Love Continues to Win

"My lover is mine and I am his.  Until the day breaks and the shadows flee, turn, my lover and be like a gazelle or like a young stag on the rugged hills.  All night long, I looked for the one my heart loves; I looked for him but did not find him.  I will get up now and go about the city through its streets and squares; I will search for the one my heart loves.  So I looked for him but did not find him.  The watchmen found me as they made their rounds in the city.  'Have you seen the one my heart loves?'  Scarcely had I passed them when I found the one my heart loves.  I held him and would not let him go until I brought him home.  Daughters, do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires."  Song of Songs 3:1-5

                                              

I think as a young widow, your wedding anniversary is the hardest mile stone to pass.  Just like last year around this time, I've been in a fairly dark place over the last three weeks, physically reacting to what I think is July 28th.  For an entire week I had a constant headache and would cry at a mere butterfly landing on my front porch.  Everything has made me think of him, continuing to ponder an unknown and disappeared future that was at one time real.  I know it sounds unproductive, but my mind goes to these places, especially during mile stones.  I have found this date to be harder than any other date.  His birthday, Christmas, even March 9th.  July 28th was the most remarkable day of my life, for it was the day I chose my family and committed my heart to John Duncan Wilburn.  It was the day a new life began, and I was excited.

The loss of John is different to so many people and milestones are different for each of them.  I would imagine for his parents it may be the day he was born and they held him for the first time.  For his grandparents I think it may be his time at Virginia Tech or the time they took him to Disney World as a young boy.  For his kayaking friends, it may be Gauley season, or every time they take a lap down the James.  For his co-workers it may the day he planted his trees.  His death even impacts many that never met him, but truly wish they had.  There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of how much this loss affects everyone, and how the pain is unique and significant for each person.

I'm finding this year to be a state of limbo, as if I am frozen in time.  I wouldn't say it is worse than 2014, it's simply different.   I'm at this place where I so want to move forward and feel things again, yet I am still so wrapped up in my love, as if he is returning.  I get tired of my pain at times, tired of the solitude. I watch so many close friends continue in their marriages, plan for families, find new experiences together, yet I feel frozen in this other place watching.  I can remember what that life was like, but I am not a part of that anymore which feels strange.  It's as if my brain and my heart can't find each other.  They are not on the same page.  I understand the facts of my reality and what this means for my future, yet my heart feels as if it is grasped around John's heart so tightly, begging for his return.  I can't seem to fully let go and I'm starting to wonder if that is even possible.  If that is the case, how does one create a new space for new love when their heart feels bound to someone else?  I haven't figured this one out yet.

 I let a good friend wrap his strong arms around me for the first time in 16 months.  I let him run his hands through my hair, I let him touch my face, I let him hold me close to his chest.  I let myself touch him back and wrap my arms around him, holding him close.  I've never let anyone do that since John.  I feel as if I've had cement walls around me since his death, afraid to consider anyone beyond him.  I wanted to remember how it felt to simply be touched and held again.  I wanted to feel something, anything.  It was beautiful and heart breaking at the same time.  To know I could allow myself to go there, yet to also know these strong arms and steady heart beat  wrapped all around me don't belong to John left me in limbo.  I felt alive and dead at the same time.  I wanted to laugh and cry in unison.  I wanted to scream and beat my arms against his chest in protest, yet hold my friend close and remember I'm alive through his touch.  This space is strange and confusing, exciting and devastating, wonderful and empty, all at the same time.

I went to church this past Sunday in Fayetteville.  I've been feeling a strong urge to go lately, so I decided to try out this small Methodist church in down town.   As soon as I walked through the doors I had people approaching me and welcoming me to the service.  I've never been greeted in a church so warmly as I was here.  Even the pastor came down from the pulpit, walked right up to my pew and greeted me.  I felt completely at peace in a crowd of strangers, as if I was home.  The pastor spoke about the importance of creating a space of rest.  She talked about the need for us to be OK with quietness and allowing yourself to pause in prayer, allowing the holy spirit to speak to you.  By going to those places of rest and solitude, we are better prepared to serve our purpose here on earth and help those around us, love those around us.  Jesus did this in order to heal others and encouraged his disciples to do the same.  We become our best selves through the art of meditation, silence and rest.  

I've been thinking a lot lately about this chapter of life I've found myself in over the last few months.  Why am I in this place of  limbo as I pass this mile stone?  Listening to this message this past Sunday quietly, I felt as if God was speaking directly to my heart.  I believe I am in this place of  stillness so I can fully become aware of God's presence in my life and his continuous grace.  I believe he needs my attention, my time, my awareness of his light in my heart so that I can help others, love others, and better serve his purpose for me, whatever that may be.  It is through this silence that I am discovering this new woman in me.

  I wrote about what it means to me to be a Christian to a good friend a few weeks ago.  This was the first time I've ever tried to explain my faith to someone.  I found myself having a similar conversation with one of my closest friends on our way back from the river the other day.   To be completely honest, I am hesitant at times to tell others of my Christianity, simply because there are so many "Christians"  that have corrupted God's love for our world.  Threats of hell, constant reminders of our brokenness, and this arrogance that everyone else is wrong.  It's gross and disappointing.  I've wondered lately if I'm a mixture of Christian and Buddhist.  I believe all spirituality is important when  it drives us to love ourselves and each other.  I read some scripture before the service started on Sunday and found my hands resting on this verse as I flipped through the pages.

"Finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable-if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things.  Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me-put it into practice.  And his peace will be with you."  Philippians 4:8

What I said to both of these people I care about is this. It is so hard to try and explain to someone that what I believe in  I can't see or prove to you, yet I feel completely confident in it's truth through my heart.  I have no facts to back up my faith.  All I can tell you is that my heart feels completely warm in the midst of complete pain.  I feel lighter, I feel carried and protected, I feel incredible love for something big in my heart that is growing.  I believe that suffering is a part of the human experience that everyone will go through at some point, more than once.  I believe joy is also a part of this.  I believe how we walk through those experiences shapes our spirit. and determines our future.  I believe God can do things beyond our imagination if we simply trust him not just in joy, but in our darkest moments.  I feel as if I am heading home some day, to a place I have always belonged where there is no pain, no sickness, but complete peace and light.  A place where the unseen becomes seen.   I believe my time here now is meant to make a difference through love that I believe comes from the grace of my creator.  I believe the warmth in my heart is a small glimpse of what is to come.  This choice to believe God comes from a place I cannot see, I can only feel and trust.

My wedding day and my marriage to my sweet John was lovely.  It was true.  It was noble.  It was praiseworthy.  I believe that regardless of how short ours was, I had a wonderful man that chose me as I chose him.  We found each other in this chaotic world  that we live in.  To give your heart to another person the way you do on your wedding day is precious.  I hope all those that are married and reading this, those that are considering marriage and are reading this, remember how incredible that gift is, how fragile life can be, and chose to reflect on the lovely things always, allow love to win.  I have learned that nothing is permanent, and the flesh will fail us at some point.  Yet, to think of those lovely things, to chose gratitude for that love and reflect on that season of joy opens up the door to God's peace and complete grace through pain.  

So I will continue through this chapter of limbo as I pass this mile stone.  I will continue to seek my resting place and solitude among the mountains and allow God to unfold my heart, shape and mold me.  I believe so much of my life to come depends on this time right now, this chapter.  I believe love will come again when it so desires, not a minute early or late.  While I look forward to that day, I feel eager to know my creator more, to understand my purpose and how deep this relationship with God can go, to love my friendships and family, to love the woman I am becoming.  I'll allow love to continue to win.

Rise with the Sun

If I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me."  Psalm 139:9-10

I had the opportunity to spend this past week at Topsail Beach, NC with my sisters, my brother Luke and Melissa.  We rented a lovely cottage beach house called "Pleasant Views" where we had views of both the bay and the ocean.  It is the one week out of my entire year where I literally make no plans, and no schedules.

This same week last year in 2014, I had just arrived to the east coast after driving my pets across the country away from our home in Oregon.  John's ashes sat beside me the entire way.  When I arrived back east I spent a week in the Outer banks with my family.  That week stirred many different emotions.  I remember just being still so absolutely shocked that I was back on the east coast for good and without John. My heart physically ached that week and I remember just wanting time to stop.  It was also that week that I had the most vivid dream I have ever had about John and many questions I had been asking over and over again to myself were answered.  After that experience, I ended up writing a blog called "A Shift."  I wrote about a series of events I had been through in the last month and the transition back east I was going through.  I read through that blog towards the beginning of this week and thought to myself, "man I was such a mess at that point."  I really was.    Regardless of how bad it was during that time, I was still getting up every morning, still moving and doing everything I could to take steps forward, I just can't remember much of it.  It was definitely a time when the pain was simply numbing and the hours, days, months seemed to all flow together.  I thought about that shift a lot this week and how I was able to move through those days during that time.  I thought a lot this week about my words during that time and what "A Shift" has meant to me over the last 16 months.

This past week, I spent each morning walking on the beach as the sun was rising with my dog Jake.  We would get up a little before 6am and simply walk together.  I am an early riser and always have been.  One thing I have found to be so important throughout the last 16 months is to take time in the mornings to prepare myself for the day, even if it is a stress-free day at the beach.  I believe that the early hours of the morning are a great time to meditate and allow yourself to become present.  To me, being present means being fully aware of the pain, acknowledging it, giving it my full attention, and then turning it over to my creator so the current moment becomes the focus and I can listen.  I spent the mornings walking along the beach and pouring my heart out.  For me, this means speaking to God, but I believe anyone taking the journey can relate to that time of meditation through many different forms.

The ocean to me is a true healing place.  There is something so peaceful about standing among a body of water that is so consistent.  It's as if she understands my pain and my journey, and every day walking along her sandy shores, I felt like her guest, paying a visit to her spectacular images and sounds.  I thought so much about John as I walked with our dog and how to me, he is now a part of this eternal presence and imagery.  These precious moments in the morning felt like our time, and I could feel him with every breath, every step.  It was in those moments where God's love was so powerful and so selfless that I found it hard to speak.  I believe it is him that allows the love John and I felt for each other to shine through so I can remember and smile.

My brother, Luke and I spent some time walking along the shoreline this morning with our dogs.  Luke had recently listened to a special on Ted Talks about how the human mind is constantly wandering, and how more than 50% of your time is spent thinking about anything other than what you are currently doing.  I used to be so terrible about this and constantly stressed about the future.  I knew it drove my husband crazy, it was just how I was wired at the time.  Losing John and walking through this journey of grief has really taught me how to be present and while I am certainly no expert, I am far more present than I used to be.  As a believer in Christ, I have come to understand through what I believe is his voice, that there really is no connection, new learning or new perspective in my past or in an unknown future.  It is right now.  I believe each day in those early morning hours, God equips me for a new day and prepares me for what is ahead.  I believe it is hard to understand that, to truly see that when we are not present which can hinder our healing process.

"Be still and know that I am God."  Psalm 46:10

I spent time this week connecting with my siblings and my dear friend Melissa.  Melissa is on a journey of grief as well and being at the beach together I believe was really good for both of us.  We took a walk yesterday and talked about our journey and where life has currently taken us.  Sometimes it can be hard to think that you've truly made progress until you allow yourself to revisit the past.  This week we both revisited the 24 hours that led to the death of our husbands and the events that proceeded after that.  It can be terrifying to go back like that.  I find that my body physically reacts to it, to the trauma.  Regardless, I have found it is important to do this with her as my friend, for it is a clear reminder of again how powerful God can be and where he has taken us.  

This week as I reflected on  my life so far, I found so many things to be grateful for simply by looking into the eyes of my family and dear friend.  I truly am blessed.  We spent so much time laughing until my abs hurt and playing like kids again.  We cooked delicious meals together, gave thanks together.  We were present together.  I really believe that when you have to take a journey through deep grief, remembering and connecting to those that are still here, those that love you is so important.  This scripture came to mind as I thought about my continued purpose here and the love others have shown me through this walk.

"Love me with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.  Of all things, hang onto these two commandments."  Matthew 22:38-40.  

I have come to believe that our purpose here on earth truly is that simple, yet so much of our world is so distant from this.  So damaged.  My journey has allowed me to truly reflect on the people in my life that have loved me selflessly and consider how I want to love others that cross my path.  I have also had the pleasure of meeting new faces that have made profound impacts on my heart since March 9th.  I don't believe any of those connections are of pure coincidence.  I believe it is a continuous reflection of God's love for me and this world.  God's love for John.

I am now 31 years old and have been without my husband's physical presence for almost 16 months now.  If you had told me I'd make it through these last 16 months, 16 months ago, I would have laughed.   25 days from now would have marked three years of marriage to my best friend.  If you had told me that I'd walk through that successfully last year, I would have laughed even harder.  But I am walking with a purpose, with light, with continuous feelings of eternal love that I don't believe I could see in my past life because I wasn't present, I didn't understand.

"No power in the sky above, or the earth below, indeed, nothing in all creation will every be able to separate us from the love of God."  Romans 8:39

John's love for me is so eternal and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about that and give thanks.  Our love is eternal because I truly believe that nothing can separate God's love from me, and through God, I feel John.  I believe the shift I have gone through over the last 16 months as I journey through this grief has taught me how incredible this love is.  Just like the ocean, this love from my creator is consistent, unfailing and guaranteed.   For that alone I will rise with the sun and start my mornings everyday, living for that love.

For the Silence

"The wind blows wherever it pleases.  You hear it's sounds, but you cannot tell where it comes from, or where it is going.  So it is with everyone born of the spirit."  John 3:8

  Shortly after John's death, any time alone gave me complete anxiety.  The worst part of my day was my drive home from work on interstate 5 and having to walk through my front door, knowing he was not on the other end anymore.  I hated the silence.  When I simply had nothing but my thoughts and the silence of my house, I would completely fall apart.  I would sob until I couldn't breathe, punch things until my knuckles felt numb.  I would sit in each room of our house and just stare at every picture, paint color, article of clothing.  I felt crazy.  The silence felt like an additional death that I had to relive every day, so I did everything to avoid it.  I believe it is why I allowed myself to become so busy with changes and decision making shortly after his death.  I became a master of distraction in order to suppress the pit in my chest.  Those moments of silence were when I realized just how human I was, and my complete lack of control over my pain.  

 It has been interesting how my outlook on solitude and silence has changed over the last 15 months.  This is something that has become a major part of my journey through grief and has begun to help shape the woman I am rediscovering in my heart.  The woman I know John always saw and believed in.  This woman is different.  She has new marks upon her face that tell a story to others.  She wants to listen to others with an open heart, an open mind.  She wants to open her heart again and allow new love in when she's ready.  She wants to spend time walking along the trails, riding through the woods, bursting through the rapids with confidence and respect for the outdoors.  She wants a peaceful life where she can remain present and in tune with herself and others.  She wants to always be aware of how fragile her life is, how fragile John's life was and to honor her time here through adventure, love for herself and others, love for her creator.   She wants to live in the mountains.

It is no secret at this point that I rely completely on my faith in a higher power in order to walk through this pain.  My faith falls completely on a God that I believe exist.  A God I believe loves me unconditionally and loves my husband.  Over the last 15 months, it has been in those moments of complete silence where I believe he has opened my heart and exposed me to a love that is so overwhelming that I feel speechless at times.  I have transformed from being afraid of those moments of silence and solitude to completely needing them for growth and understanding.  My house and the mountains have become my sanctuary for silence and getting to know the woman I am becoming through my creator.

"The mountains will bring peace to the people."  Psalm 72:3

I believe these last few months have been a chapter of solitude for me for a reason.  I feel as if my heart has slowly been transformed and that transformation has allowed me to feel more and more love and gratitude for the people around me.  The silence has allowed me to become a better listener to those that need to speak.  The silence has allowed me to help others that ask for help.  The silence has reminded me to love myself, love others and love this world that we live in.

I've been around people throughout my life that put more energy towards finding reasons to dislike others than finding common ground and searching for the inner light I believe we all have regardless of whether or not we chose to tap into it.  I have been guilty of this myself at times, allowing negativity to play into the dynamic of relationships.  I really regret that.  

"Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?  How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?"  Matthew 7:3-4

What we have here is withering away, and our time here is so temporary, so what we do here in that time matters so much.  How we treat others matters so much.  I believe God has continued to speak to my heart and ask for moments of silence with me so I can feel not only the incredible love he has for me, but the love he has for this world, the love he has for my husband and those that are not with us anymore.  I believe he needs me to understand this deep love he has for me, so I can pour that love out to others and be an advocate for his love.  

I believe that regardless of your beliefs, if you are on a journey of grief, a journey of loss, a walk through pain, taking time each day to allow yourself to be quiet, to breathe, to listen, is so important.  It is in those moments where I believe this universe speaks to us, teaches us new understandings, new perspectives.  These moments allow us to evolve and change.  They allow us to move forward.

Last night I sat on my porch alone for the first time in about a week.  I've been surrounded by company and a busy work schedule for the past week that has been a distraction from these much needed moments that I believe are so crucial.  I was reading Outside Magazine and listening to "First Aid Kit" on Pandora radio.  I can't quite tell you when it happened, but there was a moment during that time on the porch where I felt an overwhelming feeling of love and happiness that brought tears to my eyes.  It was as if God was sitting right beside me with his arm around me, enjoying this moment with me, swaying to the music.  I would imagine God loves First Aid Kit just as I do, they are amazing:)   As I sat there, I thought to myself, I feel so blessed this evening that I am able to sit here alone and content knowing in my heart that John is somewhere incredible right now possibly doing the same thing and thinking of me.  It is like these moments will pass by that if I just pause long enough and let my heart feel it, I imagine and can feel his existence taking place somewhere else, just around the bend.  I believe that in those moments, he too can feel my love, and the mere thought of that alone creates pure joy in my heart.

I am now forever grateful for the silence and always will be.

My Sister's Keeper

"I don't believe an accident of birth makes people sisters or brothers.  It makes them siblings, gives them mutuality of parentage.  Sisterhood and brotherhood is a condition people have to work at."  Maya Angelou

I think it is really important when you lose someone you love so much to remember those that are still here, for you are still here.   I believe that a deep journey through grief can be shaped by those you chose to surround yourself with through that journey.  While my grief is no one's burden but mine, I'd be a fool to think I could do this without my family and friends.

  One of the first things that attracted me to John were the people he chose to surround himself with.  John had incredible friends and a family that he loved.  Any man that consistently calls his grand mother to say hello has my vote.  That was John.  I felt the power of his relationships the moment he was gone.  All of our friends, regardless of how long it had been since we'd seen each other rallied around me with nothing but love.

There are two remarkable women that truly stick out when I reflect on my journey, where I was last year, and where I am now.  Those two women are my sisters, Anna and Lizzie.  They are so remarkable that I feel compelled to write about them and talk about what they have done for me.  I want others to know who they are.

One of the hardest parts about moving to Oregon with John was the reality that we would be placing a country between myself and my siblings.  I have been so blessed to not only have a wonderful childhood with my sisters and brother, but as the years have passed, they have all become my best friends.  No family is perfect, but we were perfect for each other.  I realize how blessed I am, because not everyone has this.  I've come across individuals throughout my life that are estranged from their siblings, some that haven't spoken to each other in years nor want to.  This has never been my reality.  I feel that we have always functioned as a team and all three of them have helped shape me into the person that I am today.

As the oldest of four, I would say I have always been your pretty typical oldest child.  My siblings have always told me I am the "peace maker" of the family.  I seemed to play the judge growing up in settling sibling disputes and getting us all back on the same page, including myself.  From the time I was young, I remember feeling a responsibility to be a leader for my three siblings, a protector, someone who can set the pace and help pave a path for each of them. 

 I also have to say that there are not two other individuals that I have laughed with harder than Anna and Lizzie.  One thing I believe all of us somehow inherited were inappropriate senses of humor which I fully own and enjoy.  There are no barriers for me with these two, anything goes.  Both of them even found ways to make me laugh right after John died.  When things are as heavy as that, sometimes the best thing you can do is let yourself laugh things out.  I'm sure others would have been mortified by our humor, but if there was one thing John understood about my two sisters, it's that we took things to a whole new level of laughter.

When I met my husband, my siblings instantly liked John.  They continued to rally around him as our love grew stronger and treated him like a brother.  They all looked up to John and had a lot of respect for the man he was.  Knowing that your family truly accepts the man you chose to love, and knowing that they love that person like family meant everything to me.  When John died, my family took it as hard as I did.  I remember even feeling a need to protect my siblings, ensuring them things would be OK and that John would need them to be OK.

My two sisters were on a flight to Oregon within 48 hours of John's death, and I have to tell you, those two women did everything for me for the next few weeks.  I can remember getting up and just going out to the front porch and sitting there all day everyday for a week.  I would just stare at the mountains.  I couldn't even pour myself a glass of water.  These two did everything from cleaning, laundry, cooking, walking Jake, putting the funeral together, dealing with all business matters, sleeping beside me at night, and simply sitting with me.  They didn't leave my side.  When I started considering moving back east to the Appalachians, my two sisters went with me to Fayetteville to help me make the decision.  When I finally chose to move back east, my sister and brother-in-law flew back out and helped me pack.  When I had to make the long drive back east, my other sister flew out and made the drive with me.  There hasn't been a day that has gone by where they haven't called to check-in and make sure things are OK.  They are both so selfless and have dropped everything for me so many times without any hesitation.

What has really inspired me, is what both women have done with their lives since losing John.  After John passed, a few months later, Lizzie and Luke (my awesome brother-in-law), decided to follow their dreams, take a risk, and open an Art Gallery and Studio called the Blue Rabbit in downtown Mount Airy.  Not only is Lizzie's incredible art displayed here, but she shares this passion with children and adults through classes with the loving support of Luke who manages the business.  I could not be more proud of Lizzie.  It takes so much hard work and determination to open your own business and to simply not settle.  To me, this is an incredible example of John's impact on others.  They even continue to honor John through the Blue Rabbit by donating to his scholarship through art events.  Lizzie is one of the few individuals I know that has turned her passion and dream to reality.  It is truly inspiring and has motivated me to do the same one day.

My other sister took a trip to Alaska (a place John had always wanted to see) and took his ashes with her.  John's sense of adventure really inspired Anna to step out of her comfort zone and go explore.  I was really proud of her for doing this.  She came back and said Alaska was the most beautiful place she had ever seen.  I think her trip to Alaska changed her in some ways and built a confidence in her to adventure more and take risk.  Anna is one of the most selfless people I know and constantly puts others before herself.  She has always taken care of everyone.  Her patience and kindness are far beyond most people in this world.   It really made me smile and feel so proud to see her do something for herself and take John with her.  

What I've realized as this year has passed is that I've gotten to know both of these women for who they really are, and what they are truly capable of.  They have both been leaders for me and have taken care of me in ways that no one else could.  They are wise beyond their years and carry a light with them that I have had the pleasure of seeing for myself.  I believe I would be in a much darker place had it not been for these two women.  I thank God every day for my sisters and understand now more than ever what a blessing they are.  Throughout the years I have always felt this need to protect them, lead them, to be my sister's keepers.  Yet, our roles have reversed and they have been mine.  I thank God every day for that.  I owe my life to both of them and feel so proud to call Anna and Lizzie my sisters.  

                                                    

I love you Anna and Lizzie.  Thank you for taking care of me.

To These Five Women

"It is when two such persons discover one another, when, whether with immense difficulties and semi-articulate fumblings or with what would seem to us amazing and elliptical speed, they share their vision - it is then that Friendship is born.  And instantly they stand together in an immense solitude.”  C.S. Lewis

It is Sunday evening on Mother's Day and I am sitting here at the Portland airport watching the sun go down over the rolling mountains, immersed in Douglas Firs.  I feel peace sitting here this evening, comforted by this incredible terrain.  This was once my home, a place that will always be John's home, a place that will always be our home.  Moving to Oregon changed me.  It unlocked a door I had never been brave enough to open and exposed me to a whole new world of adventure and discovery.  We left a familiar life of friends, family and comfortable jobs and took a risk together, an adventure together.  I love Oregon for that.  Oregon embraced us, awoke us.  I felt like we both were truly living here in this beautiful state and our love grew deeper.  Taking a risk like this changed me, it changed John and we both knew we'd be stronger together because of this risk.  Being back in Oregon I often wonder what we would have been doing at that point.  What new trails and rivers we would have discovered.  Oregon has a way of warming my heart and breaking it at the same time.  But my love for Oregon and the happiness and joy it brought my husband far outweighs my pain.   He was so happy here, he was alive.  I will forever love her for that.

The day John was found I remember having this moment where the realization of our family and closest friends being so far away was more painful to me than it had ever been.  After the funeral in North Carolina, everyone returned home and I was left awaiting my flight back to Oregon and felt suddenly isolated.  I wanted to curl up in my moms bed like a child.  It frightened me that I had to return to this place that was supposed to be our home yet was still so foreign to me.  I felt alone.   John and I did everything together during our time here.  He was my only family out west.  My partner in crime.  I couldn't imagine returning without him and I was nervous.  Yet I remember as the plane descended into southern Oregon and those green mountains appeared below the fog line, I knew Oregon was where I was supposed to be for now.  It just felt right.

I didn't realize this at the time, but my choice to return to Oregon was simply the start of a journey with five incredible women that would save my life.  Each would save me in a different and unique way that would change me, awaken me again and remind me that I'm still here.

I decided to have a simple ceremony for the small community of friends and coworkers we had created here in Grants Pass, Oregon.  It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.  We hadn't been here long, but we were here long enough that we had a community of people that truly cared and needed the closure I gave our family and friends back east.  The night before the ceremony 5 women traveled to my home in Grants Pass to spend the weekend with me.  

John and I met Haven Livingston on the North Fork of the Feather River down in California over the fall.  We then found ourselves paddling again with her on the Smith River a few months later.  I had only seen Haven twice on the river before John died, but will never forget her smile and being greeted with handfuls of avocados.  After March 9th, Haven wrote to me and asked if she could come spend some time with me.  Without hesitation, I said yes.  John and I had met Lori Turbes on the Smith River once.  Lori was a light of energy when I met her and had a smile on the river that I immediately felt drawn to.  I never would have imagined at the time that she would become one of the four brave individuals that would recover John on March 10th.  Lori showed up to my home the night before the ceremony.  John and I met Lisa Byers shortly after we moved to Oregon over dinner one night.  The three of us ended up becoming great friends and spent a lot of time on the river together.  As I've said before, Lisa truly was the female version of my husband, they were kindred spirits.  Lisa was there that night.  Chrissy Johnston was a raft guide with Lori on the Rogue and an avid kayaker.  I had never met Chrissy before, but she had asked Lori if she could come meet me.  I said yes without hesitation.  Finally, Melissa Joyce.  Lori called me about 2 weeks after John died and told me about her friend Melissa who's husband had also drowned during a kayaking trip on the Grand Canyon only 9 days after John had passed.  I remember reading Curt's obituary in my living room the day after John's funeral, feeling shocked this had actually happened to someone else.  Lori felt drawn to introducing the two of us.  Melissa Joyce showed up the night before John's funeral, having just flown back from her own husband's funeral.

That night, the five of us sat together in my living room drinking wine and eating brie.  Honestly that night was a fog, I don't remember much of our conversation, other than these five women were there with me.  That night marked the beginning of some of the strongest bonds I have ever felt.  

Lisa helped me get back in my kayak.  She paddled along side me my first time back on the river.  I honestly don't know any other women that are tougher than Lisa and that toughness instilled something tough in me.  I watched her take a risk and head solo to Yakutat, Alaska where she is now living and working.  She went not knowing anyone, with no phone service and little internet.  Yet, people gravitate towards her, and she's living an incredible adventure, exploring whenever she can.  Lisa has always taken full advantage of the outdoors and always finds ways to explore.  Lisa reminds me everyday that I am still here, so tough I shall be.

Lori helped me to love the river again.  I paddled the North Fork of the Smith side by side with Lori before moving back east.  She was my cheerleader, and my protector.  Lori is a light of energy and is a woman that truly loves what she does.  She took a risk and started a kayaking school in Southern Oregon.  Her passion created success, and now she lives the reality of an incredible dream.  Lori is encouraging, true to herself, a true adventurist.  Lori reminds me everyday that I am still here, so a dreamer I shall be.

Haven helped me to love myself and be open to love.  Haven stayed with me for a week after returning to Oregon.  She was simply present and there in anyway that I needed her, I didn't have to be alone.  Haven truly takes care of herself and instills healthy habits into her life that inspires me.  Haven took a risk and opened her heart up to love.  Vulnerable, unconditional, inspirational love.  Haven is beautiful, she is balanced, she is present.  Haven reminds me everyday that I am still here, so love I shall have.

Chrissy helped me to find light in everything I do.  The first thing Chrissy said to me when we met was, "I am so sorry you lost your best friend."  It was one of the most genuine things anyone had said to me.  I have never seen Chrissy without a smile on her face and a hug awaiting me.  Shortly after John and Curt passed away, Chrissy decided that life simply is too short, so she proposed to Nate.  I felt so blessed to attend their beautiful wedding ceremony this past weekend and to see these two become a family.  Chrissy is authentic, genuine, and completely full of love and compassion for others.  Chrissy reminds me every day to laugh, give hugs and smile.  She reminds me that I am still here, so compassion I shall have.

Melissa taught me complete unconditional selflessness.  I honestly don't know many women that would come to the funeral of a man they did not know to support a woman they did not know, only weeks after their own husband died.  Into old age, I will never forget that.  Melissa and I have walked hand in hand through all of this.  We chose each other that day in Grants Pass and became family.  I am stronger in my faith because of Melissa.  I will help other's because of Melissa.  I have learned to allow the pain to surface in my heart and walk through it, not around it, because of her.  Melissa took a risk, left a job, and went back to graduate school with plans to get a Masters in Divinity so she can Chaplin to other's one day.  She is using her pain to help others.  She's allowing her pain to spring her into positive action.  Melissa also took a risk and is moving somewhere beautiful, with trails in her back yard.  She is heading to the mountains and being true to her soul.  I find this truly inspiring.  Melissa reminds me every day to be brave, strong, and selfless to others.  She reminds me that I am still here, so selfless I shall be.  

These women are amazing.  They are my heros.  They are a part of me and I will forever be a better woman because of each of them.  These are the type of friendships where you pick up right where you left off.  Regardless of how far away we are from each other, our souls are intertwined.  I see us with white hair one day taking a stroll down the shore somewhere, laughing away.  To these five women, I owe my heart forever.  I love you Haven, Lori, Chrissy, Melissa and Lisa.  

Why I Go

"The beauty of rivers is in large part the same kind of beauty that good music has.  It has patterns that delight us and evoke our deepest feelings of excitement, awe, and mystery.  Even the simplest surf wave is changing and surging, and even the simplest eddy line is a wonder of complexity.  Add up a river full of such things, and you have the treasures of the planet spread before you.  The river is the essence of creativity and change, and slight unpredictability's, the very things that create our pleasure, lie features that can injure and kill us.  The river doesn't care.  It is a force of nature, following the laws of physics and showing us continually, that flowing water contains all the beauty and magic of the world.  Learning to engage that magic is what creates our sport.  Challenge and fun, as well as danger and death, all come from the same place.  It is up to you to decide what that means, and to treat it with the care and respect it deserves."  Doug Ammons, "Whitewater Philosophy."  

There have been two times in my life where I thought I was going to drown.  Both times, my husband saved me.  The first time took place on the Cranberry River in West Virginia.  I was 25 years old.  I was somewhat of a beginner at the time and had very little experience with boulder gardens or running drops that were blind.  I remember sitting in my boat on the river bank with John and our friend Matt McHale, and nervously latching my skirt around the cock pit before pushing off into the current.  The first few rapids seemed fine, fairly manageable.  As always I was following John through each one, who seemed to always lead perfect lines.  Slowly we approached what appeared to be a blind drop.  John told me he would run this and then show me his paddle below to let me know it was OK.  He ran this drop gracefully and within a few seconds, I saw the blade of his paddle appear just above the horizon line.  I took a few paddle strokes and attempted to launch myself off of this drop.  I landed in a small boil and immediately flipped.  While flipping, I somehow managed to lose my paddle.  I attempted two hand rolls and failed.  I realized at this point I was going to have to swim so I went for my grab loop.  This is when things really started to go south.  In my nervousness, I had tucked my grab loop into my cock pit, leaving me nothing to release my skirt in order to free me from the boat.  At this point, I remember panicking.  I started frantically kicking and slamming my hands up against both sides of my boat to signal for help, hoping John and Matt were close by.  I was running out of air at this point and when no one seemed to be near, I remember thinking, this is it, I am going to drown because I wasn't paying attention.  Just as I was about to involuntarily breathe, I felt two hands grasping around my waste and two massive tugs.  Within a few seconds I was being ripped out of my boat and thrown onto the top of John's boat.  To make matters worse, my dry suit had somehow opened up during this struggle and my entire suit had filled with water, so I was quite heavy.  John had me hold onto the back of his boat while he paddled us both to the shore.  I remember feeling like my lungs wanted to explode and this deep ache in my chest.  When we finally got to the side, I burst into tears.  I ended up walking off the river that day.  It really shook me up.   

The second time was on the Upper Klamath River in California.  I was 29 years old.  I had only been out west for a month with John and it was a foggy Fall Saturday in Southern Oregon.  John and I rode down to Northern California with our new friends Jared, Hunter and Jon.  The Upper Klamath is a big water Class III-IV+ river that flows through a tall remote canyon in Northern California.  The first major rapid on this section is a rapid called "Caldera", a  Class IV+ long big rapid.  It is so long that scouting the entire thing from the top is really hard.  I remember John got out and scouted it while I sat in the eddy watching his eyes scan the water, picking out our line.  I was already nervous so honestly I didn't want to look at it.  I figured if I did I'd probably walk it which would result in an impossible portage, so I chose not to look.  John stared at it for a few minutes and then looked at me and said "you'll be fine."  We both pushed out into the current and as we approached the horizon line, I just saw this explosion of white water every where.  John told me to stay close to him and brace hard through each hit.  I got about half way through the top part of this rapid before getting slammed by two different wave curler's that happened to break right as I was passing them.  I was immediately upside down and felt my paddle being forced behind my head.  To add to this, I could feel my paddle and arms behind dragged across what felt like some sharp rocks.  I made 3 roll attempts that were unsuccessful.  Running out of air, I realized I'd have to swim.  I ditched my paddle, pulled my skirt and was immediately blasted with a mouth full of water and and then pushed under.  I remember flailing and trying to keep my feet up but only getting a second or two above water before being pushed under again.  It felt impossible and helpless to find the surface or see where I was heading.  I actually remember having a brief second during this beating where I thought, "this is how people flush drown."  I remember beginning to feel helpless and defeated.  This went on for what felt like forever and I felt as if I had nothing left, I was a rag doll at this point.   I finally caught a breath and a glimpse of John on the river right bank with a throw rope yelling for me to swim.  He helped pull me into the eddy and up onto this rock.  I started to puke up water and cry.  John even looked panicked and later told me he actually thought I was about to drown.  He said a solid 10-15 seconds went by where he could not see me at all, until finally I popped up at the bottom.  Once I pulled myself together, John asked me if my legs hurt.  I looked down and saw blood running down both shins.   I had been dragged over lava rock, ripped part of my pants and dry top in the process and later discovered a softball size bruise on my ass.  The Upper Klamath had literally kicked me in the ass as John put it.  But, he was there to save me.  He was always there.

You know what is interesting about both of those experiences.  Both incidents really scared me and made me question why I go.  Yet, I returned to both rivers, and ran those same rapids again, the second time successfully.  There was something in me after both experiences that drove me back, feeling the need to try again.  An urge to conquer what I could not.  To return to my fear and revisit those mistakes that caused me to swim.

 John was the kind of kayaker that would run a rapid 5 times in order to get it right, regardless of how many beatings he took.  He carried this mind set, not only on white water but in mountain biking, graduate school, friendships, cooking, forestry, training Jake, planting a garden, and being a husband to me.  He was a true perfectionist which is also why he could be labeled as a procrastinator.  He'd take forever to ensure it was perfect.  Half ass was not in his vocabulary, ever.  Everything John did, he wanted to do it right.  That's the kind of man that he was.  I adored him for that.




I started thinking about these past experiences after spending an afternoon rafting the New River Gorge this past Sunday with my buddy Sherry Spilker and taking an involuntary swim together.  Sherry and I met late last fall while embarking on a dinner at Diogis restaurant with some mutual friends.  I have to say, after a simple meet and greet, I could tell that the two of us would become great friends.  I have been really blessed in my life to come across some incredibly strong, unique, kind, hilarious, like-minded women.  Sherry is one of these women for me.  There is no other friend in the world that I can send inappropriate hash tags to in a text message and get yet an even more inappropriate response.  She gets my sick sense of humor.  Beyond our ridiculous hash tagging, she's just an incredible friend all around, a true soul sister.  

Sherry and I recently started rafting together.  Sherry is an extremely efficient guide with tons of experience, so rafting with her has been not only fun but a great learning experience, for it is teaching me a whole new perspective on the river.  We've rafted the New and Gauley together at higher water a few times.  Rafting is definitely new for me and very different from kayaking.  John and I took my sister and brother-in-law rafting down the New years ago and had a blast.  It was the weekend of the derecho in West Virginia.  We had no power, warm beers, and endless white water, a charcoal grill and Nick's awesome caboose to camp at.  I also got to raft the Upper Gauley for the first time this past Gauley season with some amazing ladies,  including one bad ass guide, Liz Arnold.  Beyond those two experiences, I really haven't spent much time in a raft, so the concept is really new to me.





  Rafting requires team work, communication and a deep level of trust for the guide.  After rafting together a few times, Sherry and I decided to purchase a raft together.  Our goal is to be able to R2 the Upper Gauley together this fall and to be so in sync with each other that we can simply react to each other's moves with the current instead of yell commands.  R2 means it's just her and I maneuvering our raft through each rapid.  This past Sunday, the two of us decided to test out a 10 1/2 foot raft down the New River at around 9 feet.  We asked our friend, John Petretich to safety boat along side of us.  We knew this was going to be big water and we wanted to see how we could handle a smaller raft at this level.  We noticed pretty quickly that this raft liked to turn to the right or left with every big wave hit.  We could tell it was going to be "tippy" and we would need to paddle strong and together through each rapid.  The two of us successfully made it through the Keeney's and Double Z (two well known series of rapids on the New), and two areas where we knew we did not want to swim.  We we're feeling pretty confident, in fact I actually felt like we were bad asses.  Two women combined weighing about 220 pounds taking a 10 1/2 foot raft through the Keeney's at 9 feet was awesome.  We came up on Upper and Lower Kaymoor (two rapids that seem to blend together at this level).  Right before entering these rapids, I turned to Sherry and told her that I had not had to swim since John died, and I was somewhat afraid to.  I feared how it would feel, I feared picturing him.  

We entered the rapid and after about 3 big wave hits, we came up on this huge breaking wave that happened to break on us just as we took a paddle stroke together.  The next thing I knew, Sherry and I were both being ejected from our seats and suddenly, the cross tubes that we were sitting on were now above us.  The raft then slammed down on top of us, dunking us into the river.  At that point, I was under water.  When I came up for air, I was blasted with another big wave hit.  I turned and saw Sherry about 10 feet behind me.  Both of us I think we're a little shocked at the fact that we were no longer in our raft.  I could hear John P yelling at us to swim left.  There is a nasty hydraulic called "Teacher's Pet" on river right that is extremely easy to miss, but while swimming it would be potentially hard to see.   I realized at this point I needed to work , I needed to swim.  I started kicking and pulling my arms through the water.  I couldn't really see what was up ahead, I couldn't seem to catch my breath, and I quickly felt exhausted and out of shape.  I felt my mind wandering to my past and once again picturing John swim and with that, I felt somewhat panicked.  We flushed through the rest of the rapid and finally came up on some calm but moving water.  I turned around and Sherry had managed to get a hold of the raft and flip it over herself.  Her and the raft quickly caught up to me and she pulled herself into the raft within seconds.  I made this attempt myself and failed.  I was so tired.  Sherry reached down, grabbed a hold of my life jacket and pulled me into the raft.  I think I resembled a noodle at this point.  Everything felt heavy.  Sherry asked me if I was OK before grabbing our spare paddle.  We paddled over to an eddy so I could catch my breath and pull myself together.  

We blasted through the last few rapids together and even hit the "million dollar wave" in Fayette Station before taking out for the day.  It was a true adventure together and we were really grateful to have John P along side us.  Needless to say, I think we'll be purchasing a bigger raft.  One with a little more girth to it!  

I've been thinking a lot lately about why I kayak, and why I'm having this new drive to go rafting with my good friend.  Why I enjoy the adventure of white water.  In the past, I enjoyed my time on the river so much because it was a shared love with my husband.  White water developed a trust between the two of us, a deeper love for each other.  To see the beauty all around me from the current, and then to see John's face light up beside me was precious.  I trusted John on the river, and I knew that if I was ever in a life threatening moment, he would be there.  I've really struggled with the fact that I was not there when he needed help.  I couldn't rescue him and the image of him swimming haunts me, in fact it sickens me.  Swimming through white water can be scary, it can feel helpless and exhausting.  It is true, the river doesn't care, and when we find ourselves alone in it swimming, we are at it's mercy.    These are my own demons I've had to face and it's part of the reason I've pushed myself to get back in my boat and face it, own it, work with these struggles through each rapid.

I can't let go of the perspective I get from the river.  The beauty. The wild life.  Those moments in the current when it becomes so clear that this world we live in is a part of a much bigger picture.

 The feeling of being on the perfect line and watching an explosion of white water all around you, yet where you are is smooth, a green high way.

The feeling you get from catching air off an awesome boof.

The incredible bonds I've made on the river with women that have been there with me through my grief.

I had a moment of clarity as my good friend pulled me back into our raft.  John was always there for me through each rapid and after the river took him, it scared me to put myself back out there without him.  He was the strongest boater I knew.  Yet, every time I am out there, every time I push off into the current, it is then that I feel him so near. I saw him in my bad ass friend Sherry as she pulled me to safety.  I heard him in John P as he told us where to swim.  I felt his strength rise within me as I kicked and pushed through the water.  It was my first swim since losing John, and it was OK.  I don't have to relive his death with each swim.   I know in my heart that he is well beyond that experience, and I need to move beyond it too.  I am so grateful for the ability to kayak and now raft.  I am so grateful for the incredible bond I had with my husband and the river.  I am grateful for the constant reminder of my creator through the turns of each river bend.  I am grateful to enjoy my time on the river again and smile through each rapid, remembering and respecting my past but continuing to look ahead to the next rapid.  I am grateful to be present with the current.  I am grateful for the reminder that I am still here.  I believe that is why I go. 

Paddle On

"You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.  You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.  You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.  Before a word is on my tongue you, Lord, know it completely.  You hem me in behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me.  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.  Where can I go from your Spirit?  Where can I flee from your presence?  If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.  If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your hand will hold me fast.  If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me," even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.  For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.  My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.  Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be."   Psalm 139:1-17

Last weekend I believe something incredible happened, and while I think it may be hard to explain, I want to try.  A good friend and I decided to spend the day kayaking the Lower Gauley river.  It was a beautiful day and the level was just right.  The lower Gauley is an absolutely beautiful 11 mile stretch of Class III-IV white water that takes you through an endless gorge.  It's common to encounter picturesque cliff sides, wild flowers, birds singing, and world class rapids.  The lower Gauley was the first river in West Virginia I began to kayak with John.  We spent so much time on this river together so it only felt appropriate to spread his ashes along the shoreline when I returned to the east coast last fall.  I remember releasing him above this beautiful rapid called "Canyon Doors," before pushing out into the current and blasting through each exploding wave.   I was so sad when I did this, and I remember feeling lost out there without him.  Months have gone by since this experience and I took somewhat of a break from kayaking after that fall. 

As I approached this rapid last Saturday I looked at the rock I once stood on to let him go.  This incredibly warm feeling seemed to wash over me and for the first time since losing my best friend, I didn't have that overwhelming feeling of sadness, of loss.  There was not that feeling of panic that I've experienced where I feel as if he is missing.  This time, it was different.  John was a beautiful memory, he was the river, the waves, the sun.  I realized in that moment that John was a feeling.  He was a strength within me.  A time in my life that was so precious and wonderful.  He was a beautiful thought.  Like when you hear that song that brings you back to a great time in your life.  A smell that reminds you of something you once experienced that was amazing.  I realized as I approached his resting spot, that he is me, and he is all around me.  For the first time, I didn't feel desperate, or this deep need to search for him.  I just smiled as I dropped into this rapid that I used to follow him through so many times.  He was with me and it felt wonderful.  

I believe that God has allowed me to feel the loss of John over the last year.  He has allowed me to walk with incredible pain, because he has to.  It has allowed me to see the world differently and for that alone, I believe I'll be able to fulfill whatever purpose he has for me while I am here.  I have grown stronger in my faith and my love for my creator.  I also have to believe that as time passes, God allows us to experience loved one's that have gone before us in a way that does not bring pain, but instead brings strength and hope.  God knows and understands everything about me, every thought, every moment, every fear.  All I have to do is trust him and love him.  I really believe it is that simple, yet as humans I think we get so caught up in our own feelings and worries that we forget that at times.

  I have said before that John is a monumental pillar of strength for me and I mean that.  But since losing him, that strength has always come with so much pain and the feeling of his absence.  This time, that strength was different and I felt so grateful in that moment that I was feeling him in this new way that simply made me smile and paddle on.  

I am a kayaker, and before this happened, I think John would have told you I was a good kayaker.  Kayaking was a huge part of our relationship and our bond.  We experienced different part's of the world together that one can only see from a river and those memories are ingrained in me forever.  After my visit to California, I decided that I couldn't give this gift up because of what happened.  John wouldn't want me to, and honestly, I don't want to.  I love it.  I can only hope that his death will bring more caution to others, that safety measures will be taken because of what happened to him.  How could we not?  

The feeling I experienced on the river last weekend has given me the energy to continue to embrace this new life, this new chapter as mine and mine alone.  To continue to move forward and love what I do, where I live and the people I continue to meet.  None of this is possible though without the God that I love, who is continuing to reveal this world to me in a beautiful new way.

I really look forward to hopefully having more moments like the one I experienced on the river.  It's a beautiful reminder that our souls are eternal, and John is so near as I paddle on.

"If my ship sails from sight, it doesn't mean my journey ends, it simply means the river bends."   John Enoch Powell