{one month}

I have a model of a Yamaha RI on my nightstand. The same one I gave L shortly before his death. Yesterday morning, I held in my hands and cried, thinking of him. Don't tell me to get over it. I will in my own time. For now, I'm doing pretty damn good.

Good days outweigh bad ones. I smile more at his memory than cry. Being everywhere he used to be doesn't crush me.

I am constantly in awe of the resiliancy of the human soul. It bends, it even breaks, but it heals as well. An amazing gift to know we will all be healed.

{injured list}

If I was playing a sport, I'd be on this list. In the past week I've:

* Fallen down a sheer rock face, scraping up my elbow, hands and stomach and SEVERLY bruising my knee
* Fell down a steep mountain side resulting in cactus needles in my hands and behind
* Hit my head three times IN THE SAME SPOT
* Broken a toe during an indoor water fight

Man, I'm clutz.

{insecurity}

I'd thought I'd come to terms with my insecurity long ago. Not so. I still feel it. I still feel unsure and uncomfortable in my own skin. Not always, but enough. What will it take to change that? What magical potion can I brew to drink in the moments when I doubt my own self-worth?

I can cover up all I want. Make-up can only hide, it cannot heal. Neither can the black clothes and the phony smile. Do you accept me the way I am? Understand me? What is it about me that you don't like?

And why do I care?

{three weeks}

Three weeks since the accident. Three weeks since my world was turned upside down. Three weeks since I felt "normal". Will it ever be the same? No, it won't. Will it be okay? Yes. Time has a way of healing wounds. Cliche, but true. I still expect to see his smile and fell his arms around me, but I know there will come a time when I won't expect it. Long for it, yes. Expect, no.

I had an emotional "come apart" the other night. The pain was just so overwhelming I couldn't breathe. He's gone and with him went so much hope. So much promise. I need to find a way to say good-bye. To gain closure so I can move on. But how, I don't know.

{call me crazy}

This past weekend, a group of friends and I camped out in the middle of the desert with only sleepbags...no tents. As if THAT weren't cold enough, we decided to go wakeboarding Saturday afternoon. Hum, straight jacket anyone??

{spilling open}

As part of my "retail therapy" over the past few weeks, I purchased a book entitled Spilling Open by Sabrina Ward Harrison. I just got it last night in the mail and have only read a couple of pages, but I'm in awe of this woman's insight and creativity. One quote in there has really got me thinking. I'm not sure of the exact verbiage and, since the book is at home, I'll try to recall it. Something along the lines of "Whatever our age, we all must own something. Even it is only our own confusion". This really struck a cord with me. What, at this particular moment in time, would I own?

And then it came to me. I would own my grief. The prominent emotion of the past several weeks. The pain and sorrow I feel is so intimately mine. I feel it in a way that no one else possibly could. My frame of reference is different from everyone else's. So is my heart. The grief is mine and mine alone. I know I'm not the only one grieving, but I'm the only experiencing it as only I can.

I am a true believer in the idea that all our challenges and trials teach us something, if we are willing to learn. I can already identify the ways this tragedy has changed me. Changed my heart and my thoughts. It has made me softer. A strange word to describe someone, but very appropriate. I've not lost my razor-sharp wit or sense of humor, but it's not as cutting as it was before the accident. I've been lost in my own emotion, the pain and loss making me vulnerable and raw. So much more accepting of others. Not as cruel and heartless as before. Soft.

{fluff}

The word of the day is "fluff". After two weeks of gut-wrenching, heart-breaking emotions, I need to post fluff. So here goes:

* Loving my new Cocomotion machine! It rocks.
* It's a long weekend coming up. Woo-hoo.
* I'm a sleep whore lately. I can't seem to wake-up and/or get out of bed. It's impossible.
* Classes start on Tuesday. At this rate, I should graduate in the Spring of 2007. 13 years for a Bachelor's degree....Oy!
* If you've not heard Sheryl Crow's new CD Wildflower, I highly recommend it.
* Sally Jean has released her new Valentine charms...so adorable.
* I think I found the new Xterra I want, so I'm going to look at it this weekend.

That's all, for now.

{dealing}

So yeah, I'm dealing. I have my good days and I definitely have my bad. In dealing with this tragedy there has been no comfort that has come close to that of my religious beliefs...Knowing that L isn't gone forever and I will see him again. Knowing that he is in a far better place and understands so much more than we here on earth do. I find such peace in knowing he's "okay" and, knowing that, I know I will be "okay", too.

It still hurts. To drive down the street and see some guy on a bullet bike. To see someone that resembles him. I can laugh at him now when I remember all the funny moments between us (and there were plenty). I know I will carry him forever in my heart and I'm okay with that. I would still rather have him here in the flesh, but we can't always get what we want.

I know now more about the accident and, as horrifying as it was, it has given me more closure. I know I will follow the investigation and probably have more closure when it concludes. I've talked with others who knew him and it has brought me peace. There will be a haunted look in my eyes for a while yet to come. But, as with the other tragedy's in my life, this too will strengthen me and give me wisdom and understanding.

Sometimes, when I find myself laughing or feeling good, I will feel a tid-bit guilty. He's only been gone two weeks. How can I feel any levity? And then I remember what I was told when my brother passed away: he'd want me to be happy. To live life to it's fullest and, in doing so, it would be a tribute to him.

And that's what I'm going to do for L- be happy. Love. Laugh. Smile. Embrace all the beauty that surrounds me every day. Delight in the laughter of a child or the smell of a new born baby. Laugh with my friends and family. Enjoy the feel of the sun and wind on my face.

Live.

{circle of life}

One life ends, another begins.

One of my closest friends gave birth to beautiful, perfect little girl yesterday morning. Just as I lost one person, another soul enters my life. Because she was born so close to L’s death, I know I will feel a certain bond with LPG. Miracles happen. Life goes on.

I once heard it said that life’s goal is to harden us and ours is to never let it. As devastated as I am right now, I can see the beauty in the world and for that I am grateful. I know that nothing will ever be the same. I know my heart will be broken for quite a while. But, in the end, I know I shall overcome this tragedy and be a better soul for it.

God never promised us a bed of roses, but He did promise that we would never be left the weather the storms of mortality on our own. The out-pouring of support and comfort from my family and friends has been overwhelming. Someone is constantly calling, texting, e-mailing or coming by to visit. I can only be grateful for such wonderful support. Keeping busy has definitely helped but I still dread being alone- a strange feeling for someone as independent as I.

I still feel an emptiness that I know will not abate for a while. I long to see this kid and hear his laughter or have him give me a hug. To share a look that says so much like we used. A look that said we are about to do something mischievous and probably end up in trouble. Man, what I wouldn’t give to have him back.

{everywhere}

Everywhere I go, I keep expecting to see the kid. And when I don't, I feel like crying. I hold my breath when the elevators open thinking he is going to step out. Yesterday I could have sworn I felt him walk up behind me and just stand there like he used to, waiting to startle me.

I know the emptiness will fade and, at some point, I will begin to feel hope again. I wish I could fast forward past all this aching and grief, but I know I can't. I need to experience it- I need to laugh and cry and get mad at him. I need to yell and scream and sob. Only then will I begin to heal. Someday I won't feel as raw and tender as I do now. I won't tear up at the site of empty spot where he'd park his motorcycle. I won't keep expecting to see him when I turn the corner. I won't expect his hugs and squeezes.

Someday...