From the bottom of my heart

I am struggling today.

After a walk in the dog park, reflecting on Dusty, I feel no closer to understanding. I am a thinker. I process things in my head until I can make sense of them. Or, at least until I can make peace with them. As I walked along the trail, pushing Kinnie in her stroller and watching Koda and Charlie romp, I wondered what it would be like if Dusty was there with us. Those kind of thoughts have come to mind often in the last 10 days.

Whenever I consider how a moment would be different with Dusty's presence, I realize it would feel more alive. In the park, he would have been off the trail, observing plants, picking up bugs, and looking for snakes, all the while making a running commentary that would have me rolling. His appreciation for the "little things," the things that so many of us take for granted, was profound.

So today, as I walked, I thought I figured it out. That was the lesson. To appreciate, to do more than appreciate, each little moment. To live life to the fullest, literally. Look at the world as Dusty did.

Only, then there's this other part. Some part of Dusty was haunted. Something in him was ready for this life to be over. For all the laughter, and antics, and thoughtfulness, something was missing.

I don't know how to make peace with this. Someone who was so incredibly, admirably alive did not want to live. Still, 10 days later, I find myself thinking that there must be some mistake. The two realities do not fit together. I laugh as I remember, and at the same moment want to scream "WHY?"

Blessings

I awakened early this morning, thinking...

For all the heartache and loss we have experienced, I still smile every day. And laugh. Due in large part to one little girl.

Kinnie talks- a lot. She has strong opinions. When she wants to do something, she wants to do it. I'm not sure if being outside or climbing stairs is her favorite activity. Pretty much anything that she can do on her own two feet makes her a happy camper.

She cuddles a lot, too. Many times a day, she'll give me a hug, pat me on the back, and lean into me. In those moments, I feel I know the meaning of life. Her laughter gives me that feeling, too.

I am so blessed, and so grateful. And I remind myself every day.

Deep breath

We left a memento for Dusty in RMNP this weekend. I tried to leave him there, too. Not in the sense that I don't want him around. But I am just trying to make peace in my mind. Every time I think about it, I feel a deep confusion and sense of loss. There was much he could have lived for.

We spent the weekend in the mountains for the wedding of a dear friend. And we stayed in a house with some of the most important people in our lives. There was laughter. There were tears.

As we all sat together yesterday morning, drinking coffee, I tried to convey my love and gratitude for the people in my life. I suppose the reminder to do that is one of the lessons we can take from our loss. I told my loved ones that I never want them to feel alone. I told them I would walk to the ends of the earth for them.

It breaks my heart to think that maybe Dusty couldn't see that. I know how many have shed tears for him, but yet somehow he felt alone. At least, I think he must have felt alone.

I still can't make sense of it. I have experienced loss in the past. But not like this. I am not a person who has feared death. I am spiritual, I believe in bigger things, greater connections than we can comprehend in this life. But something about how Dusty went... I wish we could have answers. And we probably never will.

I told Brian that I think when we see a hawk it is to make us think of Dusty, to remember him, to cherish him. This morning, as I drove to work, I saw 6 hawks flying over the city. I hope he feels at peace...

The moment we grew up

"Death is at your doorstep.

And it will steal

your innocence.

But it will not steal

your substance"

Last night, I was driving home from work, and thought to myself, "I won't accept this." And then I thought of the irony of that. I won't accept death. What other choice is there? One can't be brought back. No matter how much I wish it, it cannot be undone.

Dusty was vibrant. And hilarious. And a genius. And curious, thoughtful, insightful, aware, adventurous, inquisitive, loyal, brave and mischievous. He was a part of the family that grew as a part of our college experience. He made us laugh, made us think, made us appreciate things that we would otherwise take for granted.

I would not have thought of him as a depressed person. I would never have imagined that he struggled so much that he could take his own life. I find myself wishing that I could have been in his head in the moments before he jumped. I wonder if he could have seen the outpouring of love for him, if he would have changed his mind. I wonder if he just wanted to know what it felt like to fly.

In that moment, the world lost a light. We lost someone who could have changed the world. It does not make sense. It does not make sense.

I wonder how we didn't see what was happening under the vibrance. How was he in so much pain and keeping it so private? I wish we could have done something. I wish we could have helped in some way. I wish I could have made him see all that he was, and all he had to offer the world.

I am so grateful for his life. Thoughts of Dusty will always bring smiles to our faces. I know in time the ache in our hearts will fade. And we will never forget.