I can't wait for him to come home!"
“At least you didn’t have children.”

Over-time..

“You need to start dating again or you’re going to end up being an old angry widow.”
“I’m not ready for you to not be John’s wife, you dating someone else is hard for me.”
“Your grief isn’t as hard as mine, you didn’t know John as long as I did.”
“Aren't you sad to be getting married again?”
“Are you actually thinking about changing your last name?”
“You two only had 6 ½ years together, imagine how hard it would be if you had decades.”
“Look at the amazing things you’ve done with John’s death, you’ve truly turned lemons into lemonade.”
“You can replace your husband and get a new husband, his parents can’t replace their son so…”
“It’s time to move on Erin, you just need to move on.”
"Do you love Tristan more than you loved John?" 

I’ve hesitated to write about this over the years, because I truly feel that none of these comments came with bad intentions or with intent to hurt.  If anything, they came from a place of uncertainty, hurt, fear, shock, and even love.

 Lately though I feel that I have come across a few individuals who are in the thick of things and are experiencing some bizarre moments with friends, family, co-workers, strangers, and they don’t know how to handle it because they are zombies right now and can barely pour a glass of water.  Our cognitive behaviors are debilitated when we lose someone so close to us.  It's as if you are functioning in a jello mold, everything takes effort, breathing is literally painful.  Your body is there, your mind is gone. You are a shell, stuck inside of your vessel floating around in space while the world around you seems to still be functioning.  I feel protective of these individuals because I remember what it was like to be there and how words at the time could so easily feel like knives in my chest, I would just crumble beneath them.

  Over time I’ve channeled my inner smart ass, and I must admit that there have been moments I took a lot of personal enjoyment in giving a response that probably made other’s feel quite uncomfortable.  When an inappropriate comment came my way, I'd throw one right back and act as if it was normal, well, because it was at the time.  Someone once told me that they couldn’t live without Starbucks, they would literally die if they couldn’t have it daily.  I looked at them and said, “Well, I didn’t think I could live without my husband, but he’s dead now and here I am!”  I once went to a wedding where the officiant talked about how the two would grow old together and the hands they hold now would one day be wrinkly and aged.  I leaned over to my good buddy, also a widow at the time and said, “Maybe?  Don’t put all your eggs in that basket!”  To the person that wanted to punch John, I suggested throwing his ashes into the air and giving it a hard swing.  Let that anger out.  Someone once assumed that I must be divorced when realizing that Wilburn was not my maiden name and yet no ring on my left hand.  “Not divorced, widowed, my wedding band started to feel like a daily reminder of that so its now on my right hand, that ok with you?”

I’ve learned with the harder comments over time to hold my tongue, and even laugh about it later, because it’s just a disconnect between two people.  I don't need to make someone feel bad for something they've said.  If anything, comments like these have allowed me to lean into my own silence more and more, to check in with myself and realize that no one really knows what to say in these circumstances, and sometimes when we try so hard to say the right thing, we say the opposite out of nervousness and fear. 

John’s death allowed me to let go of everything over the years.  I don’t carry anger the way that I used to.  I am not at odds with anyone.  Being at peace with my husband, friends and family is a top priority because those relationships could end in a second.  I don’t carry weight anymore that isn’t necessary and I don’t put weight on others to carry.  If I died tomorrow, I would die knowing that my family and friends know they are loved by me.  There is no anger or resentment, years of not speaking, just love.

  When someone behaves in a way that I can’t connect with or understand, I recognize that their behavior comes from something inside of them that they may be battling with and its not for me to judge or dissect.   I try to understand everyone’s view point, even when it’s not mine, because I believe deep down that most people are good inside, they just live in the harsh world that I also live in and that’s really hard.  I’ve learned to laugh things out as much as possible because the one thing that is always good for the soul is belly laughing, even when it comes to death.  I never assume anything, and I chose my words very carefully with people because I don't know what cards they've been dealt or what kind of pain they've had to endure.

 I'd like to give some advice to those who are close to someone that has lost someone so dear to them.  I've been living with this new version of me for almost 4 years now and feel this may be helpful. 

A few key things that I feel are important…

-You don't have to ask how someone is doing, they're doing horribly, and that's completely fine.  If anything, let them know it's horrible, acknowledge it with them.

-You don't have to say a lot.  All you need to say is you’re so sorry, this absolutely sucks, it’s not fair and you love them.  One of my cousins left a voicemail on my phone only 3 days after John died.  He said, "Hey couz, I am so sorry, I don't know what to say......ummmm.....this is fucking terrible."  I remember listening to it and laughing out loud, because he was absolutely right and it was the first time in 3 days that someone just came out with it and allowed it to be exactly what it was, terrible.  Thanks Cousin Scott!

-Doing verses saying is better.  Just go do something for them whether its mow the lawn, grab some food, cook, run a load of laundry, clean their house, take their dog on a walk, anything.  I had a great friend that came and stayed with me for about 2 weeks after John died.  She didn’t have to say much at all, she was just there and sat with me, quietly, made sure my animals were fed.  It was everything I needed at the time.

-Silence is OK.  Sit with your friend, family member and hold their hand, put your hand on their shoulder, let that energy transfer to them that spreads goodness, let your words go.  If you need to speak, pray quietly for them in your heart, send good vibes to them.  You don’t need to solve things for them.  My mom would sit with me and just put her hand on my shoulder or hold my hand, we didn't need to talk about it, I just needed to sit there and cry and that was ok.

-You don’t get to have an opinion about how a person should grieve, when they should date, how they should handle belongings, what stage they should be in, where they should work, when they should smile again, how quickly they should be moving through the process.  It’s not for you to experience, it’s not your burden to carry.  Even when you have been there before, your experience was yours alone.  You do get to be a good friend, a good family member and allow that person to work through it the way they need to as long as they aren’t harming themselves.

-Don't try to make a person's death something positive or somehow justify the life they have now because of a previous death.  Telling someone that they've come into this great life and done great things because of their spouses death doesn't feel good.  They are in that life because that is the life they are in, it was not by choice.  Chapters do not need to be compared, they simply need to be respected. 

 -Grief is not a competition or a comparison chart.  Grief is something to be respected and acknowledged for everyone going through it.  To live is to grieve, and something we all will experience multiple times throughout our lives.  Don't treat it like the plague.  Don't try to take it away.  Let your loved one sit in it, let them scream and rage and cry and laugh and try new things.  It's ok.

So there are my two cents.  To those that are in the thick of it, I promise you will learn to laugh about these strange encounters later, and over-time these moments will make your heart softer.  Recognize that those that love you truly do have the best intentions, even when they say things that may hurt.  The anger will dissolve over time, and you’ll understand that we’re all just people here on earth trying to survive.  Zip it, sit with it, acknowledge it, respect it, don’t judge it.  Go easy on the zombies, for one day they will be people again.



                             Me and my sweet husband Tristan, October 2017, belly laughing.