I can understand this...

"You lie in your wheat You lie in your wheat  
This dead bird is beautiful We found her at peace 
She has my eyes She has my eyes 
The golden glow that glowed all night  
Don’t you say she was weak  
Don’t you say she was weak 
I’ll carry her Because she breathed I breath 
I’ll carry her Because she breathed I breath"

--Lost in the Trees--

Can't see the forest for these fekkin' thorny trees...

Oh...I have neglected my blog for too long. Then again, I've been neglecting a lot of things lately. I keep putting things off and ignoring other things altogether. This is how I know I've slid into yet another emotional funk. Yuck.

It's been 13 months since my mom took her life. And while I wish her a world of happiness and love, I have seen my own life start to slip. As much as I haven't wanted to admit it, or face it, this past year has taken its toll. I've been able to play the strong, can-do-anything type. At times, I even convince myself. But there are sooooo many mornings, afternoons, and evenings, when I look at myself in the mirror, and feel like I am weak and that I'm failing.

I used to be a gym rat. And not in a bad way. I loved the gym. I loved a good workout, and I knew how to be a gym rat, without it affecting the overall balance of my life. I used to really care about my health; I wanted to look good and, more important, I wanted to feel like I could conquer the world if I had to. This has definitely changed. I lack the drive, until I start feeling too fat. Even then, it's been tough for me to workout consistently. And I make all kinds of excuses: I'm too busy with school; I'm too busy watching Jericho; I don't feel good; I need to get into better shape so I can workout. (SO LAME!!!) I did well last week; 3 good workouts. This week? Zero times in the gym. I guess I can count a mountain bike ride this morning and 2 loads of hay hauled with my dad. But that's more out of necessity; any physical benefit was purely incidental.

I used to keep myself spiritually fit and tuned. I never used to let a Sunday morning go by without getting up early and getting out into nature to see God's creations through my camera's lens. And while I drove around, I'd be so spiritually filled while listening to my favorite Sunday morning music program: Living the Circle of Life. I haven't been out on a legitimate Nature Sunday Morning (the title I gave it) in 2 months. I used to be active in my church. Now, while that has changed for more philosophical reasons, I could always find some positives about being active in a church. Now, I'm pretty conflicted about it; having a hard time seeing past the bad and to the good. And I can feel my spiritual side fading and withering. This is actually more scary to me than not going to the gym regularly. I mean, this is my spirit; this is ME I'm talking about losing. And yet, this blog post might be the first sign of any want of change.

I took the 2nd Summer block away from school because I felt like I would have a nervous breakdown if I didn't. And I don't regret that decision. I believe I most certainly would have cracked otherwise. But now, Fall Semester is looming and I've not applied for my financial aid and I've not registered for classes, and I've not bought any books. (I always have my fallback plan, which is just show up to the classes I want and I'll probably get in via an add card.) Now, while this works, it's ALWAYS a huge pain in the ass. And yet, I do this same routine nearly every semester. Do any of you have some 'gung ho' you'd like to sell me?

Having decided to dump all of this, finally, in the open, I wonder if I'm actually cut out for some of my supposed ambitions. Mainly, I wonder if I'm actually fit to be the director of the support group I started this past January. I mean, these poor, broken-hearted individuals count on me to be the strong one; to lead us all through our grieving processes. And I want to; I do. I want to be the guy who can get that done and who can keep it up, more importantly. This past month, I've gotten so many emails from new people who want to attend support group because they've recently lost someone. My heart aches for them and, just as much, my heart longs to find a solution to stopping suicides from happening. One thing at a time, Wade. One thing at a time. I love the group I run and the other group I sometimes attend. They're extremely helpful, to say the least. But, reality is still reality, and sometimes my reality seems like too much. I was just thinking today about all of the death I've been around this past year and it's super depressing. A month ago, a friend of mine was stabbed to death here in my town. Complete shocker. Yesterday, a former high school classmate was killed; hit by a train while trying to free his ATV from the train tracks. Another former classmate pass a year or so ago by accidental overdose. And another by heart attack. (At 35 years old, no less!!) While none of these deaths are significant in comparison to losing my sweet mom, this overwhelming number of deaths is wearing on me. It needs to stop!

I miss my mom so terribly sometimes. And that's good. It actually makes me feel good about myself that I can miss my mom. I love my mom and I know she loves me. It would be amazing if she could enter my dreams on a semi-regular basis. So far, just once. And that was a real gift. And I'm grateful.

There, have I depressed anyone else yet? Ha. Not trying to, but thanks for letting me dump my emotional crap over you all.

There certainly are positives in my life, and these are the things I fight on for. I'm getting closer to graduating with my BS degree in Biology and then on to P.A. school (I hope.) I do enjoy learning and I am excited to have a profession in healthcare; I'm passionate about medicine and more so about people. I have a beautiful wife who works so hard so that we can live and I can study full time. And we make a great team. We're not perfect, but we're perfectly committed to each other and that's what counts. We have a 3 year old son and he is truly my life. He is my motivation when all else fails. I want to give that kid everything in the world. I have my dad and he is so great. He really is an inspiration to me and I find him taking care of us, more than we probably deserve. I am surrounded by people who love me; the kind of people who I say are the best kind of people in the world. These are my friends and extended family. Even those with whom I'm not especially close. If you're a blogger friend or a facebook friend or a school friend or a work friend or whatever, I love you and am so grateful to have all of you in my life.

Anyway, I hope I didn't bore too many of you with this post, or send any of you into the same funk in which I often find myself. Thanks for reading. Life will go on and I will try my best to make it go on beautifully.

ABOUT THE PHOTO: Well I did get out and enjoy nature this past Monday. I had been driving home from a family reunion and started to get really drowsy, so I decided to pull off the road and take a short hike to wake back up. The short hike turned into a 3 hr hike, on which I found a great little bonus; a 6pt. elk antler. The hike was beautiful.

"Lord, beer me patience."

Speaking of beer, I haven't been down to the cemetery to drink O'Douls with my mom since the first time. I have been to her grave site a couple of more times, but just briefly. I had Jericho with me last time, which makes it tougher to really concentrate down there. But really, he makes it easier to be down there. I can kind of talk myself through things, by talking to him; telling him that this is now one of Grandma's houses and that she lives with Jesus. Am I convinced though?

I'm still having a difficult time really facing this. Maybe I'm afraid it's just too hard, or that it's going to hurt just too bad. So instead, I avoid it. I think about my mom, but very superficially, meaning, I picture her alive for a second at a time, and then I shut it all out, never wanting to come face to face with what is real. I frustrate myself, but I accept the fact that I may be just too weak right now.

I went to my first therapy session last Thursday, which was good. So many people want to be there for me right now, and I'm so lucky to have so many good, loving and caring people in my life. The thing is, I just never have much to say. The conversations usually go like this:
Friend: "So, how are you holding up?"
Me: "Um...I'm doing OK, how are you?"
Friend: "Good. So how's your family hanging in there?"
Me: "Um...Pretty good, I guess."
Friend: "I just want you to know I'm thinking of you and am here if you need anything. Do you need anything?"
Me: "Um...thanks. I can't think of anything at the moment."

Have you ever heard anyone say to you, "Life has lost its taste, its smell, its feel?" Well, a lot of days, that's how it is. It's just very....gray. And not the good, rich color of gray that's on our walls. But a cold, empty, meaningless gray. It kind of gets me down and keeps me down, usually for 12-24 hours. When it happens, I think I can be a bit of a jerk. I am sorry if any of you have caught me on these days, and I know some of you have. Please be patient with me. Know that I so appreciate you and your friendship and your trying to help. I just sometimes have nothing to say, literally. Like I actually cannot put into words anything, because I really don't feel anything.

It was good talking to my therapist; it helped me to be able to actually tell someone that I feel nothing; that I feel just numb and like I'm avoiding the new reality of my life. It was nice to be able to let out a few of my frustrations, as well. It's hard not to feel bitter sometimes; angry at God for allowing my mom to suffer for so many years; angry at friends or family who I thought should have been here to help after Mom died; angry at doctors who were never well enough connected to their patient to ever have a shot at making things better. It's just good to...feel.

I have a hard road ahead; this became clear as the therapist (we'll call him Bob) tried to lay out some things I should expect. He said that I am numb; that I've sort of wrapped myself up in a cocoon to protect myself. He said it's normal, but that I will probably become a complete mess in another month or so. (Yeah, he actually used the word 'mess.') He suggested I cut my school load back, because he's sure I'm not going to do as well as I need to in my classes. (Not sure what to do here; I need to get my classes done.) He said that I will never feel the same again; I'll never be quite the same again. And as for my relationships, he told me to expect one group of people to come closer and overwhelm me with their love and friendship. And the other group will pull away, being now uncomfortable with the new me and with the idea of death altogether. So, I guess I can't get too mad at people; it's natural; it's bound to happen, he says.

One thing he told me, which I really liked, is that, when I do begin to fall apart, and when I sort of strip off that protective cocoon, to just let the emotions that come wash over me; that I should let them just envelope me like a wave and just...feel everything. Now, the falling apart thing doesn't sound like fun, especially that I'll be a mess for around 2 years before I begin to sort of get passed the pain. However, I'm so frustrated with the way I'm acting now; the way I'm just sort of avoiding reality and building these stupid cocoons, the prospect of really dealing with the loss of my sweet mom, and really feeling that, and beginning to maybe try talking to her, and really start living my life with some meaning again, is exciting. Ugh. Everything I'm saying sounds so weird.

I need to be patient. This is my new reality; this is the path down which I must go. I hope I can get through these next two years with some kind of grace, coming out a better, wiser, more compassionate human being; and a better husband, father, brother and son, to BOTH of my parents.

Anyway, I'm aware that so many of you are thinking of, and praying for me and my family. I am so blessed. If I seem stand offish, or curt, or just out of words for you, on a given day, I apologize. I've just nothing to say right then. But know that I think of all of you often, and know that I am lucky.

You might think I'm crazy

A picture of my mom (left) and her sister. My aunt died about 2 years ago. Mom never got over that. I'm happy at the thought that they are likely hanging out again, smiling down on their loved ones.


Well, there's a lot on my mind lately. Some of which, I talk about, some of which I don't. With my mom's death, I am really trying to handle everything in a good way, though I already know I'm not in some ways. I should be talking about everything with the people I love; instead, I mostly would rather keep it inside, and pretend that everything is fine. At the same time, I want to deal with it openly; I just wonder if that will come as time goes on.

When I wrote my talk for Mom's funeral, I had so much on my mind; so much I wanted to say. I struggled though with what would be appropriate; I wondered what words would honor my mom the best. I tried not to make it about me; it was her day. And I hope, as we talked about our love for her, that she was there, somewhere, listening with a peaceful smile on her face. There was a lot that, ultimately, I decided not to include in my talk. And while I think I made the right choice to omit that which I did, I still think about those things, so I want to write them down, so I can have them for later. And maybe I want to share some of it; hoping someone's ears might relate.

Though we're not sure, we think it's possible that Mom said goodbye to the world on the night of the 11th, rather than the morning of the 12th. This doesn't really matter, does it? But what I'm about to share gives some perspective on why it matters to me. When I came home on the night of the 11th, as I walked toward the apartment, I heard a raven calling. I looked up, and there on the light post near my van, was a raven. It was calling, though I obviously don't know what it was trying to communicate. The reason this is odd is that I hadn't remembered seeing ravens around downtown, and I LOVE ravens, for various reasons, so it definitely caught my attention this night. After thinking, "Hmm...that's different," I continued on my way upstairs, forgetting about the black raven on the light.

The next morning, the 12th, as I headed out the door to my van for work, that same raven was still there, still calling. And I thought it bizarre, but also enjoyed seeing him. Well, after a couple of hours at work, I got the news of my mom's passing and left the job site to come home. The rest of it, most of you already know.

I know you're asking yourself, "Is he going to somehow tie all of this together so it makes any sense?" Yes, I am. If you know me, you know I love wild things, the animals, the mountains. You know I especially love Alaska and wolves. Well, in my studies of wolves for over a decade now, I've become fond of ravens. You see, ravens and wolves are part of what is termed a "symbiotic relationship," meaning they count on each other for survival, to put it simply. Ravens are scavengers and they follow the wolves, knowing they'll eventually get to pick the leftovers off of old elk, moose or bison carcasses. Biologists now believe the wolves are following the ravens as well. Ravens have been observed calling to the wolves and telling them where to find prey. So they work together. To some people, this is no big deal. To me, it's all the more fascinating.

Anyway, while living in Alaska, I learned about Northwestern Native folklore and symbolism. I loved the tribal paintings of ravens and I would often pick up books and browse the native lore about ravens. So here is where I'll tie it together. In much of that native legend and lore, Raven has several roles. One of the most important is that he is a creator. But one of the darker legends is that he is a messenger of death. Was it coincidence that the raven was in our parking lot? I don't know; maybe. But maybe not. That he was there, calling while I was walking by, and the only one around, on the night of the 11th and the morning of the 12th is strange at the very least. Personally, the symbolism isn't lost on me.

I decided not to include that in my talk. I figured the meaning would be lost on about everyone. I think Mom might have gotten it, if I had explained it to her. She wasn't superstitious; she was "a little sticious." But it really probably was best to keep the raven bit out of the funeral and just throw it somewhere into the great abyss of my blog. So there you go. Think I'm crazy? That's OK. I probably am.