It is about 3 o clock in the morning and my life sucks*

My mother is dead and I, dead with her.
I betrayed my best friend to try to feel life, then broke my own heart.
Now, alone again, and fucking christmas, again.
Get out of your self-made sinkholes, you idiot!



*clearly life is fine for me because I'm white and money and freedom and food and water and people who care....

Kelly's First Hoop Video

In the time I've been here are Wollam Gardens I've met some pretty cool folks. I've become particularly close to my fellow interns and housemates, Karineh and Nicole who have introduced me to this fun activity called hooping. While I'm very shy with it, as I've never thought myself particularly good at dancing (even though I love to dance), their praise made me wonder what I truly look like. So I taped myself and I'm actually diggin' it. I'm not fully into it, as I'm too aware of the camera, but I was certainly surprised.

So, I guess... without further adieu, my first hooping video:

Titles are often useless.

"if you yourself are not a safe place for you... then you will never feel comfortable and you will never move forward."

–Life lessons that pop into my head that I swear I'll live by but disagree with a month later

Once, I found out a fellow peer of my generation thought me to be vapid. It stung, a lot, even though in my soul of souls I knew it was not true. They had a special disgust for the way I was living my life, especially when my mother was sick and dying–vapid, distasteful, disrespectful, uncaring, unfeeling and 

DAMN I can tell you, as a certainty, there was no moment of unfeeling in that section of my life, not one millisecond. 

However, 

it burrows deeper into my consciousness, feeding the insurmountable regret I already contend with–the special kind reserved only for those who've lost their loves. . . 

"I should have, I cannot! It shall never be; there are no more chances."

Standing up, I throw the truth at it: The regret is something only you carry

                                                       None of that is true, none of it is you

                                                       Their opinions on YOU are made of horse-shit. 

But these words are so strong. I feebly sit down again. The foul opinions and harsh judgements wash over me. Again, I am slumped. 

Foolish human, did you ever think yourself so cruel?

I pledge henceforth (and have been practicing months prior) to judge not another soul in a hurtful manner. 

'Tis a constant struggle. A daily fail. But I vow to be conscious. I vow not to sling more unneeded pain into another's life. 

"Don't let the opinions of others get you down!"

I know I should not listen.

I know we should be stronger. 

But... we're all not strong sometimes. 

give a little wiggle room

P.S.

My hypnotherapist told me I should add "PS. I'm not going to kill myself" to the end of my blog posts so that I don't feel a need to create a false positive twist for certain readers. While it may not apply with this particular post, I feel I must get in the habit. 

P.P.S

I'm not going to kill myself. 

A most likely unexpected subject

In these early mo(u)rning hours of October 27th, I would like to talk about my cat.

I have argued for years now that she is indeed the best cat to have ever existed and I will continue to stand by that claim for the years to come. 

Jewels is a spritely little thing, feisty to the core –enough to have her vet chart marked so as to alert everyone that if her blood is to be drawn, she is to go under–and as affectionate as can be. She is a perfectly well-balanced bundle of love and ferociousness... and cute. 

The hearts of all my friends have been won, in one way or another, by her personality and purrs. The heart of my dog, Pepper, has also been won by this wondrous little cat who walks with us to the end of the driveway on walks and then sits and yowls until we come back. She is definitely an independent part of the pack. 

She is also my baby, my 10-year old baby. I love her so deeply it has worried me, as I've always known I would lose her before I was ready. 

Sure enough, she has kidney failure, and will not be here this time next year to insistently lay on me while I wrestle with the confusion of having lived without the presence of my mother for another whole year. She will be gone far too soon, far too young, similar to my mom.

I know pet grief is harder to understand, because, really, it's just a cat. But fuck that, because it is truly losing another dear dear member of my close family. 

"I can't lose you. I need you to help me get through this. If you died soon, I don't know what I would do."

–A short conversation with my cat upon first returning to Bowling Green after my mother's passing

Yes, I now grapple with the guilt of feeling so torn up about the forthcoming loss of my cat during this particularly poignant time that should be focused on my mother and what it  means for her to have been gone for an entire year. 

But I know my mother would understand. 

She would cry with me. She would know that grief can both mingle and layer and added feelings do not remove others. 

I still remember and currently have particularly strong feeling-memories of what took place last year. I could never forget–the pain, the relief, the "perfect chaos" as I said that night. Now it is just, everything.  One can always feel deeper and wider. Our emotional beings are quite expansive, as you know... or as you'll see. My cat, my mother... I love them both so much, I wish these loved ones would stay put for awhile. 

I just thank Godallahbuddahshiva everything everything and the universe that my cat can die peacefully instead of going through a long, drawn out, and painful death, a dignity my mother did not quite get. 

Fall

Green to red, yellow, orange to brown; to dead from alive.

We watch, baring witness to the inevitable waning of life, the beauty of the trees.

A turning of the seasons... to turn a new leaf–and yet:

clutching, clinging... hanging by the weakening thread to that which once did sprout us.

 F

A

L

L

i

n

.

.

.

g

Shrivel up to nothing, but your time had already come.

When was the end? 

The snap? The reddening? The fall? The impact?

I really enjoyed "Welcome to the Monkey House"

I wrote this last May, pieces of it simply do not apply anymore, but I don't have the heart to edit my old self out, my younger self should still have a voice--her voice was just as true. 

I am no good at this, trust me. 

I will not cuddle with you when I have the chance, so few chances as we are all moving so quickly now. 

I will not hug you goodbye; I can't stand what it means.

I will not tell you I love you even if it is true every second of every day and even if I feel in my fingertips that soon (everything seems soon, now) the days will stop for you or I and therefore all will stop for you and me. 

I cannot bear the weight of my own emotions, I am embarrassed by them even though I preach the consequences of invulnerability. I know if I showed you how I felt it would only make you feel good, or, well, at least connected, which is good. 

Alas, that is not me, not yet. Hypocrisy, hah! Be vulnerable! I scream, at everyone, but then you touch me comfortingly and I recoil for no lack of trust.

I begin by establishing the vast space between myself and those I love most. I finish by griping of being lonely. 

Scatter the flowers now – – – 

I will not let myself live–I think, anyway. I cannot tell if I am preventing myself from living or grieving and am perplexed as to how I've let myself fall victim to such a dichotomy. 

Lately, (a grand lately, spanning months) I have mourned many pasts. One such past being the moment and the moments (encompassing days) right after my mother died. 

Anticipation, over; and suffering with it. I said "that's good" when I walked into the room and I meant it, that is what she had wanted. It was so good for all of it was pure and raw and unhindered, unquestioned. 

You cry and you cry and you cry and nobody asks you what is wrong, not even yourself. Pure, raw, unhindered, unquestioned.

You sit and sit and sit with books or friends or movies or thoughts and nobody asks you when you will start moving again, not even yourself. Pure, raw, unhindered, unquestioned. 

You take five steps outside, you go out to eat, you manage to sleep and everybody congratulates you, especially yourself. Pure, raw, unhindered, unquestioned. 

You do not feel guilty for any of it, especially not the sad, sluggish, angry parts. Pure, raw, unhindered, unquestioned. 

Perhaps I became addicted to it. I miss it. Her, more than then, but of the postmortem, I miss it. 

I find solace when people tell me they miss her, when they cry, when they tell me they are having a hard time... I feel guilty for that. 

It is all complicated now. I don't talk about it much anymore, or cry near folks, or feel okay sitting around because it has been seven months and dear lord, I used to think seven months was a long time.

Enter a cave now? – – –

The whole thing is polluted with time. 

I just observe while everyone moves along with the time, I know they are!

You are moving to Africa, you are conducting research, you are creating a feature-length screen-play, you are writing new songs, you are planting and harvesting, you are going to China, Germany, you are fostering new relationships, you are practically immobile but still working on projects to better the community, you are moving... fucking moving all the time...

creating a life while I cling to one that will never revive. I envy it all, that forward thrust, it reminds me that I should get up. I peer proudly yet jealously at those who move forward and still if I feel time tugging at me I resist with all my might. Truly, I only feel capable of approaching life maybe 2, 3 days a week, a step up from D-day, but damn, so slow. 

"You just have to keep moving" my mom always said when my heart was sick. 

I know how very right she is, I see how well it works for others. Others with worse ails than I, creating creating creating such great things because of it. 

Fuck, I must be weak. 

I am wary of myself. I don't trust that any of this is normal; really I'm just lazy. 

Ex. I gave myself one main task to do in the 2.5 weeks I was in the stable town I sometimes call home and did not even begin it. 

I wish I were someone else. No one in particular, but not me. 

My life is grand, comparatively. It is my desire to whine about it still that makes me wish for a different conscious soul. Maybe that one wouldn't squander the gifts. 

Backwards and forwards I am my own worst enemy. 

Also, I can't sleep much anymore, wtf is that?! 

9/26/2014

What if I had stayed? What if I had not persisted in the pursuit of my new frontier?

There was a ping of disappointment when I realized I could still take those first steps away from everything I knew and was, from you, whom I loved so much; and the cozy system of understanding… but just a ping.

Somewhere deep inside I trusted the instinct to throw myself out. Now, three years later, I am endlessly grateful for that leap of faith, for that persistence, for that twist from fear to adventure. Now, I am here. I am not all that I ever want to be, but I am here–in a life I could not have dreamt existed. Now, I am so thankful, for my life. This is something that oft receives no praise from me, but it’s easy to get caught up in the sorrows of not only myself, but those I love. My life, though, solely mine, the one created by luck and miracle, etched out and fought for by myself and my loved ones; this one I am thankful for.

This will not last all moments, but this moment is as true as any other.

I know, I need pictures.

There are joys one cannot imagine until they have experienced them. I suppose that has been my mission, to constantly seek the joys I could’ve never known existed until I fell into these new unique worlds and my brain is streeeeetched beyond belief.

Wollam Gardens is that new world (you can google and find out all about us) for now.

Sunset from the balcony.

I’ve been here for about 34 hours and the highs and lows have been frequent, but the sheer amount of learning I’ve been doing already astounds me. I feel like a child again, constantly watching others movements, exploring everything timidly but passionately, and simply learning the ways of the world. Here’s a rough breakdown of the past few hours:

First arrival: nervous, anticipatory… The Dahlia Festival was in full swing and I walked up to the welcome tent, ready to state my purpose and attempt to explain why I didn’t need to pay the entry fee when Kim, one of the managers noticed me and whisked me away, rushing through the farmhouse (dating back to the early 1700s with original hardwood flooring) to show me my room (upstairs shared with the other two managers, Josh and Jen, a couple sharing one bed, and their dog, Zoe, who gets the third bed in the room) and then hand me over to Josh. No one really knew what to do with me that first day, so I helped shovel out some pumpkins but spent most of my time awkwardly standing around petting the farm cat, Maxwell, and Zoe. I finally asked if there was anything I should be doing and Josh told me to just hang out as no one expected me to work that day so I took a walk around the grounds… the 10 acres: row after row of different types of plants, most of which were foreign to me (celosia? Tuberosa? Gomphrena? I really don’t know flowers). There are 5 hoop houses, one large green house, a treehouse, a pond, bridges, golf carts to easily transport from one spot to another, a giant walk-in cooler, outdoor showers, a tree swing, a large flower processing area, and I’m sure plenty more undiscovered such things.

I went up to my room afterwards and sat in fear for awhile. The loneliness and unfamiliarity had me in a NEW PLACE stupor, but after wallowing in ‘holy shit, what am I doing’ for a little while, add in a nap, and finally going back outside to be greeted by all the other interns with smiles on their faces, I was all set.

“All we do is go out and cut flowers together all day. It’s amazing!”

“Bob (the owner) has the most interesting stories, and he takes car of you.”

“Going out in the morning is amazing, you just ride out with the sun shining on the dew and the birds all flapping around in morning glory and you’re in the middle of a bunch of flower fields!”

I quickly began to feel more comfortable with all my fellow housemates, including the baby chickens living at the bottom of the stairs. I was also assigned Farmers Market the next day, as no one else wanted to miss the festival. 5:30am wake up call!

I finally met all the interns, the owner, his partner, and even an old intern who came to visit with her boyfriend. The farm is full and bountiful, with characters a plenty. The food is tasty and all free and we scored a bunch of free stuff from the vendors at the festival.

Day 2: I met Kim’s husband, Andrew, who is a fantastic character that I thoroughly enjoyed chatting with throughout the day. He made the day pretty stress-free, educational, and fun. We loaded up the van at 6:15 and headed to the Duponte circle farmers market in DC. We set up the whole shebang, 4 tents, tables, arranged the flowers as best we could, and set off, which loads of people coming through with particular tastes and knowledge of these flowers of ours—most knew more about them than I when we began. I learned how to wrap the flowers, the names and prices of many of em, (CELOSIA, brain celosia is my favorite so far), how to best dry the limelight hydrangeas and the celosia, and how to barter with the surrounding booths. What a good intro to work! We stopped at Potbellies one our way home and he paid for my stuff, which included a large meat sandwich and milkshake, all delicious. I also go a free iced coffee as we gave the coffee vendor a bunch of flowers.

I’m really enjoying it here. I know this was long and jumbly, but I wanted to get something out there. Oh! And I went for a walk this evening and it began to rain so I sought shelter in a hoop house. Felt so nice to be back out here, on this land-a-plenty, working and living with like-minded, interesting folks! 

Ain't No Rest for the Wicked.

Starbucks, center of concourse C, PDX.

Ben & Jerry's, upstairs center of concourse B, DEN. 

Charging station, concourse B, DEN.

I know these places, I know them well. Here is where I felt happy as I lay dying. Now I am back to say hello.

"I don't see how anyone could ever be stressed here."

-Kelly, mid-June, upon first arrival at Oceanside. 

We are always setting ourselves up for the unexpected. What excites me about life, however, is just that... that and I revel in the fact that the bad in life, you can always learn from and the good in life is, simply, good. Nothing is inherent, you just have to know trust it. 

(Please, trust that you know nothing. You will feel better.)

I realized on this long summer journey that I desire only to be around those who are willing to learn every moment of their lives. Striving always for a more understanding self. And patience, we must all have patience. 

"How can we ever have time, if we never take time?"

-Matrix reloaded

I may feel the tinglings of newness, of budding, of possibility. I fear it. I must walk through it. I cannot take it with me. I need no more baggage and this feels like an addiction. 

But can one know when to dive and when to flee?

Trust me when I tell you I will keep you. I know I can love and appreciate from afar. Physical presence is not meaningless, but yet not essential. 

How? How can I trust that? No one works this way. 

I carry my mother with me, always. How could you not trust that?

Full Moon Movement

The moon's pull, strong and guiding, created the ebb and flow of the waves that pummeled our bodies again and again as we giggled and rolled. Brown water, fear of sharks, trash galore... nothing could lessen the lust those waves fostered.

And so we splashed and swam and flew atop the water of the Gulf-warm warm waters.

Houston provided friendship, an ability to touch and love one you have missed so much for too long. Yet still the moon pulls and guides. 

Nineteen hours of constant forward motion without much movement (poor body!) through Texas and New Mexico and Colorado. Flat, hot, hilly, cold, the moon helped us through it all and lit the curves of these beautiful winding mountain passes. 

We're here now, Caiti and I, forging onwards into past lives reborn... regrown... refound. She is a woman of immense strength and power, my travel companion; I feel now from where that was borne.

Tonight, we can gaze at the full moon here with our mothers-one in the same now. Colorado is the place of our mothers, and the moon shines bright over her. 

When Good Mothers Die (I think this one is optimistic)

When good mothers die:

Everything breaks. It all goes to shit, really, it does.

You wonder how you are still breathing every second past her passing... she was your life, she created you, bore you so how, HOW are you still here without her?! It is as if God, our creator, suddenly disappeared forever, we would question everything, we would ask: how are we still here?

You have a crisis when you're all alone, screaming and crying because, holy shit, presumably your life is still so long and how are you going to fill the time without her....

When good mothers die:

You begin to see all that she left you and how much she loved you.

You begin to see, also, the cracks, those empty spaces in others forged not by death but by mothers never had, mothers gone before they lived, mothers undeserving of the title.

You begin to see again and again how rare, how unique her beauty and her love. How she died but never left you.

She could never leave you. Impossible.

When good mothers die:

You see her love, you realize you know how to love. You realize all your capacities for beauty, comfort, patience, acceptance. You can spread light because she taught you how.

You see her love and know you can be strong for others, for yourself.

When good mothers die:

You mourn everything.

You grieve for people you've just met. You love so hard and fast it makes no sense and hurts so much.

You learn you have to let it all go, slowly. You can't hold onto love tangibly; letting those you met one month ago roam onwards without much of a public fuss.

When good mothers die:

You fuck up all the time.

Every decision is wrong until it is already decided and then it is alright.

You learn. You grow more than you ever thought you could. Quickly, too. At the speed of light even though time seems to have stopped.

You trust others. You find other mothers. You find other people who nurture you, and you appreciate them. You appreciate oh so much.

When good mothers die:

You find you will never be alone.

You find her. You will always have her.

Forever she is gone, forever you are together.

Prudent Advice to Myself... and a Confession of Regret.

A couple years ago I stumbled upon a blog called "Prudent Advice: Lessons for My Baby Daughter." I like the idea quite a lot.
If I had a daughter I would give her these notes, but as I am far from such an event or may never have kids of my own, I must learn to love myself as I would a daughter–as my mother did me. 

Advice for myself, my friends, my family, my nieces, graduates, and everyone else:

1) If you do not want hair in your face, hold your head high.

Looking down at the ground, while it helps to keep you from falling, hinders your ability to see the world you're walking through. And, by the laws of physics, your hair will fall in your face.

2) Try to begin each day by stepping outside.

Wake up, revel or grieve in the fact that you're still alive (whichever you're partial to), walk outside, even if just for a moment. Doing so will let you know what the weather is like so you know what to wear, begin your daily intake of vitamin D, and (bonus!) you get to experience the world you were created for, so even if your day is crap-tastic, you've had that moment with our Earth.

3) Dream big, but don't forget that achieving big dreams requires a lot of work.

Passion can get you far, very far, but especially in this world of increasly short attention spans you may lose focus. Forgive yourself and know that if it is a true passion it will flair again and you will continue working towards your goals.

4) You are always making memories.

This was the advice my mother always gave me. I believe it works on multiple levels... how do you want others to remember you, how do you want to remember yourself, how do you want to remember certain moments? Regret is real and is hard to overcome and usually occurs when we ruminate on a memory or a set of memories, so be aware and keep this in your mind. 

5) If you want to be a positive force for all, even those going through hard times, prepare to be vulnerable.

My biggest regret in life so far has been my lack of emotional support for my mother during her final months. I believed that to be strong meant to be a rock– hold your head high no matter what. So in the days when my mother would come to me, despaired about the tumors, her fears, her losses, I would barely hug her, knowing that if I let her in too much, I would break and I needed to maintain composure. I did not cry with her when she told me she knew 19 was too young to lose a mother. I did not hold her hand in the doctors office when she got the news that nothing was working. I did not share with her my despair that the cancer had spread to her brain– I stared at the computer screen in the hospital room barely looking at her, knowing if I did I would crack. I was a rock. I know my reasons were noble: I didn't want to add to her stress, feeling responsible for her baby's grief, but I missed out on invaluable moments of connection and support, revelry in the despair of love.

I have then noticed as I have been grieving that many view help during hard times similarly to how I viewed it, being a rock. "Stick that chin up, it'll get better, look at the positives" they say. All these are nice to say, but to be vulnerable with another person is to show them how truly okay it is for them to feel how they feel and it fosters a deep connection and breeds empathy. 

To be strong, often, is to be vulnerable. 

 (For the most part I have forgiven myself for these regrets, but they still remain lessons learned the hard way.)

More to come, I'm sure.

P.S. Prudent Advice: Lessons for My Baby Daughter is now a book. A wonderful bathroom read, a book to keep with you for those moments of public boredom, or for when you are just feeling low.

The Rains of Change Have Come: The End to This and More

My dress plastered to my body, the heaviness of the rain making it cling to my every curve-my butt jiggled and my hips swayed. Useless. Anyone could see if they saw but they didn't.

That is how it should be, I suppose, because maybe you would have thought I meant a kiss to you, maybe... but no. It is you and you and you and him, individually and all together always beautiful, always strong when you could sink, living unapologetically.

I love you, I do, I never told you because I do not know you and maybe it would be misconstrued to mean the meanings other people have made, but I love you.

You touched me-felt so healing-for the first time, just today. The day I said goodbye, or looked away and refused, rather, as I've been saying goodbye before I said hello.To you. Hello to you. Hello! I wish I'd said it earlier. Regret regret regret. Oh I wish wish wish.

But that's the act of learning. I'm sorry I grieved for you before I even met you, I'm sorry that because of that nothing could be fostered. I'm sorry that I observed you, too sad to touch and play for knowledge that it would soon be as if it had never been. I'm sorry I made you a loss, you are not a loss. You are a gain in every sense.

How wonderful that we can love even when they're gone.

My grief plastered to my body, the heaviness of the last moments making me cling to every second-I did not move, I did not dare, for fear that my facade be broken, my face would shrivel up and tears puddle under my chin. "It's the last moment, the last one, I love you, I didn't know you like I wanted, I will miss you deeply." Useless. Anyone could see if they saw but they didn't.

Sixth Month Anniversary: Commemorating Life and Death

"How surprising and scary and amazing that on this day, exactly six months from the day my mother died, I can be giddy from a free ice cream cone, in peace from the pounding rain, and joyful from playing with my friends."
–April 27

Life moves onwards and yet we never forget, will never be able to remove that pain from loss, and nothing will ever be the same. 

I woke up, set up my shrine, lit some incense and candles, prayed to God, Allah, Buddah, the Universe, whatever and everything, and sobbed as I spoke softly to my mom while only being able to stare at a still frame of her, recounting where we had been six months ago today. We've both moved from that moment, yet I hold it gently and try to keep it safe as it was the last moment I had with you. 

I wore all black, treaded lightly (until the tornado, that is), and finished this piece, which I will now share with all of you.

For those of us still living, we can remember:

Mom Memorium from Kelly Zenn on Vimeo.

EASTER

A couple lovely easter songs!

I am matter, so I matter.

Here's the deal, folks,

I am not stupid, I am not weak, I am not too small, I am not incapable. 

I will not judge you, and you will not judge me and together we will learn to default with understanding rather than judgement.

The brain is powerful and malleable and every time I return to Bowling Green I glimpse some different ways my own brain may have been influenced while it was forming, growing, changing.

Every time I come home I am called stupid, small, weak, ugly; my point of view is scoffed at and invalidated; if there are two men (boys) sinking their teeth into a political or cultural discussion I tune out as a reflex as my opinion has never carried much weight before; nearly every one of my male friendships from Bowling Green have involved some sort of sexual tension at one point or another and I've watched many of my girl friends who are much less willing to give into sexual pressures struggle to maintain the same level of relationships with those same male friends.

Right off the bat, you probably won't believe these things are true (invalidating my point of view?) especially if you are a male, but I can assure you of their validity.

Where did that voice come from if none of this were true, that voice that tells me "you can't do this, you don't belong here, you're not made for this, you are too small and weak" at the boxing gym? It isn't my own voice, I was not born insecure and my parents loved me and never once told me I wasn't capable (except, perhaps, when my father told me I probably wasn't good at math because it was in our genes... I am inclined to believe him ;p ).

Why is it that, at Hendrix, when my friends, male or female, and I enter into debates, I still have that voice in my head that utters "what you are thinking of saying right now is useless and you really don't know enough to participate in this conversation" even when every time I do manage to speak up in debates my friends listen, respond and play off of my opinions?

How come at Hendrix, where my shyness takes over and my lack of sexual drive keeps me from interacting with men as I used to, I have trouble making male friendships? The ones I have made are much less skewed and awkward than those previous, which is fantastic but they're difficult for me to forge. And then when I return to Bowling Green, my male friends want to kiss me, to touch me, all sorts of interactions that I used to view as proof of my self-worth.

I do not blame you, I do not blame me although we each had a hand in it. Things are so comfortable here, so blind, so subtle. You laugh and say I'm stupid and I laugh with you, say I am. You're joking but you do it every day. And everyday for 12 years... wires in my brain are forming around those constants.

Mine is one experience, mine is a girl's view, mine is mine, and I am worthy. So hear me out:

I can chase down my friends and tackle them to the ground.
I can throw a good punch when my stance is correct.
I can sing with good pitch and dance with good passion.
I can make bowls and cups that one can eat and drink out of.
I can put my soul on paper with words or paint.
I can walk into my fears and come out stronger.
I can be comforting and affectionate and peaceful.
I can be wild.
I can help my friends trudge along,
I can keep myself trudging along.
I can view the world with you, I can talk with you, hear you and if you hear me too maybe we can create something wonderful. That will not happen, though, if you keep subtly showing me I'm too damn small to matter!

The stark differences of leaving and returning. Oh, the joys of sight and change!

Those Sweet Nothings of Forever Were Misguided

There is a knowledge with grief so large that when the tumult has actually happened it takes awhile to sink in. A big loss can lay in wait and take awhile to smack you. In my life, I would sometimes go a month or so without much communication with my mother, being in college, entering my twenties, I was pulling away from both of my parents as their ways finally began to embarrass me and I tried to find my own way.

But then in January, 2 months after my mother had died, I realized it was the longest I had ever gone without talking to her.

It is now going on 5 months, 2 more months have passed without her presence, and it has not gotten easier, as many grief pamphlets say it will, it has just gotten worse as the things I have not been able to share with her pile up.

Today I went to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, mom. I sat on Caiti's shoulders and screamed at floats to throw me beads and I walked for miles with my friends trying to get home from the crazy French quarter; we even made friends with a drunken man just let out of the hospital who walked about a mile with us without any shoes.

Today I started watching Game of Thrones again. Remember when I told you we should watch them simultaneously so that we could talk about the episodes on the weekends when I had time to call you? I still like the books better.

Today in boxing class I learned a new punch, the hook I'm pretty sure it's called. I don't think I'm getting much better at boxing, but when I have good days at the gym everything feels fulfilling.

Today I went to Little Rock with some of my friends to go shopping at the farmer's market, asian store and hispanic store. The farmer's market ended up being closed because there was a St. Patrick's day parade that we serendipitously arrived just in time for. It was an extremely eclectic parade with motorcycles, cars, horses, ponies, a mule, firetrucks, and people throwing out candy and beads. I got so excited that I screamed every time I got a bead or a piece of candy... especially the rare chocolates.

Today is Miss Hendrix, the drag show at our school, but I do not think I will go because even when all of these beautiful events have been occurring your beautiful absence has been unshakable and now it grips me quite forcefully as I touch your face in a picture or remember that this is forever. Maybe not how I feel at this moment, but your absence will never cease. To answer what it is like to lose someone you love, it is finally feeling forever.

The time that ticks past

My first shopping adventure of the semester... in which Caiti, Paul, and I shared the same cart. Never again.

Petit Jean hike

Lake Sylvia with my (housemate's) dog, Abby

My childhood self's favorite band, Trout Fishing in America, playing on the 4 month anniversary of my mother's death

My research project... death and grief in American culture. I will be funeral crashing and interviewing people who lost loved ones

First of many fires in my backyard

I was 4 when I listened to the waterfall sounds of the shower as my mom got ready for work before sunrise. The day I found out the cancer came back, I sat on top of a waterfall. 3 months after she died I sat behind one. What will I do if the water ever stops flowing?

Crumbles.

Should we conquer ourselves? Is that what I'm trying to do here?


My life shattered, my love, my soul, all flaked off into tiny shards and shattered as it burst silently, massively. The world has burst with me, though, it seems. And my car, my ever-trusty steed, Ruby, my refuge and my savior--the one who helps me run away (well that's what people say I do, anyway)–she was shattered too the other day. And a woman in Kroger came and prayed for me but didn't know a thing and so she prayed for only one nice thing and left the rest to suffer.

I have realized how much my life-whatever it is-can move about here. Things no longer feel stagnant, I am constantly going and creating. My housemate would tell you I am a rare sight in our home, especially without friends about. But frequently it halts still. As though I'm moving so fast and then I hit the immovable, impenetrable wall and it knocks the fucking wind out of me and I fall down for a little while until I play with the dog and then start chuggin' along again I guess.

But even this movement is quivering as it can see the end so clearly, this time I know the exact day when things will crumble so at least I can worry accordingly.

My closet wall serves as a punching bag and I used it the day after my car windows were bashed in and broken and when my current heartbreaker infiltrated my home. I ran a lot too, wherever my feet could find ground until my little world was covered in ice and then the whole town was littered with glass shards–my inner happenings spread outward, how strange to see such broken reflection.

One of the last pictures on my mother's camera.

No attempt at theft, just frustration, it seems.

How could I have ever believed I knew so much?

An old letter, and death to it all, with light, does it bring.

Subject: I wrote poor lee

9/8/13

Dear dear,

            I was lying outside on the ground Friday afternoon, soaking in as much of the remaining warmth of the day as I could with my eyes closed and resting when I heard a rustling. I opened my eyes just in time to see all of the trees disperse! into tiny particles, or at least that’s what it looked like. Anyway, they were small bugs that were clutched together, formed into these giant shapes and colors and textures… becoming the actual trees, it was no imitation. Turns out trees were made up of these bugs all along! I am not sure if they were all the same kind of bug since, of course, each one was so minutely different–there were both brown bugs and green bugs all on the same tree, some yellow too, or red, black. But then there were different types of “trees,” so even with the vast array of differences within one species of tree, there were innumerable shifts and changes between the bugs of one tree and the bugs of another.

            Oh but when they took flight and all mingled in the air, these billions of trees were floating and flying! Even if they did not keep the form of the trunk or the leaf, they held the same essence, you could still see the grandeur of these beings… these bugs, or… or trees–they became one in the same.  I was drawn to the sight and did not notice that half an hour had passed since I began staring, but now they were gone from my point of view and I finally took a breathe, looked around, and everything was empty.

            First, I was amazed that no one else was around… no one had seemed to notice. A boy biked past as if nothing had changed, but perhaps we get used to that. There is a change in every moment and we eventually get used to gluing ourselves to some idea of stableness, either in the future or the past. Maybe that was why I noticed. I was finally resting, in the present, nowhere else. Feeling how the wind and sun changed placement and direction, the atmosphere becoming and being encompassed. (Can you be truly present with someone else? Can you be truly present without experiencing the world through yourself? Is objectivity real at all? Is grass objective? That’s silly, grass doesn’t even have a sense of such things.) But how could I be the only one to feel the emptiness? The trees, they were no more, at least not that I could see. They had flown away.

            Somehow, in that moment, I felt abandoned. A greater loss, I thought, that I had felt such awe just a moment ago. If one day I just walked outside and there were no more trees, would it feel better or worse? It was dark now, and a few stars struggled to shine against Conway’s light. I admired their persistence. I rolled up my blanket from the ground when all of a sudden a star fell, all the way to my feet! What a day. Suddenly, though, everything turned to light, it wasn’t yellow like the sun, just bright and empty like a hole. Who knew a hole could blind you? It seeped across the ground from the fallen star. I looked up out of fear of falling just to see that a blackness was covering everything above my feet. But again, this was not a black like night, but instead an emptiness of a different sort–one that did not open around you, but closed. That is when I fell. If it was up or down I could not say. But I panicked and struggled, waved my arms about and jerked my body here and there until I tired and finally became calm. That is when I realized that even if I was falling, I was never going to hit anything, there would be no impact and so there was no reason to even label the very thing as falling… instead it was just being. Although, I was barely being by then anyway as my body seemed to have disappeared too… perhaps the black and the light were too encompassing for me to see it, but it began to feel as though I didn’t even exist outside of my thoughts. Did the star eat the world? Am I alone? Is this God? It was. “It,” my thoughts finally left, and my feelings… this sense of my, “I” became everything (in turn, nothing). Although “my” feelings were gone “I” could still sense. Not actions or reactions but the wholeness and emptiness simultaneously. It was not scary or sad, it was not. That is when I became. I died to live. I died and became alive. I became alive to die. But death didn’t exist, and neither did alive. And there was no. more. Language.

 My mother is in the hospital for things. Manageable, “treatable” things, but things none-the-less. I think it is starting soon.

 I will reiterate three things: I miss you… maybe not in my movements anymore but inside me somewhere deep, I would say my heart but that seems too cliché and, being a hipster, I must rebel from such things. I love you…it seems weird to type it like this, as if the typing renders it meaningless but I can’t be with you, I can’t love on you, I cannot show you… loving from afar is very different and very strange. So I type it, and it feels like it is nothing, because it is, they’re just 01001101s, but I trust you know, and I know you know, so I should not fret.  I am glad you are far away for this, for my mother’s end… I can feel your support and yet cannot rely too much. I believe it will help me maintain strength, and not drain yours either.

 With all the force of the binary code, I send my love electronically, universally.

You amaze me, you help me amaze me, you amaze, ahhh maze.

 PS. Sorry this is so garrulous, effusive. Do you have an address?