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.

Seasons

Summer is winding down. And with the impending change of season comes time to reflect on one which has contained the greatest joys and sorrows...

Grandy left this world on Monday, August 8th. She was with her children as she breathed her last breath. I am sure that her death is noted as of natural causes. But the truth is, she was ready. Whether it was because she wanted to see Granddad once more, or because she was just tired of this life, she went on her own terms.

Grandy was the sweetest lady, a darling. She was funny and witty and giving and forgiving and generous and loving and affectionate. She wanted everyone she cared for to know as much, and she wanted to be able to provide us all with everything we wanted. I will never forget her laugh. Granddad, her kids, her grandkids all made her laugh.

Processing my view of the world without Grandy in it is daunting. It doesn't seem possible that she is gone. She was always so full of life, that to imagine that death has taken her is counterintuitive. We spoke to her by phone 6 days before she passed. She was aware, and perhaps a little foggy. We told her we loved her, that she means the world to us. And she responded in kind.

I continue to be so grateful. Grateful that I got to be a part of Grandy's family, that I got to bear one of her great-grandchildren, grateful that Kinnie got to meet Grandy. Words cannot express the admiration, respect and love I have for her. Nor can they express just how much she is missed. She lived life fully and lovingly...

"You would know the secret of death.

But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?

The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.

If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.

For life and death are one, even as the river and sea are one.

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;

And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.

Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.

Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the kind whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.

Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?

Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and melt into the sun?

And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.

And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.

And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance."

~Kahlil Gibran

Rest in peace, dearest Grandy. I love you.

Spent

I called Kinnie's doctor's office today, and left a message for the nurse about Kinnie's recent tummy trouble (which is nothing serious, but worth asking about). I left all the information, and was about to leave my phone number, when....

poof! I didn't know it anymore. I was stunned. I haven't had that happen since I got the darn phone. I started off strong... "My number is 720-..... (long silence. long enough that the voice message had to ask if I was finished leaving my message)." I then proceeded to give a number that I am quite sure was the wrong one, because I haven't got a call back.

The thing is, this summer has just been so full. Brian's best friend's wedding, Kinnie's first birthday, our anniversary, my brother's wedding in two days, a trip to Wyoming in a week. All that was eating up my brain cells faster than the speed of light.

And then, we got such sad news this week. Brian's Grandy, my Grandy, has fallen ill. I feel as though I can't even process the words. I love and adore her.

So, yes, spent is the correct way to describe it. Maybe burned out. Or fried. And, without a doubt, I'm running on fumes. I keep wondering when life will settle. I think the answer is probably never.

Reflection

One year ago right now, I was having contractions. I had had "false alarm" one week earlier, during which I had regular contractions, but was not dilated. So, one year ago today, I figured it was another false alarm. Kinnie was not due for another two weeks, and I was scheduled for a c-section in a week. Only, these contractions caused pain different from those I had experienced previously. I called my mom, who offered to come down. But, I figured it couldn't be the real thing, so I told her to wait. I tried all the things I had heard of to slow them down. I walked. I lay down. I took bath. But they didn't slow. We called the doctor's office, and were advised that we ought to come in to be checked.

I went back to my bed to lay down and breath, and something hit me. I got overwhelmed, scared. I called my mom and asked her to come.

Within 4 hours, Kinnie had arrived. I still vividly remember the first moment I touched her, the softness of her cheek on mine. I remember the immediate experience of a love I had never felt before.

A lot of people comment that they can't believe it has been a year. And sometimes, I can't either. But there are moments when it feels as though it has been forever. It is as if my life before Kinnie was a completely different lifetime.

I have learned so much in the past year. Humility because I don't have control over when my baby may be fussy or sleepy or wanting to stay up late. Acceptance because I had to deal with the humility. Pure, uninhibited love. Joy. Pride. Amazement. And did I mention love? Most of all, gratitude. Every day is different. Every day is an adventure. And for every moment, I am so grateful. I am blessed to have this life, this baby. Happy Birthday to Kinnie Lin. Here's to an amazing second year, and many, many years to come.

Cambio

Cambio is Spanish for "change." One year ago today, we left Guadalajara. The changes in our lives since that day have been immense.

I awakened this morning trying to make sense of what my experience in Mexico means to me. I want other people to know how much a part of me that experience is, how much it meant to me, how much I loved it. But I don't know what to compare it to.

Moving to Guadalajara was a victory, because we challenged ourselves and found that we made it through. It was humbling, because we had to face our lack of knowledge of a culture and language, and ask for a lot of help. It was exciting, because we took risks and adventured in a way we had never imagined. It was stressful, because we were so far away from our family and friends.

I think, most of all, it was lovely. Lovely in the most beautiful, passionate sense. The culture, the community, the people, the food, the scenery, our students...

I still so clearly remember our little house, and lying in bed in the mornings and seeing our orange tree out the back window. I remember walking Koda and Fifi through the neighborhood, and greeting all our neighbors. I remember lugging our laundry around the block in trash bags to the laundromat. I remember sharing Pizza y Come with our friends. I remember the traffic on Lopez Mateos. I remember driving by a billboard for half a year before figuring out what it meant, and then feeling so proud that I finally did. I remember the feeling of my classroom early in the morning, watching the sun rise before my students came in. I remember the taste of Juan Carlos' tacos dorados, and Hector's tortas ahogadas.

It is not as if I regret or resent the changes in my life. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love being a Mama, and how I love being close to my family and friends. But I think this longing in my heart will always be there...