ache

ache - the toppling over,
the feeling that something vital is disintegrating,
the stuck in the muck feeling
seeping out at the edges
- oh - I want to twist away from this loneliness.
there seems to be no place for it
in the swirling world around me.
all this sadness and unexpressed parts.

we can end up carrying all this sadness
and unexpressed bits of ourselves if we don't
speak up
spill often
and be truly as we are

I am learning that loving all the way
can ache and sting, but loving halfway
doesn't keep us safe,
it leaves us with a hope that could
never live out loud.

let yourself pour forward and be a
place for your ache to rest.

- from "the true and the questions" by sabrina ward harrison

heartbreak hurts.

it's supposed to, I guess. that's why it's called a "break" - a severing of what once was together. something, indeed, has been broken.

and in this pain I long to feel better, to be able to breathe, to rest... when really I must honor the brokenness.

the layers.

[one of my professors read this poem at my school's graduation last week.]


I have walked through many lives,

some of them my own,

and I am not who I was,

though some principle of being

abides, from which I struggle

not to stray.

When I look behind,

as I am compelled to look

before I can gather strength

to proceed on my journey,

I see the milestones dwindling

toward the horizon

and the slow fires trailing

from the abandoned camp-sites,

over which scavenger angels

wheel on heavy wings.

Oh, I have made myself a tribe

out of my true affections,

and my tribe is scattered!

How shall the heart be reconciled

to its feast of losses?

In a rising wind

the manic dust of my friends,

those who fell along the way,

bitterly stings my face,

Yet I turn, I turn,

exulting somewhat,

with my will intact to go

wherever I need to go,

and every stone on the road

precious to me.

In my darkest night,

when the moon was covered

and I roamed through wreckage,

a nimbus-clouded voice

directed me:

“Live in the layers,

not on the litter.”

Though I lack the art

to decipher it,

no doubt the next chapter

in my book of transformations

is already written.

I am not done with my changes.

- stanley kunitz

hello?

this is a test.
is this thing on?

I tried to post a blog a week or so ago to no avail...

what happens when?

..you don't have any answers.
..life doesn't slow down.
..you can't explain why you're disconnected.
..you don't know what you want or need.
..there are no words for things like school, pain, relationships.
..even sweatpants aren't comfortable enough.
..your capacity for situations is severely lower than what it has been before.
..it's impossible to snap out of it.
..you don't know what to say.

I know there's Jesus and all but...

at zack's service I saw one of the most powerful displays of a father's love for his son.

his family chose to do a memorial skydive for zack at sunset, so his two brothers, sister-in-law, friends, and dad decided to jump.

zack's dad carried his ashes and spread them during his freefall.

we were all on the ground while this happened but could tell when he did so. we could see it. then, an hour or two later, they played back the video they took of it over the screen.

the scene of his dad releasing his son's ashes into the sky unnerved me. it was too much to take in. that his father would choose to do so in a way so honoring to his son who had skydived over a hundred times spoke so much deeper than words of how much he loved him. how willing he was to simply say with his actions, "son, I love you so much."

a father should not have to do this. he shouldn't have to carry his own son's ashes. but he did, and it was so powerful. thank you, fogle family, for how you decided to honor zack's life.

life & death

on july 30th my friend zack passed away tragically in an accident that never should have happened.
on august 30th my sweet baby nephew jacob was born in an event we had been anticipating for months.

a month apart. tragedy and celebration. deep pain and inexpressible joy. life and death.

how am i here now, in the middle of both? I don't understand it, how both things could have happened a mere 30 days from each other. what does it mean that both occurred so close to each other, during my lifetime?

I can tell stories of zack, of how we met, what our friendship was like, and a bit of what it felt like to have someone in my life who cared for me more than I often care for myself. I can tell you the story of what it was like to be with my only sister as jacob was born.

but the events of both are really indescribable. the pain of not being able to have at least one last conversation with zack and the longing to simply hold and admire little baby j are both here. strong. it's meant that at a barbecue with friends I'll need to leave, go on a walk, and grieve. it's meant that even just before my first day back at classes this past week I've felt overwhelmed and not ready. it's meant that I'm having an even harder time deciding on doing the program in 3 or 4 years. it's meant that I've needed help to make decisions to care for myself, to get an extra day off work and to schedule another therapy session because I need someone to sit with me in all of this. it means that now, on this beautifully sunny day, i'm still lounging on my couch at 1 in the afternoon writing this blog, and i'm telling myself that it's okay.

zack's service is tomorrow night, and all i want to do is snuggle my nephew.