In Loving Memory of My Sister, Jessica Lynn

My sister adored me. My sister admired me. My sister loved me. How do I know that? Quite frankly, she told me often and never let me forget it. She would tell me that the greatest gift my parents ever gave her was me as a little brother. I would jest, like a younger brother would, that this simply couldn’t be true. The trips overseas, her beloved piano, heck, even her Barbie Dream Car had to be better gifts than my existence. But in reality, I never doubted it. Not once. There are the pictures of her first laying eyes on me in the hospital, and the look in her eyes was one of wonderment and excitement that she now had this tiny human as a little brother to call her own. As we got older in a small town, I naturally had many of the same teachers as her. I cannot even count the number of teachers that looked upon me at first taking attendance and gave me a bit of a nod as they realized I was Jessica’s younger brother. Not once was that nod one of anything but approval and positive affirmation. Even in our adult years, she never wasted an opportunity to tell me how much she loved me and my growing family. In fact, just within the last week, she delivered me a six pack of beer (aptly named Sibling Revelry) with a handwritten note that said, “Don’t ever forget how much I love and admire you.” Again, she simply didn’t ever let me doubt what she thought of me as her younger brother.

My sister was the strongest person that I ever met. She had a fight in her that I very well may never see so vividly again in another human being. She had her first surgery when she was a sophomore in high school, and I cannot count on all of my fingers and toes the total number of operations that she ended up having in her life. In fact, she had more operations in her life than the number of years I have been alive. And yet, she never stopped fighting. In 2009, she was diagnosed with H1N1, and came very close to not making it through. And yet, she never stopped fighting. That H1N1 left her lungs with what doctors told her would be a lifelong need to use an oxygen tank. And yet, she never stopped fighting, and through years of rehab and willpower, that oxygen eventually became a distant memory. After one operation, her bowel was nicked, creating a near septic situation, leading to a six month need for a colostomy bag. And yet, she never stopped fighting, and soon that colostomy bag was just another hurdle that she had soared over. After many bouts of what had become chronic pancreatitis, she was told that she would just have to live with a certain amount of pain and probably the need for pain meds to at least some extent off and on for the rest of her life. And yet, she never stopped fighting, and just within the last two years, she struggled through an almost year-long weening regiment, often faster than her doctors advised, to get off all pain medication for good. This last battle that she won was of utmost importance to her in all of those that she had so valiantly fought.

Although she desperately wanted it so, it was not in the cards for my sister to have children. Her body just wouldn’t allow it. She once got pregnant, but had a miscarriage in the sixth month. That devastated her. Even though she knew that her body may not have been able to handle childbirth, or that her medical issues may have made it downright impossible to be an active mother at times, she was still devastated. And yet, despite not being able to have her own, she was a most loving aunt to all of my children, both step and biological. My two young boys especially had a special relationship with my sister, their Yaya, as they got to grow up with her in close proximity. She would go to great lengths to let them know how much she loved them any time that she could. In fact, I think the greatest testament to that fact is how hard she worked to get out of the dark depths to where her bill of health had taken her for so many years. She always said that she didn’t want those boys to remember her as a sick aunt, but as a vibrant Yaya. After fighting back in the last few years, I truly believe that she made that so, and that they will remember her as the bright, vibrant and dynamic Yaya that she was.

My sister’s most dynamic skill was her writing. I remember some of the papers my sister would write in high school and college, and the comments from teachers about how fabulous her writing was. I, of course, would kid her that I was clearly the better writer. You see, I had just as many papers with praiseworthy comments, I would tell her. But the truth is, it wasn’t even close. I can make a clear point and be eloquent and humorous at the same time, sure, but my sister was a wordsmith. She would do things with words and sentences that I felt should be studied one day in a writing classroom. There were times when I would actually have to reread a string of sentences or a whole paragraph that she wrote, just in awe of what I was reading. My grandmother was the same way, and she left my family with pages upon pages of writings and stories that we will cherish forever. In fact, it was just this past weekend that my mother and sister got an itch to go through old boxes in their garage and came across those writings and read through many of them. My sister texted me about how much our Nana wrote about her grandkids in her writing, and how much love you could sense through her words. It warms my heart that we will be able to do that with my sister’s writings as well. It won’t be photos, or videos, or text messages, or voicemails that we cherish. It will be her writing that best personifies her everlasting, beautiful soul.

As I try to unwind after this day that my sister left this world, my mind could not stop thinking of Jessica. As I work through my own grieving and coming to grips with this horrific reality, it only seemed fitting to sit down and put my thoughts and words to paper. It is what she would always do. And I cannot express how much comfort it gave me to do so, almost as if she was guiding me to write and giving me the strength to get the words on paper, knowing that it would bring me that comfort.

I adored my sister. I admired my sister. I loved my sister. And I always will. I never actually told her this, but the best present my parents ever gave me was her as my big sister. I hope she knew that and never forgot it. I love you, Jessica Lynn.

Front-line workers

Eleven years ago, I was in the ICU for eight days on a ventilator as a result of H1N1.  The day I was supposed to go home, I instead went into lung failure. I woke up in the I.C.U., drugged and afraid, seeing family in and out of my induced coma. It was petrifying, life-challenging and faith-affirming.  I have never been so afraid.

At the time, I had very long hair, and I had been in the hospital for over a week.  I felt like a grease ball, and despite the pain my body exuded, it was the disgusting feel of being less than human that overwhelmed me.  I was greasy, dirty and bound to a bed with a tube in my lungs breathing for me. I had no power over my self-care.

On the third day of my stay in the I.C.U., my nurse came in with a plastic bag, shampoo and some rubber bands.  She told me she was going to wash my hair.  It was like an answer to my prayers.  I was going to feel human again.  Very carefully, she used a hose from the sink to wet my long, thick tresses over the protection of a plastic bag.  Her fingers massaged my head.  Her words soothed me not to worry about the mess.  The tenderness was enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Once she washed and rinsed my hair over the bag, she put it in a ponytail. I felt like a woman again, instead of just a specimen. I.C.U. nurses are personal and exceptional.  They commit themselves to you while you stay in their care, and it is as though you are the only person that matters.  I do not remember the name of the nurse, and her face lives on in my memory.  Her gentle touch, her love, her consideration; all things that changed my mentality during a frightening, fragile time.

We are in the midst of a pandemic where family can't be with their families while they suffer and sometimes die.  These nurses are the saints that transition the suffering from this Earthly pain to a greater existence.  Had I not survived,  that hair washing would have been one of the most precious moments of my life. The compassion, the love, the consideration... nurses are the angels among us.

I have never forgotten the experience.  I WILL never forget the experience.  Do not forget the women and men on the front lines, helping some live, and holding hands when there is no hope.  It is all precious.  There is no doubt, love comes in many forms. It is coming tenfold in the reality we face now.  Don't ever forget.  Don't ever stop your gratitude.  My hair, clean as it may be, is never as preciously clean as that day in the I.C.U.  May those who must face that reality in the I.C.U. know such warmth.  It is a fire that continues to blaze within; with love, with gratitude, with amazement.

Easter 2020

I live down the street from a beautiful Catholic church.  Most Sundays, you can't find a parking place anywhere in the neighborhood.  Yet, on this most sacred of Christian holidays, the street is quiet.  There aren't huge families flocking into the church, there aren't police trafficking the mass of cars, and the church bells seem to echo in the silence of the day.  And that is what makes this a sacred day for me.

I am extremely spiritual, I believe in God, and my faith is what drives my life.  The remaining details of my religious profile are personal.  This spring, I feel that God has put us all in a proverbial time-out.  It is a time to simplify, reflect and evolve.  What comes A.V.- After the Vid- is yet to be determined.  Each one of us has a role to play in what will become of our country, our planet, our future.  Without the silence that surrounds me, I'm not sure I would ever have slowed down enough to truly contemplate these issues.  These thoughts are MOST important to reflect upon, and I am grateful today for these moments to truly slow down and decide if I'm going to be part of the status quo or part of an evolution, even if that means returning to a simpler way of life.

In this day and age, our society tends to surround ourselves with stuff.  What I'm realizing the more time in the silence of the times is that stuff is noisy.  It can easily block out what our hearts and spirits are trying to say.  This afternoon, I'm full of the pure love and joy of each moment.  Instead of being busy, I'm relishing in the sounds of my angels talking through my mom's wind chimes.  I'm listening to birds chirp as I look out my window to the bell tower at the church.  I'm enjoying the silence.

No matter what you believe, this can be a sacred day.  It can be a day of hope and renewal.  It can be a day of rebirth and perseverance.  The sounds of silence are a powerful instrument in figuring out who we are and who we want to be.  May you find serenity in knowing that the reflections of your heart can be the most powerful in the face of overwhelming uncertainty and fear.  My Nana always told me that there can't be peace on Earth until you are at peace with yourself.  Her voice in the wind chimes affirm that lesson even in her absence.

Dedicated to my Nana

An overwhelming source of love and strength ...

Cloud Burst

Yesterday the rain came down.  Hard.  The air was full of pressure from the altered energy coming from the environment, and dark clouds obscured the sun that was trying so desperately to shine.  You could see the storm coming before the heavens grumbled their permission for the onslaught to begin.  Nothing was spared, the Earth fully saturated with the heaviness of Nature's tears.  Warm, wet air danced through tree branches. Wind chimes echoed the whispers of angels.  In the end, the World was still.  The clouds dispersed and rays of light fell on quiet ground.  For a brief moment, everything felt clean.

Our World currently seems imbued with filth and fear, and I'm not talking about just Covid-19.  There's economic fallout, political turmoil, natural disasters, and most of all, intense human suffering.  I'm not sure there's ever been a time when these things have NOT existed, but I'm quite certain that, in my lifetime, there's not been a time when people were so paralyzed by them.  The fear that comes from being so acutely aware of how much this crisis is changing our society is overwhelming, yet I hadn't allowed myself the opportunity to truly let that fear surround me like the true storm that it is until yesterday.

As many of you know, my health in years past has not been well.  By the grace of God, I have made an almost full recovery from various chronic conditions, including a near-death experience with the H1N1 virus in 2009, after which I was on oxygen for eight years.  At the time, doctors told me that I would never be able to breathe again without being leashed to oxygen tubing.  My lungs and I proved them wrong.  Through all my struggles, my family and God have been at the heart of my survival.  They have never let me fall, even when all the odds were against me.  By some miracle, I am still here to live through this time.

Every day, there seems to be an evolution into a World more upside-down than the day before.  There is more danger, more suffering, more fear, more uncertainty.  Yesterday, I saw my beloved nephews through a car window, maintaining a safe distance. As we parted, I couldn't help but miss the feeling of their arms around me.  I was so lucky to have been able to see them at all, and I was still sad.  Driving down streets once busy with traffic and now ghosted in its absence was surreal, at best.  I returned home feeling dirty and unfulfilled.

Back in my home, it took awhile to ease my anxiety from having been "exposed" to all that loomed in the uncertain reality of the day.  I watched the news and heard stories of those dying in ICU's around the globe without the comfort of loved ones by their sides.  I thought about my own ICU experience with H1N1, and I wondered to my core if I would have survived without the presence of my family and friends.  If this virus were to attack me, would I survive without my family by my side, and could I survive in a World if one of them were to perish?

For some reason, I remembered being a child and participating in Hands Across America.  It struck me as such a sharp contrast to the reality in which we find ourselves today.  As a child, I held hands with strangers that spanned across this entire nation, and yesterday I couldn't hug my nephews who were six feet away from me.  I have not been hit with such a powerful thunderbolt to my soul since this crisis began.  It was that image from my innocent childhood inside my mind's eye hovering next to the image of my nephews being just outside my arms' reach that initiated the cloud burst.  Tears fell on the scorched surface of my skin, their spiritual moisture soaking into my thirsty heart. I cried for all about which it is natural to be sad.  These are crazy times.

I let the rain come down, and I stood silent in its absolute flood of emotion.  I cried and cried and cried until there were no more tears left to shed.  Then I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes dry and opened them to find my mom smiling softly at me.  At that moment, she symbolized God's light.  She was my calm after the storm.  That's the thing about hard times; they can either define you and intensify your faith, or they can break you.  

Yesterday, my faith was strengthened time and again with nuggets of God in my everyday life.  My mom and I sharing a safe, warm home; my nephews' faces smiling at me; my brother sending out a video of him singing one of my favorite songs; my sister-in-law posting a video of my brother singing with his granddaughter; a phone call from my dad. I could go on and on and on.  And I will continue to be grateful, each and every day, for these precious people and moments that shed light on my world in even the darkest of times.

Nobody knows what tomorrow will hold.  It's important to be strong in times of adversity, and it's ALSO important to be fragile and pliable.  Allow these moments, even the ones filled with overwhelming fear, to mold you.  Find gratitude, find humility, find faith.  I never know exactly when the tears will stop any more than the weatherman can tell us exactly when the rain will stop.  But God does know, and that greater power will be there even when the storm ends.  Perhaps more so than ever before.  That gives me great comfort. So perhaps, at least to some of you, it will give you comfort, too.

Clearing the Path

2019 was an absolutely precious, painful, beautiful, tragic and overwhelming year.  I shed the cocoon of numbness and the weight of drug dependence. I lost people I love, watched others lose people they love; loss seemed to be an overwhelming theme.  I also gained awareness and perspective.  I discovered self-love and self-worth.  I gave myself permission to heal and to let go of pain.  I walked through fire and upon shards of glass to move beyond my Earthly illness and find Divine healing.

It's about preservation now.  I want to hold onto the Jessica I so desperately sought.  I will fight my demons and slay dragons for her survival.  And thanks to some teachers who have come into my life (you know who you are), I'm learning that survival also means shedding the weight of other people's pain.  Being an empath, I am really good at taking on the battles of others.  I carry them like weight upon my back.  When I love, I love hard, and I want to make those around me feel better.  And yet the reality of it is that you can't save anyone but yourself.  The best you can do is love them and pray.

In the last decade, I've been on the verge of death more times than I care to count.  I was told I'd never be off drugs or off oxygen, and I debunked both theories.  I feel reborn, emerging from a warm womb of healing I created.  I decided life was too precious to waste feeling sad, guilty, hurt and ashamed.  2019 was a year of transformation.  I dove of a cliff and spread my wings.  And while there are still days I almost crash and burn into the Earth below, I finally know how to rise up when I come too close to destroying the Jessica that is finally alive again.

2020 is a year for living as my best self.  To me that means removing judgement of myself and others against any standards.  It means loving myself for me, imperfections and all.  It means fighting hatred and anger with love and kindness.  Accepting other perspectives while holding tight to my own truth.  It means recognizing that the light is never as glorious if you don't have darkness. It means happiness is never as precious if there isn't sadness.  It means that acceptance is never as reassuring if you haven't been rejected.  It's all about balance.

We get out of the World what we put into it.  If you give kindness, kindness will find its way back to you.  If you give love, love will find its way in return.  It may not be a direct flight, but eventually, you will find it staring you back in the eye.  This past decade was hard, paved with gravel and glass.  May the next be a smoother path.  May we become more enlightened, less entitled; more caring for ourselves and others.  It all begins from within.  That is where your path begins.  When you live your truth, your wings will spread.  And from there, anything is possible.

I'm no longer desperately seeking Jessica.  Turns out she was here all along.  I just had to remove the obstacles in her path.  

Happy New Year!

Wide Open Spaces

This past Thanksgiving was my first off my prescription pain medications for almost two decades.  As I have reflected upon my gratitudes, I realized that sitting at that table this year, I wasn't just changed in terms of my chemistry, but the inside of me is a new version of what's been there in the past.  My shell may look the same, but my inner spirit is a little bit of the old, a little bit of the present, and a little bit someone who is still unfolding. Life is suddenly a wide open space of potential and possibility.  While that is wonderful and exciting, it is also scary and uncertain.  Our circumstances can change in an instant, and life truly is a moment to moment adventure of good and bad.

I haven't paid much attention to my blog the past few months, as I've been working on an independent writing project for a close friend. I was hired to write the biography of a spirited 89-year old woman who I quickly fell in love with over the course of our meetings.  She lived an extraordinary life, took chances, seized every moment, and she never took a moment to feel sorry for herself when faced with adversity.  It was a pleasure getting to know her, and writing her story was a privilege.

At the onset of the project, I was intended to write the biography to get her life story on paper for her family to have.  It wasn't supposed to be a finale.  However, several weeks ago she had an accident, broke her hip, and due to complications, she ended up choosing hospice care and passed peacefully surrounded by her three loving children.  I was fortunately able to finish writing her story in time to read it to her days before she passed, and I had the honor of reading part of it at her memorial service last week.   

She wasn't family, but I had grown to love her like another grandmother.  I poured my heart into writing her biography, and I was so focused on remaining composed enough to speak at her memorial that I hadn't really processed the grief of losing this amazing gift I was so blessed to know.  Mock, her nickname, was a role model for the frightened, but strong spirit inside me who is at the doorway of a whole new life.  She made me want to take risks, live moment to moment with joyous reverence for the opportunities that present themselves, and most of all, to love it, from the pain to the prosperity.  I miss her.

Our culture tends to put our seniors away, out of sight and out of mind, without realizing that they are a wealth of amazing knowledge and incredible stories.  They have seen history evolve, witnessed things many of us cannot even imagine, and have overcome and achieved in ways we can only hope to realize.  Each person has her own unique recipe, a compilation of experience, emotions, hopes and desires that makes them who they are, and writing Mock's recipe was one of the great honors of my life.

So going back to Thanksgiving, sitting at that table with the people I loved, breathing air without a machine, functioning without pain medicine, and being at the doorway of a life I can create with the courage, love, intention and bravery I've learned from the example of great individuals I've had the honor of knowing, I'm grateful to be alive.  Simple and to the point.  I'm grateful for each day I have to add to my recipe.  The future is wide open, and I step into it with trepidation, reverence and joy.  I don't need a holiday to remind myself of theses blessings.  They envelope me each and every day.

In Honor of Mary Jean Evans

aka Mock

I'm so grateful your shooting star crossed paths with my sky

Salvation

I never consciously purchased the plane ticket. It was just handed to me when the answers were vague and the pain was severe.  A one-way ticket to potential destruction.  Had more been known at the time, perhaps I would have been told to drive or take a train; there are numerous ways to get from point A to point B.  But I boarded the opiate flight and buckled myself in well; the open-ended flight meant to rescue me, but ultimately would lead to destruction. There was no destination in sight except less pain.  I thought I was going somewhere safe.  I didn't know the terror that lay ahead.

Of everything I've lived through in history, September 11, 2001 is easily the most traumatic event of my generation.  Watching the planes hit, the people jumping from windows to escape the flames, the horror on the faces of witnesses, the first responders running into the buildings without a second thought, the buildings crumbling and people running from the tidal wave of ash... I could go on and on. I remember sitting and sobbing, wondering how our World had arrived at such a horrific event.  

I will never forget that day.  None of us should.  As with anything, there is the potential to turn a bad day into a good one.  Last September 11th, I made a choice that will forever impact my life, much like the impact of the original horror left on the hearts of most Americans.  I had just returned from a beach vacation where I encountered the spirit of the aware and free-spirited Jessica on Topsail Island.  I decided then and there that I wanted to BE that Jessica again, which would entail getting off my Fentanyl patches and oxycodone.  

That day, I liberated myself of the Fentanyl by ripping off my Duragesic patch for the last time.  It sent me into a turbine of withdrawal symptoms, but I would walk through that fire all over again to arrive where I am today.  I am free of the narcotics, I am free of the overwhelming numbness, and I am free to be who I want to be, not who the narcotics dictate I am.

For 19 years, I'd been prescribed opioids to deal with my chronic pain, and they had all but vaporized the Jessica that had been with their powerful numbing, sedating and paralyzing effects.  I had become a ghost of my former self, and my life had crumbled under the force of the narcotics.  The ticket to that one-way nightmare was given out readily, and I recall being handed prescription after prescription for things like Percocet, Oxycontin, and Fentanyl without a second thought.  There ARE other ways to deal with pain.  There are trains, boats, automobiles.  You don't have to get on the one-way plane ride to hell.  

I did not write this on September 11th out of respect for those who died in the tragic way they did.  I did not die, but I came close.  I saw the building coming into view, and I knew that I would be vaporized in seconds.  Instead, I pushed the imaginary "EJECT" button, and I parachuted into the unknown abyss of self-awareness.   I did not hit the Tower.  I did not die in the inferno.  I am alive because I chose to be.  And every day I am grateful, for the foresight and the hope; for the small amount of self-love that still existed on that day over a year ago. It has multiplied over and over again, and I find myself worthy now more than I ever have.

I was not vaporized that tragic day.  I did not become part of the rubble.  I am, brick by brick, rebuilding who I was before the tragedy.  I am, brick by brick, becoming who I am meant to be, and not because of a ticket I was given over 19 years ago.  I weep for those who are stuck in the destruction, unknown and unidentified because their bodies are blown to bits over years of pain.  There are no words for the destruction caused by opioids.  It can be permanent and severe.  I escaped by the skin of my teeth.

September 11th is a tragic day, and yet I found salvation on it.  There are no words for what was lost, but I have words for what I found.  Somehow, I came through the wreckage to find wellness.  I came through the trauma to find joy.  And somehow, God has allowed me the ability to save myself on a day when I couldn't save anyone else.  I am no one's savior but my own.

Love is Abundant

For my birthday, I indirectly got a puppy. It wasn't really an intentional gift, but one that came upon my mom and I as a lovely surprise.  Gracie was a stray pup found wandering at a local school with no identification, and that was turned into a local vet clinic.  She was checked for a microchip (with no results), and her appearance on Pet FBI brought forth no claimants.  She was extremely malnourished, but otherwise in good health and needed a stable home. Our Bella was adopted four years ago when she was two years old, a pure-bread Labrador Retriever, when we still had our precious Zoe Isabella, also a Labrador Retriever. When we had to put Zoe down due to old age and illness, Bella was heartbroken.  

So when Gracie appeared on the Bexley Buzz needing a home, my mom arranged a home visit and said that the ultimate decision was up to Bella and I.  It's been almost 20 years since I've had a puppy, and I've never really trained one. But the night Gracie was brought to our home, she was tiny and sweet, and she and Bella hit it off, kissing each others noses as soon as they met. There was really no decision to be made. Gracie had found her forever home with us, and the past two weeks have been filled with love, frustration, training and sweetness, and my heart could not be more overflowing had the Universe poured a gallon of unconditional love into my soul.  

I suppose the most beautiful part of this experience is my ability to relish each and every challenging yet precious moment with this new addition to our family.  Bella and Gracie wrestle like WWE Smackdown participants, and they cuddle as if they've never been apart.  I'm constantly reaffirming positive behavior, correcting mischief and loving this tiny creature with all my heart.  A year ago, I was too numb to fathom this type of enjoyment, the extent of frustration, the exhaustion of running after what appears to have the energy of a young kangaroo, hopping and jumping from activity to activity every moment of the day.  I am PRESENT, and I love it.  Without the narcotics, I am free to marinate in every beloved moment with Gracie and her new big sister, Bella.  There is no numbness to subdue the frustration of puppy pee puddles, and distract from the pure love that resonates from these two creatures.

Life is beautifully difficult, extremely discouraging, brilliantly magnificent and abundantly fulfilling.  I find myself running after what behaves much like a toddler, and I am deeply in love with the entire scenario.  My mom, my Bella, myself... we have fallen in love with little Gracie.  And by some miracle, I have survived all I've been through to arrive at this moment when love is overwhelming my spirit.  This little creature entered my life at a time when I needed to give of my new self, with all the love that's been wasted on pain all these years.  I could not be more grateful to the Universe and God for guiding Gracie to the home in which she is meant to reside.... my heart.  If I could write a thank you note to fate, this would be it.  My cup is overflowing, and I am infinitely joyful.

Hope is Eternal

I am 43 years old today. Had you told me a decade ago, or even a year ago, I never would have believed I would live to see this day.  The illness and pain that surrounded me for almost 20 years has evaporated into the touches of flame that color the summer sunset. I won't say there aren't still scars, but they are no longer a reminder of what almost defeated me, but rather marks of what have made me who I am.  I've finally come to the realization that loving myself means loving ALL of me; the good, the bad, and the abundant traces of scalpels that have cut me through and through, only to be healed by the grace of God.

My blessings are too abundant to count. My faith, my family, my friends.  Today I have been enveloped with love and well wishes for a great day and wonderful year.  Traditionally, we get to make one wish on our birthday, and as I reflected today, I decided that my one wish for what's yet to come is HOPE.  Through all my ups and downs, there was always a firefly of hope flitting through my soul, allowing my spirit to hold on when my vessel was doing the opposite.

Every night on the news, I see the World suffering. Parents are losing children to all types of violence. The loss of a child is unfathomable. It is unimaginably painful, earth-shattering and soul-crippling.  I pray we can find a way to save the young from such tragic endings. Adults are taking their anger out with bullets. I have lost a loved one to suicide by gunshot. It is horrific and sad.  I pray we can get control of the violence.  Part of the Earth's lungs are burning.  I know what it feels like to breathe fire-like pain and gasp for breath. If I could, I would muster all the air in my now-healed lungs and blow out the Amazon like one big birthday candle. 

I close my eyes and imagine HOPE penetrating the sadness, the despair, the tragedy, the crises.  My wellness means everything to me, but without the wellness of the World around us, what can we expect in the years to come?  God's grace is infinite, but without hope, the scars will only continue to amass. So in the spirit of a new year full of rebirth, I give my birthday wish to our world. I'm learning my worth, finding my pride and nourishing my spirit.  So I'm paying forward my candle of HOPE to all that surrounds us. 

My Nana always told me that peace begins from within.  May every ounce of energy in this great Universe surge with peace, as this life is far too precious to be saturated with such sadness and tragedy. There is always the opportunity to begin again. I've faced the end more times than I care to count, and I fear it no more.  What I DO fear is facing a future with no future.  Find the firefly of hope within yourselves and be part of the change with your one shining light.

To all those of you who have made me feel so special today and who have supported me through it all, thank you for your love.  And a special note to JM.... you know who you are.  Infinite blessings on the next chapter, a brand new Virgo to carry the torch you and your wife have so bravely lit with your love.  Thank you for guiding me as I navigate this new journey and for never giving up on me.

Present in the Present

Today marks seven months since I've been off my opiates, and I was inspired to reflect on my journey since returning to the living. For so long, life was just a numb haze through which I struggled to see. Every day off my prescription narcotics, I see life more acutely.  It's as though I've gone from living in the oldest black and white movie with the worst special effects to an IMAX film that shocks me with its brilliance and wonder each and every day.  There is no more numbness to dull emotions or perspectives, and my body and mind feel healthier than they have in nineteen years.  I'm redefining relationships, establishing boundaries and discovering a wealth of worth I never knew existed. It has been a beautiful, while sometimes challenging, journey since January.

Being chronically ill for any extended period of time can rob you of your identity and sense of self-worth.  I went to college and received a B.A. in Spanish, and I had established a promising career as a translator.  However, pain and illness don't mix well with a career, and I eventually lost the battle of maintaining employment to extended hospitalizations and disease.  All I had worked hard to establish seemed to be lost to something completely out of my control, and I felt like a failure.  I thought I was a disappointment to my family, a loser to my social circle and a shell of my former self.  I will say that the drugs helped to numb these feelings of inadequacy over the years, but I was able to define them in therapy once the pharmaceuticals were removed.  An observation for the masses: therapy is not for the weak, but for the strong who want to overcome weaknesses.

I never realized how worthless I felt until I entered trauma therapy for the loss of my son this past February, and I confronted the Jessica that used to be in the face of the Jessica that is evolving everyday. I've cried for that sick girl, not out of pity, but out of loss for what could have been. The beauty of life is that each day is a new opportunity to begin again, and that is what I have done. I have begun again. I have been reborn in a new life that I am learning to define, not allowing my illness or suffering therein to define for me.  It's been the most empowering journey of my life, and I meet each day with new hopes for what can be as I continue to explore healing.

I am not a victim of anything that has happened to me; I am a survivor despite it all. And THAT Jessica is who I choose to celebrate, not pity the Jessica that was. I cannot change the times I drooled and had eyes that rolled back in my head from opiate intoxication, that I tripped over my oxygen tubing or gasped for breath, that I bent over in pain.  Those times happened, and I survived them. It's that survival that now makes me proud and gives me a sense of worth.  I AM worthy of love, respect, and pride, and it's the Jessica that's aware of those things that I celebrate today.

I'm not better than anyone else. Far from it.  The most important theme in this new and evolving life is that I'm AS GOOD as everyone else.  It's that perspective that gives me the courage to keep reaching for new heights, achieving new goals and setting new boundaries that empower me.  The truth is that everyone has struggled with something.  We all have the capacity to overcome if we find and hold onto the love for ourselves in the face of any adversity.  Life is glorious, every beautiful and heartbreaking moment.  It is not a linear journey, but more of a web we have the power to weave. And if we allow ourselves the power to see it, the silk we spin is full of splendor.

A Child Shall Lead Them

Last Thursday was the 16 year anniversary of my son Gabriel’s death

in my womb.I was six months pregnant when I lost him. Every year brings with

it new and unresolved emotions, but this year was different. Partially because I no

longer have the opioid pain medications to numb my senses, I was acutely aware

of the emptiness I feel, and yet I also felt a great gratitude for the time I had

him with me. Those six months were precious and magical, and I’ve never felt

more divinely designed for anything in my life than I did for motherhood. So

instead of focusing on my loss, I chose to focus on the beautiful life he had

and the extraordinary experience I had during the course of his short life.

Being off my prescription opiates, I’m finding that life’s joys are heightened,

while my life’s difficult times are extremely raw. My mind and spirit are no

longer anesthetized, even though a lot of the pain has returned.  While I

could focus on the pain, I’m choosing to focus on the beauty I’m seeing

in life, the joy I’m finding in the smallest things and my overall gratitude

to feel alive once again. Just like my perspective on Gabriel, I’m celebrating

life off the opiates and the freedom I feel to express my deepest joys.

When you take control of your attitude, the sky’s the limit!  I don’t claim to have

control of my life, as I feel the Divine has a certain degree of responsibility for

that. But I do have control over my attitude, and without the opiates, I feel

empowered to be positive more than negative most days.  Again,

choosing to go off my opiates was the right choice for me, but I want

to emphasize that many pain patients need their opiates to live a quality life.

I have chosen to learn other ways to cope with my pain,but I empower those

who can stay on them and do so without causing the kind of mental breakdown

I had after being on them for nineteen years. It’s all circumstantial. I wish our

medical community and legislation would focus more on those who are abusing

drugs, and not on those who are merely trying to deal with chronic pain the only

way they know how.

My reflection on Gabriel’s life made me realize that I’m pregnant with positivity

and joy since my decision to go off my opiates.  On one side there is loss of pain

control, but on the other there is the miraculous change in my life. It took the

anniversary of my son’s passing to make me realize how amazing life can

be when you choose to look at the positive side of things.  Gabriel, wherever

you are, I thank you for your brief but beautiful life. And I thank you for making

Mommy see just how lucky she is. It is said, “And a child shall lead them.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

Enjoy "The Story" by Brandi Carlile....

https://youtu.be/o8pQLtHTPaI