This is as Doris Day as I’m Gonna Get

For those of you who don’t know who Doris Day is…here. She was a singer and actress from the 50’s & 60’s eras. Fresh faced, blonde, ‘All American Girl Next Door’ type. I was raised watching all of these old movies from the 50’s and Doris Day was the peppiest of peppy. (Besides Debbie Reynolds. This subject might just be another blog…) Just watch this. Que Sera Sera. You’ll see. Now that I hear that song…it does actually work. ‘Whatever will be will be” indeed. Just keep moving along. (That or its just about people who won’t commit to anything.) As a kid, she was always the example to me of putting on a happy face, looking up, moving on.

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Look at baby Doris Day! Awe. Boy, life really spits you out doesn’t it? What a cutie.

“To write is to create something that will have its own life, Audre Lorde thought. A writer needs to hold her nerve, conquer her fears and speak out. Her great mantra – and the title of this Lorde reader, which collects for the first time in a single volume a selection of her poetry and essays – was: “Your silence will not protect you.” (Article found here.)

‘Silence will not protect you’. Hmmmm. True. I made my last post private anyway. As much as I am so angry and so hurt…I don’t want to hurt other people. (I do want the horrible, vindictive person who made sure the priest called me the ‘biological mother’ at my daughter’s funeral that she orchestrated to go to hell tho.)(God I wish I would have stood up and just quietly left.)(Stop ruminating Judy.)

On the other hand, I also get very tired of being vague, and taking the high road. I never learned ‘tact’ in my life. I pretty much just stomp through everything verbally after ruminating over it in my head and KILLING it there. Or I just blurt shit out.

Part of me would like to believe that my writing helps other people. Other people who are angry and sad and hurt and in pain. And that seeing my story, my words, or anyone’s, on the subject, lets them know they are ok. That we all have a right to be fed up. We are not being ‘rude’ or uncaring or mean. Just being female disallows us so many feelings. I know men feel that too. A man can go write a blog about that if he’d like, I’m writing this one.

So I felt like my son would be uncomfortable if he read the blog. How do we write about ourselves? Here is where the battle lies I suppose. My self involves others. My grief and pain involves others. Savannah kept me silent for years from talking about her or my experience I was having as a mother via her. I am lost on this. The more I get out of my head the more I write. So maybe I’ll just keep doing that. Getting out of my head that is.

Today was a good day. I played 80’s jams at work. The day I wrote the last blog I was very, very down, and the grief train seems to be getting worse btw. I am coming out from under the shock and seeing the horror of everything that has taken place in a much clearer light unfortunately. My Aunt called me later that day and invited me over or to go do something fun with her. In my state of mind at the time I could not even make a decision about driving, parking, being in front of any people, the word fun…so she called my boyfriend to come and get me. That man drove over 120 miles to take me out and bring me back home. When I arrived at my Aunt’s, she had birthday cupcakes, a little present, and she made dinner. It was wonderful. I am learning how to be a supportive, amazing person who does little touches like that for other people…cupcakes and champagne? How perfect and easy to give to someone!! I am taking what I learn from the people around me right now who are being so selfless and trying to pass that on. I do have family and I am loved. Welcome to the ride of life that so many of us disallow.

Focus on the positives. They do exist. I tend to blast them all out of my life and brain with a sand blaster…but I do come around. Que Sera Sera y’alls.

The only thing that keeps us from reaching out, going beyond, doing something for others, is FEAR. Fear that we aren’t enough. I know I can say I am afraid I will be embarrassed or that I will put myself out there for someone who will take advantage of me or hurt me in some way.  I was taught this. To not trust. I learned it by being vulnerable and getting my heart and ass handed to me on the reg. So I am going to unlearn it.

This is MY LIFE.

I get to choose.

I can choose to be in my cave or I can choose to come out. I can choose my words. I can release all of my emotions all over the place and smear my heart like jelly all over the world. I can walk with my head up, or I can cry in the car with Ugly Distorted Face, so much so, that if people see me driving like this they are worried that I am behind the wheel.

“How can she even see?”

I can do this how I need to do it.

It’s only been 5 months.

It’s only been 53 years.

It’s only today.

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This is how I would like to do this. For a good cause. (And three feet taller and 50 pounds thinner.) (But I digress.)

 

Death… might be coming quickly,
now, without regard for whether
I had ever spoken what needed to
be said, or had only betrayed myself
into small silences…  I was going to die,
if not sooner then later, whether or not
I had ever spoken myself. My silences
had not protected me. Your silence
will not protect you.

– Audre Lorde

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Lost in Crazy

What if I just wrote and wrote and wrote and didn’t care what ‘happened’ or did not ‘happen’? If I just came in here and spilled out my guts? I dream of speaking to crowds like Brene Brown. Then my awful brain tells me YOU ARE NOBODY NO ONE WOULD LISTEN TO YOU YOU AREN’T A DOCTOR OR ANYONE. Then my other brain speaks up…

people just want to hear regular people tell them they are ok.

How can I do this?

I don’t know.

So I will write.

This particular week I have been overwhelmed with grief. This wave is like a Tsunami. Everyday the town is completely destroyed and rebuilt. Like a horrible Groundhog Day of destruction. I am just realizing I am going to miss Savannah for the rest of my life. That I will be an 85 year old woman who misses her daughter with this same hole in my heart that I have now. How can one bear this? I do not know. I have a clock saved in my tabs (I always have about 19 open tabs on my laptop as I fear I will never find that information again as I go down so many rabbit holes. And if I ‘save’ it or ‘favorite’ it, I won’t ever find it again. It’s like keeping post-it notes up.) its more like a countdown clock. Its the day of Savannah’s death so I can remember how much time has passed. It puts things into perspective down to the very second.

I do it because my brain is very scattered and unfocused. I sometimes feel like its been years, sometimes I feel like its been a week, sometimes it feels like I just found out. This countdown clock also helps me to realize just how little time there has been and that I can cut myself some slack. No one is waiting for me to ‘accomplish’ anything. I need to back off of my perfectionist stance and give myself the break to stay in bed all fucking day long if I want to. I am working almost 24/7 on ‘staying positive’. It’s like a nagging voice in my head all the time to ‘do this good positive thing so you will be okay.’ and sometimes I just want that to shut up so I can eat a peanut butter chocolate brownie in bed at midnight. Leave me alone! I did a positive thing! I got up and went to work and did a good job there and I was friendly and open and had fun so leave me alone!

I never look out of my blackout curtains once I get home. I check the weather app before I peek through those. I’m waiting for it to quit being so fucking sunny and beautiful all the time. Why can’t it rain for a week straight? Everyone wants the moisture for Christ’s sake, that’s all people say all the time already…so GIVE IT TO US! Rain for a month!

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See? Nails it right?

It may seem morbid or negative. It’s just a reality. It puts me back into the here and now which is where all growth begins. Sometimes the number of months astounds me. Its barely been any time at all. Zero years. I’m a newbie. How amazing it is that I am still alive. That I moved to a new city, pieced together a life with furniture and dishes so much so that I had a very successful AirBnB, I brush my teeth, I smile at people, I got a job, my shit together (light at the end of the tunnel of getting my shit together) all in four months after my 23 year old daughter died. I’m not repressing anything either. I am deeply, deeply, traumatically sad inside and out. I cry everywhere I go. I don’t want to be on this planet anymore at all, its very awful. I would never do that to my son, I do want to be here, I do want to show him…something…I don’t know what.

I’m saying, I’m stubborn. I do believe we all have to power to live a positive -TO US- life. To make our lives our own and to share love. At the same time I am being faced with opposition of a terrible, shockingly (but not) un-supportive family during this time of horrible loss for me, a past full of abuse and neglect and demeaning criticism, AND STILL I RISE! I’m stubborn.

I am for the underdog. I am for all the people out there who feel shame and distance and think they are not worthy. They are. I will not put up with people who think I AM NOT WORTHY THO. Nope. I’m done doing that. I will be 52 years old in a few weeks and it has taken me this long to realize this awful feeling of self worth IS NOT MY FAULT. That I was abused. That this was taught to me.

I will un teach it.

Savannah felt shame. It’s killing me that as her mother, I have to say my daughter felt shame. It was my job to protect her. I don’t know why or how this crept in. She does. She did. She worked on this so hard her whole life. To get out from under it. I am going to work on it too so no more amazing, young, ambitious women die. Do I have some idea of where it came from? YES. YES I DO. She did not feel shame about her body until she was about 13. Wherein family members criticized her and what she wore and what she ate and belittled her on this one particular vacation. I have been CSI’ing her life. I have all of her journals, and I have all of her words that she told me in conversations. I have her in my heart, every single day, talking to me and telling me more and more and more.

She was a happy go lucky kid until she was about 11 or 12. I can pinpoint the time frame down to the week. I have the page. It’s like two different people from one moment to the next journal entry. It just happens. I don’t know if SOMETHING happened, but it happened. She never got away from it. The eating disorders began, the drugs soon after. I know this is an age for young girls where this depression, anxiety and mental disorders come in to play. It might not be an EVENT that happens. Society makes us feel unworthy, social media, peer pressure under those two things, hell I talked bad about my body and myself all the time even though I built her up all the time. You just can’t escape this sometimes. And some people are just hardwired for pain and mental illness.I will fight it til the day I die.

Most of us live like its normal to feel this way. Its a fucking shame. We just let these girls float along and buck up like the rest of us. I was maybe too hard on her to be strong. To work through it, to find a WAY, to go find her life how she wanted it. To live big. She was so strong and amazing and beautiful and life ate her up. I hate this so much.

I carry on with my life, not in a fake way, for I am repressing NOTHING. I started to cry at work while I was setting up coffee and beverages, crying, which I have not done at this new job yet, and my boss was there and his face fell apart, ARE YOU OK? He said. I said, ‘I am having a difficult morning (mourning) I am crying but then I will not be. I am ok. I will be ok.’ He said ok. And we went on with our day. I was being honest, and he trusted me. I was ok and we kicked ass and made brunch for over 45 frat boys and it was fun. I came home and cried for hours and went to bed at 8:30. I am just living my life WITH this grief. I am not ignoring it. I am having it. I am a different person. I am learning this.

This is how grief is, its up and down and heavy and light and invisible. It’s relentless and never ending and sometimes the world hates you and sometimes you hate the world and sometimes there is just love there all around you and you still hurt. It’s like being crazy. Or pregnant.

We are just expected to walk through this CRAZY. Just keep going. The bereaved. Like zombies. We wear clothes and carry on like our lives before we were dead.

Grief is traumatic. But get off yer butt!!!! GET A JOB!!! DON’T CURL UP IN A BALL!!!

fuck.

I want to be the light in this tunnel of crazy for other people.

I’m stubborn.

I’m stubborn and sad. The name of my new one woman show.

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A very sad woman decorated this apartment. Then she hung blackout curtains.

Introspective or Isolation?

I just can’t ‘put myself out there’ anymore. Social media is a nightmare. Even though I wish I had thousands of readers; it’s an evil catch 22. I also feel very vulnerable after posting my guts in here and then linking to facebook and all the links. It’s so weird. I can see my writing reaching people but I see the process push me further away from the world and in to my SELF.

The shit I want to write about now is how SHITTY PEOPLE ARE WHEN A CHILD DIES. (Or they were always shitty and now you are just in GRIEF BRAIN so you see it clearly.) Some of these people have been historically shitty. Dumpster Fire Family…Is it because it was a drug overdose? Is it because she wasn’t a baby? (I’m sure those people get treated even worse.) Is it because the grief is so fucking awful and the fucking scariest thing in the world for anyone to imagine? Do they get sick of you being sad? I have no earthly clue. I do know, that I owe zero explanations. My daughter died four months and eight days ago, go fuck yourself. Also this is a thing. Read this. The blog itself is amazing…and the comments in the post are worthy as well. Very powerful.

Taking the ‘high road’ is isolating and sucks as well. These are horrendous people who now feel like liars to me. Like maybe they should have billed me for their time. I will not devils advocate this shit either. I am barely bathing and cry every single morning and every single night and in spurts throughout the day out of nowhere like a crazy person, so sorry I am not ‘there for you.’ It’s the people you don’t expect who are awful as well. Very shocking.

Part of me wants to think its because I have had to motivate myself SO MUCH, to even do the smallest of things that most people take for granted, and that I am supposed to be the saddest person in the world right now but I am crazily, unbelievably THRIVING. Like for reals. When you’ve got nothing to lose, but you want to live a life, and live BIG, and live up to a promise, its amazing what can be accomplished. I’m wondering if I just surrounded myself with angry, bitter people and DESPITE them, have fought my way to a positive life, so they no longer see a use for me. This does not have to come with grief, but in this case it has.

I remember writing, ‘how can the death of my daughter be a new beginning to me?’ or something like that, ‘How does that work?’ ‘How can I find anything worth any kind of good now?’ It would be like I wasn’t sad or like I wasn’t ripped apart if I became the person I’ve always wanted to be. It would be like I was defying her. In reality though, living other than my best is what would be defying her. Savannah never wanted to be on this planet to begin with. As a baby she was just pissed. She hated games people played. She went against society in so many ways, and she also loved her friends so much and made so many. But she told me, however babies can tell you things, like through mind…that she came here to save me. I thought, ‘oh, you have it backwards. I’m going to save you.’ and she simply said ‘No.’

I always knew she was an old soul. And we DID have that conversation and I always treated her differently, like I had an understanding with her, that I knew this world was ridiculous, and tried to show her how to get along in it and still be herself. It was okay not to love this place. You can still have fun.

So for her to come here to this planet in this human life ANYWAY, FOR ME; it would be defying her greatly if I were to just give up, be angry and sad and bitter and hide away. It would be a total waste. I’m sure my neighbors hear me wailing, I’m sure they hear me lose my shit. And I do. This IS the worst scariest thing ever you can ever imagine. I will verify that. In fact, don’t imagine it. That is a horrible thought and your brain actually doesn’t let you go there. Believe me. Savannah danced with death for several years, and I always thought ‘my kid is trying to die’ but I, even then, could never imagine her actually being dead. Dead is forever. It’s permanent. It’s the most permanent. It’s so final and harsh and unforgiving but you still can’t imagine it. I still forget sometimes.

I used to have horrible, horrible nightmares as a kid, and as an adult. So I taught myself lucid dreaming. I needed to control some of this shit so I could get some sleep. I noticed I dream about Savannah sometimes and I wake up and I would be so sad. I’m so sad because I just let her be in my dream and acted like I get to see her everyday. So then I started to tell myself next time I ‘see’ her I’m going to run to her and hug her. And it works. It’s so incredible. And we hug and hug and hug until I wake up. Then I’m in this life again and I have to start all over.

So I’m real sorry I didn’t come to happy hour.

You know what I did do? I walked, every.single.day. I went on hikes. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I rode my bike. I lost my mind. I stayed in bed. Hung blackout curtains. I ate chocolate, and edibles and smoked and drank and quit smoking and made smoothies and walked and walked and listened to mind changing books on tape and meditated and did yoga and found a job and put my head down and worked without a peep and lost my shit and trashed my apartment and decided to move and broke completely open all over the place.

It worked.

When an opportunity arose, I SAW IT. AND LUCK. That’s all you have to do in life is SHOW THE FUCK UP for both of those things to come together. I didn’t do everything right. I just cleared my mind and knew from the bottom of my soul, that I needed to change my track and I worked and worked and worked and that’s all I can say. I did not ‘attain’ anything. Just the ability to go forward. And with the attitude that the worst has already happened, WTF. Go for it. It’s all I had.

I got a raise.

I got rent paid.

People reached out that I didn’t even know knew me.

I got a promotion and a raise when I went in to quit my job. (See? I was still fucking up.)

But it didn’t FUCK UP. I pushed and pushed and pushed through this fucking muck of a fog that fills all the space around me. I did stuff ANYWAY. I worked my ass off on the kitchen line with people 30 years younger than me and cried in the walk in and cried walking home and cried and pushed and cried.

I couldn’t have done any of this without the people I DID have around me. So those who have walked away, can keep on walking. I have no space for you now. People are in your life for beautiful, life saving moments, and then they are not. That’s just the way it is. Its crazy to look at it like that.

We have no control. (Number one rule of Death.)

The only thing we can control is our minds. Our OWN minds. And they are brutal sumo wrestlers let me tell ya.

I just can’t fight anymore. I just can’t be angry anymore. I want to live.

I’m learning every day how to do that.

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Out in the World

Last Night Michael and I went on an actual date thingy. We went and got burgers and a couple of beers. We drove up to Red Rocks,

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BEAUTIFUL drive on hwy 93…taken for granted so much of the time…but I love it.

and had a tailgate beer with some strangers…

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  LOVE THOSE ROCKS

and headed in to the show. Thee Oh Sees – WHO CRUSHED IT BTW. Their opening song I swear had an homage to Yello’s Si Senor the Hairy Grill, that screaming was definitely a nod to Deiter and Boris. The Oh Sees are a rocking, punk, California bad ass band with two drummers. I loved them.

And of course we went there to see Portugal. The Man. The band from Alaska via Portland who have a ‘break out hit’ from last year after basically playing together (for the most part) since 2001. I love those stories. They came out and opened with Metallica’s For Whom the Bell Tolls. It was the best opening EVER. And I’ve been to A LOT OF SHOWS y’alls. For reals.

We danced to Unchained Melody, which they played right before the band came out. Also, please read this inspiring story about Eric Howk, their guitarist. It was just so great to see this band and what they are about and who they are and how much fun they had. John Gourley’s wife, Zoe Manville performs vocals, they are beautiful and the whole show was awesome. I don’t write for a music mag anymore so I can use the word awesome as many times as I want.

Before Portugal came out though, they wanted to honor the natives of the land we were on and brought out a Lakota Tribesman and his two daughters. They run an organization that builds skateparks on reservations called Stronghold Society.  One of the daughters also has a music program she teaches and is senior at CU. Stronghold’s calling is amazing, please click on their site and read it. They honored women and said female energies are on the rise on this planet and to honor the feminine and I was IN THE MOMENT of that. I knew I should have written their names down…but I was PRESENT. I loved it that where we were standing was not ignored.

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So there were lots of young people there, a few (dummies) brought their little kids, and a few gray hairs rocked it out. I fucking love Red Rocks and just loved being there in general and loved seeing it PACKED full of people. It’s my church anyway so it was great to see it fully attended. I don’t know if it is because I don’t leave the house much, or because of deep sadness and grief that I appreciate life more, but it truly was a spectacular evening.

I don’t know if its mostly this too: #livebig (read blog post here) This is a piece I wrote and also read at Savannah’s funeral. It’s how I want to live my life now and it’s about adopting a lifestyle that does not waste any more moments or insights nor let you lose sight of intuitions. Living BIG is about really SEEING things, being present with people and situations. Being human and acknowledging humans.

When I was in Utah to view Savannah’s body and retrieve her things; be at the funeral home with her dad, his wife and my friend, I took Savannah’s ashes to Temple Square, her favorite place. She was obsessed with the musical The Book of Mormon and she brought us to Temple Square when Anthony and I visited her last November. So to take MY time and be with her in this way, and (illegally) spread her ashes all over that place was truly special and something I will never forget. (SHE LOVED IT) I knew when we got back, the funeral would be for Sal and his wife and this time WAS MINE. This was my personal goodbye.

On the way to Temple Square that day, the uber driver opened up to me and my friend about his life in Africa before he came to America. That is another story for another day —- but what he did was embody the whole LiveBig theme that was growing inside of me. Savannah wanted such a big life. I was overwhelmed with feeling like I can’t let that go to waste. So when this man opened up and shared with us his loss and grief and horrors of how he lived in Africa, that when we got to our destination, I asked him if I could hug him. It is just one of those things that pops into your head and then we normally shrug it off because it would be ‘weird’ or ‘not normal’. THAT is what I am changing. Going against that thing that wants you to live small, and to LIVE BIG instead. Ask the question, hug the person, say the thing, buy the flowers.

I asked him ANYWAY…he almost burst into tears during our hug. It was very profound and eye opening and we actually had to sit a minute to just absorb what just took place before we could do our profound thing we came there for.

So I explained all of that because last night was part this whole LIVEBIG thing Savannah has inspired in me.

We got great seats. The people never showed up! We screwed up finding seats in General Admission and I said let’s just sit here and move later if we have to. I just knew we wouldn’t have to move. Besides I asked Savannah and she said those people who’s seats we were in, were not coming a WEEK AGO, so sit! I told Michael to keep saying

And it worked.

We took pictures when we got there and when we left and other than that we weren’t on our phones. We danced to Unchained Melody. I danced my butt off and jumped and sang and screamed and cheered. It’s MY life and in my little life I get to celebrate whatever the fuck I want. We lived big. It was fun. We ran into a friend! 9000 people there and he came up to us on the stairs.

It was a glorious night. I don’t care if it might seem simple to others, but the music was SO FUCKING COOL, the night was amazing, I was in my favorite place with my favorite person and I soaked up every second of it.

Today I go to work. I feel directionless and zombie like. I am trying to define myself in so many ways and use that to just get me out of bed. I did my morning meditations and sat down to write this.

Its so hard to be something and try and live up to my full potential in life when something so heavy is in my heart. I give it its time and place and then I try and be in my new life. I will do this til the day I die I suppose.

Today is today. I’m going to revel in my space here. Listen to some Oh Sees and Portugal and Yello and my new obsession QUEEN as well.

today is today

It’s Happening

Everyone with experience in grief has told me about this time. The time where the funeral is over and everyone gets back to their lives. It is isolating and devastating to not only deal with this grief, but to also be isolated. Everyone is ‘afraid’ of you. You are the representation of everyone’s worst nightmare. You are terrifying to everyone. So everyone ignores you. They see you and say, ‘Hey! How are you?’ And I answer, ‘I’m good, how are you?’ Like a liar. Like they asked and took no thought.

Even if they know, they don’t mention ANYTHING.

Strangers whom I tell my story to are kinder than some of the people who know me.

A man at work who can barely speak english said it best: “I’m so sorry. I don’t feel that. I don’t want to feel that.” I was trying to make work the place where I am not THAT lady. The Sad Lady Who’s Daughter Died. I’m just the lady who works in the kitchen with all the 20 year olds. I told two people there. People I thought have actual life experience. I was just looking for a picture of my bike and my daughter popped up. I wasn’t going to tell him. Then I began crying. His whole faced changed. There is no language barrier for compassion.

One of the other people I told is a guy who just got out of prison. He’d been in for six years. All of his youth. He is forthright about his life right now and I can’t handle chit chat. And I was on the verge of tears all day and unfocused. It was just me and him in the kitchen and I blurted it out. He immediately hugged me. And when we stopped he was crying.

He is actually probably a very unlikely person for me to open up to and have a bond with. He was a drug dealer. But he is very young and trying very hard to start his life over and live a different life. Just like me. He said, “I’m so sorry. You will get through this.” Then I bawled. No one came around the corner, no one walked in, we had this moment. Every once in a while he will walk by and just pat my back. Savannah always championed the people who were harshly judged. I am the same. We are the bungled and the botched.

We’ve had many conversations as oddly enough, we are on the same path. The path of What Do I Do Now? Trying to find a life. Learning. Being adults among children at this job that is possibly saving OUR lives while the others are those who have everything handed to them and paid for by their parents. Complaining that they don’t make enough to wipe down a window.

He is worried about his sister. People tell him they have inspired them to change their lives. Yet he knows he is one phone call away from going right back into his old life. I see my daughter in him, I see my struggling in life in him, I see a person just in the world trying to do good. He is covered in tattoos and has a baby face. He is trying to take care of his loved ones. He’s had a hard, beat up, life against him life. I am on his side. I am rooting for him and he is rooting for me. I like it when I walk in and see him. We see each other.

I am not invisible.

There are some people whom I want to be invisible to and some people I can’t believe that they have cloaked me. I am walking around dragging boulders of grief and pain but I am walking around and they see me and when they don’t say one goddamned thing, I instantly know they do not live in my world. They are not my people, and they drop off the face of the earth.

The people who have showed up in my world, carry me, lift me, check on me, call me, have me over for lunch. Again, strangers have been kinder. I’m like the kid in the cafeteria no one wants to sit by. The people I am gathering around me now, are like all of my Androcules. I am the lion. The thorn in my paw is being mended by compassion and care from the most unexpected people.

The true colors of other people have left me abandoned and shocked. But Ce La Vie. I have to move on. To stay in that is to die.

I am producing art. I am painting, drawing, working, crying, cleaning, bathing, sleeping, drinking, eating and walking around inside of this pain. Yet Savannah is right here. I can only see that if I do NOT do this task of life, and make it amazing, her life was for not. Naught? Either way, I am trying to THRIVE. I’ve spent the last 20 years in survival mode. I am done with that. That’s what prompted me to move to Boulder and start over. Then she died. So how do I start from there? It’s rock bottom. I have to MAKE myself bathe, brushing my teeth is on an accomplishment list. I am grateful for clean hair and that my legs work and that the sun rises. Other days I hate the sun.

I am making my life mine. I don’t think I have ever done that. I say I have been doing it, but standing where I stand now, completely lost of everything familiar, my soul mate, my son far away, in a new town, with so much change; I am now just starting.

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I’m Working Through Some Stuff

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Also: I got a job. I was told by my landlord I am deceptive and was told to quit doing Airbnb. It’s a licensing thing, and some apartment landlords do allow it, but instead of living out of my car I’m trying to keep an apartment and was doing Airbnb. For three weeks. She was angry/assertive/and pissed- I get it. I am the least deceptive person on the planet however. In the end I am relieved I can now enjoy my home and quit living out of a backpack, but 3/4 worth of my income is what now pays my rent. I had this all lined up my brain was fine I was going to be fine and then my world crashed.

I am having a really hard time understanding why we all stay here on this planet. It all seems like a lying sack of shit most of the time. I am bound and determined that so much of the population lives this way and feels the way I do, and I want to change that so I keep listening to my positive shit, I keep working on my brain so I can stick around and help other people.

I recently got a hold of more of Savannah’s journals. Her father had them because her ex-boyfriend had her stuff in Houston and he recently gave them to Savannah’s father. He didn’t want any of it. I would be devastated without it.

In one journal in particular she mentions wanting to become a poet so she can help other kids feel less alone. She had been writing poetry and creating art for years. There was so much pain in that kid and yet she was a fierce fighter for other people’s pain and for other people to be recognized and to not be judged and for everyone to be loved.

I can feel that and I hold that too in my own heart. Her work is amazing and astounding and profound. I am in awe of her. In having her belongings fill my apartment I can not help but feeling like I am CSI-ing her life. We were soulmates and so close and yet I am seeing that there’s still a depth to her that I did not know. It was her separate life, her private life, her deepest ambitions and her biggest dreams that she kept to herself. She believed in others so much and championed everyone around her yet could not believe in herSELF. She did, she strived to, she worked so hard to, but always struggled and yet she was brilliant.

I can’t NOT try and do the same.

I just can’t figure out how yet. How to reach the world. So in the meantime I will grill burgers, pay rent, walk around on mountaintops and come in here to write.

Some Days

Today I got up, and I went on a hike. It was beautiful. I smiled. I listened to Joe Dispenza talk about changing your brain. Grief and this heavy pain is like being sick. I want to change my brain and my body. Like when sick people ‘recover’. I want this to go into remission.

Savannah was so talented and amazing and just finding herself. She had such a hard time loving herself. Now she has given me this. This THING where I am the loneliest in my heart that I have ever been in my lifetime and I have to walk through it to love myself and find a life.

I’m not trying to hurry through this by any means. I’m just trying to survive it.

There is no rehab that teaches you that you matter and to regard yourself as unique and amazing and fearless. You are punished for relapsing and have to apologize to the community. In real life we can just move on. We don’t have to go to work and apologize to everyone. Or beg for our home back. We just need to change our brains. There is no punishment in trying to be a better person each day. There is no punishment in moving on and forgiving yourself, if you don’t DIE that is.  It’s okay to love yourself.

I was taught to NOT love myself.

I do not have to learn this anymore.

It is not MY lesson. It was my mother’s lesson. AND my father’s and they gave it to me.

I am giving it back to them

I am changing my brain.

I believe it is a miracle that we breathe and walk and that our hearts pump and that we like puppies and that wanting love and life and MORE is okay.

I believe I have the strength of someone I didn’t even know existed inside of me.

I went on a beautiful hike today. I cleaned up my apartment, I smiled. My heart is so, so lonely for Savannah. It is undying in its love for her and for what life she never got to have that she was on the verge of. At 20 she was just finding her creativity and voice. Drugs took her life away. Eating disorder brain took her whole self away. She never climbed out of that.

She was amazing and beautiful and loving and kind and wicked fucking funny don’t get me wrong.

But I can’t give up thinking she was on the precipice of this whole, giant life and she couldn’t get over that peak. She was up there. She made it. She was in a play that went around the world, she made friends in minutes, she was an elf at Macy’s, she was in acting school, she was making New York work. And even in rehab just recently she was building up to go back in to acting and was working at a theater that was getting ready to show Hamilton. She had her apartment set up for when she got out and I have all of her notes. I have her map of the world she was making. She had places to be in her calendar. Fun places, places that were her goals.

She wanted it ALL. ALL of it. She had it. The ‘it’ people talk about. She had it. It was all around her.

Drugs killed so much of that ambition and belief and she worked so hard to build it back. I have journals filled with her hard work. Her knowing the steps to loving herself and studying it and writing it down and caring and wanting it so fucking bad.

I’m so angry and disparaged.

I’m other worldly and not included. I’m also big and so loved and loving and want to give love because its so easy to do. Smile at someone, help someone. Its easy. I can’t live inside my anger that I had. That was not my anger. That is my mother and fathers’ and familys’ anger.

I can see my heart and it has opened up to so much compassion and such a new world that I never want to go back. But riding inside that love and peeking out the back window is a loneliness that has a permanent seat. And I will walk, and hike and work and paint and write and have a life with my son and I will give and love, but I will be lonely for Savannah forever.

I talk to her and she is with me, yes, but when people say ‘she will live in your heart’ she will, yes, but what holds my heart now is loneliness. I can see other lonely hearts. I can feel other lonely pain from people. Its okay, because I am a healer. I am just not going to deny this with ‘she’s in a better place’ bullshit. If it’s better, why aren’t we all there???

Because we chose to have hearts and minds and have this human experience. Where Savannah is right now is not a human experience. She can’t touch anything or feel a fluffy kitty or have a song fill her heart. We miss this experience and we want it so we come back here.

I have my beliefs about why and how Savannah was here. If you want to sit and chat I would love that. But spilling my guts out on this blog gets me overwhelmed at times so I’m gonna not do that particular one in here.

I come in here to express myself and share this with others because I know people need it it and relate and find it good. It is a good thing.

So I will prepare today for tomorrow. Literally. I have a guest checking in to my apartment so I can pay July’s rent. I have the 5k to go to in Savannah’s honor and to help Shatterproof and all the work they do. I am staying on the go all weekend. I am visiting with my Aunt so we can play with some recipes. I had an interview with a kitchen in one of the best fucking restaurants in Boulder that I’m waiting to hear back from. I am staying with Michael one night, going to a Shakespeare play and an airbnb with my friend another night and I am making my life move on. I am making a choice. I am controlling my mind to have the life I want, not the life I was taught to settle for. I am doing this like a fucking Badass Warrior Queen Angel Monster.

But today, my heart is lonely.

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Change the World Another Day I’m Out

I googled ‘Dead Daughters Club’ because I wanted to check the punctuation and see if this was a punk band or something. There is no Dead Daughters anything. You are only allowed to talk about dead parents apparently. There are mentions of Dead Dads and Dead Mothers. That’s it. That is how awful this is and how much fear it strikes in the hearts of everyone.

The super duper unimaginable.

I’m like the face that pops up in the scary movie.

My family continues to be a resource of pain for me. My mom has texted me and came to a fundraiser. Not one single person has reached out to me personally from that side. They were at the funeral. My sisters said ‘sorry for your loss’ like a robot. Nothing else was said. I said I love you to everyone when I hugged them and they were stoic bastards. Still no word to this day.

My aunt has been a rock, My cousin Andrew. My best friend, my boyfriend. That is my family.

I have so much love right now I am full on resenting the pain my family is causing.

I talk to one of Savannah’s friends almost every day. The love I am getting from people I don’t know is incredible. I cannot discount them with the pain my immediate family is existing in right now.

The people reaching out to me right now I am learning so much compassion from.

The Dead Kids Club people are the most loving and kind.

The people actually fucking related to me that have done nothing but treat me like a criminal…are the coldest fuckers on the planet.

So I am going to go deliver food in my solo delivery job I signed up for. My lease does not care who died. It does not care that I don’t care. Am I even wearing clothes? I don’t know. I’m going to come in here a million times a day if I have to. This is my form of expression. I mean I did great at the fundraiser. I made people laugh, I hosted the comedy segment of the show. I spoke onstage about my pain. There were pictures of Savannah on a loop. I cried on people. I am being in the world. But I am tired of it.

I am going to back off a little and pull in and lick my wounds and go be sad mom that works a job somewhere so I can pay my rent. I will change the world another day.

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The Dead Daughters Club

Well, I could see where I stopped talking about what was really going on in my life in this blog. Because right now I have no choice but to see it splattered all over the walls of my life. My daughter died April 17th 2018…so just a few weeks ago.

I can read through this blog and see how I dove very deeply into what was happening in my life and with my daughter. Then I can see where I stopped. I can see where there was a cliff that I shoved everything off of. Now I’m sitting at the bottom of that cliff with everything.

I have so many blogs and facebooks.

I so want to express myself.

I’m so sick of following rules.

I’m so sick of happiness meme’s.

I’m going to have my life how I want to have it.

I can’t sleep.

I don’t have a real job. I am doing odds and ends jobs like a person who just got out of prison who’s friends are giving them a break.

I’m not being nice anymore.

I want to get in my car and go somewhere.

This is not a time to ‘build a business’

No one wants to talk to Sad Mom so I have to be congenial so people will talk to me. I have to take care of THEM.

I don’t even know why I’m in here again writing is this blog, but I read it the other day and what I saw was my heart and soul displayed in here and I had a following and I saw that I cared.

So I wanted to come back.

There is no going back though. Not in real life.

This is where the whole story lies though, so I want to come back to the story.

Nothing in my life will ever be the same. I have a ghost edge to me now. Like a cut, like I’m offset from everyone now. I see glimpses of others out there who are also offset, marked down, full of compassion, the velveteen rabbits of the world.

How do I get a job? How do I care? It’s very difficult.

I’m being passed by and passed over and passed through.

Its too hard and scary to look at me. Its too hard and scary to talk to me. I’m bereaved and ripped apart and can’t get anything to ‘fit’ me anymore. I’m awkward and sometimes too friendly because I’m so alone.

I’m loved and have friends, but they are in their lives, my daily life is lived alone and I eat alone and do every fucking fuck life movement alone. I come home to no one, I leave no one. Essentially. I’m feeling it now.

Everyone has been telling me to follow my dreams.

I just need to pay rent. It’s like they are all counting on me to BE SOMEONE. At least be someone who holds it together. I can’t do that for them anymore.

I think I will let myself unravel.

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I miss you so much Savannah.