Lots of words.

Yesterday was a weird, hard day full of three funerals including our sweet Andrew's. I go back and forth between feeling angry (at who? or what?) to just feeling kind of numb. My Grandma's funeral was this morning, and although it was horribly sad, I feel much more peace with her passing. She was 93 and ready. She didn't suffer a long, drawn out illness or end her life after weeks or even months of pain. She was in hospice for two days and passed away surrounded by family, holding her hands. But Andrew? He was taken. And I have all of these emotions swirling inside of my head and heart, mad at the world because it's just not fair, so so sad for Juliann and their kids. But there is no one to blame, no one to channel these feelings towards. And I think that this is part of some sort of grief cycle I'm going through. I think about when we lost Kendall, who was truly a little brother to me, someone we spent so much of our time with, a every-single-day part of our life. And when he died six years ago it was easy for me to be angry, and easy for me to be angry at the people who irresponsibly had a hand in all of it. I'm not saying it was right, but that anger was a huge part of my grief process and in this...there's just sadness.

Andrew's funeral was heartbreaking. All of our friends sat in a huge group, and it dawned on me that this happens far too often. This is the second dear, dear friend we've had to bury, and two of many young people we've been close to that have passed away from this circle of friends. I'm not sure if it's because we live in a small town that these losses seem more profound and connected, or if maybe it's that all of our friends are risk-takers and adventurers, but it just seems like it's way too much tragedy under strange circumstances. The service itself was so nice though, as nice as a service could be- so, so many firefighters and Hot Shot crews there to pay their respects, and all of Andrew's friends and family filled the entire floor seating area of our local arena. Lots of love. The other funerals we attended were the same, full of love and respect for the men who lost their lives. I found so much inspiration and like many funerals do, all of them left me with a huge reminder to really live my life to the fullest and to the very best of my ability; to "be good," in my own way.

I've had a heavy heart lately, but surprisingly I found some comfort in the last place I thought I would find it- at my Grandma's Catholic mass this morning. I was raised Catholic so that setting is very familiar to me, but it wasn't even that which made me feel at ease. It was when the priest stepped down and came to stand in front of the rows full of my family in the middle of my Nanny's service, and talked about her, and what kind of woman she is. It was weird- I had gone into the whole morning thinking that I would of course be thankful for one last chance to say goodbye, but I was not expecting to be moved by a Catholic priest's words. But I was. He didn't speak about religion much as he addressed all of us, and instead talked about my Grandma's life, and how these moments now, are for us. That what you believe in the afterlife is your reality, and because my Grandma believed that she would be greeted at heaven's gates by her late husband and God, that that's where she was. And I loved that. It made me happy to feel like even though I don't believe in that, she did, and she died with such a feeling of peace and joy with that as her reality. Our reality is what we believe.

Lots of sad talk on the blog lately, and if you've been sticking around to read it all, thank you. I promise things will turn around soon and happy days (and posts) aren't far away.

Another goodbye.

It's hard when someone passes away, when there are so many memories, so many layers of emotions and parts of your life that come bobbing to the surface. It's been a weird, sad week in my world. First, we lost our dear friend, amongst other friends and friends of friends, and then my Grandma passed away on Friday.

Like with Andrew, I've tried and tried to put my words down and get it right, but I'm having a hard time processing all of this death in my life right now. It's so strange to be growing a new life inside of my body while watching my Grandma's life end. I was there the day before Nanny passed, and got to say goodbye. She was a shell of her former self there, sitting in that chair, unresponsive, unmoving- she looked nothing like the vivacious women I grew up with. It was upsetting.

I think at times like this it would be easier for me to believe in some sort of religion, to feel like I will see my friends or family again. To be able to pray to someone, something, anything so this could all make more sense. But I don't believe in that. What I do believe in though is the beauty of this life, now. And I believe that their spirits, souls, energy, whatever you will, it's all put back into this world, and it's part of everything I do. I can feel my Grandma around me, in the air, in the dark, in the dirt under my feet, in the dust floating in that early morning streak of sun coming through our living room window. She is everywhere.

I think about the matching dresses she would sew for my sister and me, for every holiday. I think about the cheese sandwiches on the porcelain plates, the orange-yellow couches, Mr. Wizard on the television. I remember her towel drying my sister and my hair after baths, catching frogs in the green grass, and the jelly donuts weekend mornings from the bakery down the street. She's a part of most Sunday dinners we've ever had. She's a crocheted blanket and a cup of tea, she's a cashmere sweater set and a big diamond ring. She's a New York accent and an apple pie.

I remember her always comforting me when I was little, when I felt like my "mean old parents" just didn't get me. I remember all of her stories, telling me about being born in 1920, the changes she has seen over her lifetime. I remember her and my Grandpa, the way they were, the "Helen!" and the Irish music and the bickering I always tried not to giggle over. And I'll always remember that Nanny, one of the most conservative, set-in-her-ways women I know, never once made a comment about my tattoos, which still kind of surprises me when I think about it.

Saying goodbye is hard, but I feel so grateful that I was able to do so, and I feel lucky that I've spent our time together in such a way that even though I don't believe in any promise of seeing her again, the lifetime we did have can fill my heart up for the remainder of my days.

Nanny, I love you. You will be missed.

October. I Miss You.

Amidst all of the Fall fun- the pumpkin patches and changing leaves, hay rides and Halloween- October is always a weird month for me. Five years ago Hank and I lost one of our very best friends, and every year when that day rolls around I am right back there, sitting next to Hank as we got that call. It was one of those moments that stick out so vividly in my mind- it's still so real and sharp, and if I think too much about it, I can feel like I'm right back there, in our tiny apartment with the phone ringing, ringing. It was the kind of phone call where you can see the person's face change as the speaker on the other end tells them what they have to tell- the kind of phone call where you immediately know something is wrong.

I can still remember the day before when I saw Kendall at the library. We confirmed our plans for later that night, we hugged, and I told him I loved him. I didn't know everything that was going on in his life right then- all I knew was that he'd been acting weird and was starting to drift into a new circle. We still saw him regularly. He was our "little brother" and would eat dinner with us, pop over after school, run around the track with me at night- but things had become different that summer. New people and new interests pulled him away from our regular group of friends, but none of us really had a true grasp on what was going on. That next day after the library when the phone rang and Hank's Dad told us that he thought the boy he just got a call about was Kendall, it didn't seem real even though that moment is now one of the most real moments of my life. I can still feel that hollow feeling in my throat that traveled down, down all the way to the pit of my stomach, and sat there, heavy like a rock. It didn't seem right that our Kendall was just gone. He was one of the special ones, the kind of person that lit up rooms and had the most contagious smile. No way. Not him. For days I had a strange hope that he'd pop back up, knock on our door and say "hey guys, it's me, just kidding!" But of course that wouldn't happen.

There's so many spaces in our life that should have been filled by Kendall. Our wedding, the birth of Henry, a million hangouts with all of our friends. Shows. Trips to Phoenix. I think about him often and wonder what life would be like if he was still around. And this month he's especially on my mind. There's something about the crisp air that takes me back to those days following his death; something about that feeling of fall that reminds me of so much more than just a new season.

And so in October I think about him. I think about how sometimes people have things going on inside of their head that we can have no idea about, even though we think we know them so well. I think about life, and death, about Henry's birth and about being a parent. I think about everyone I love. I think about friends that have come and gone, and I think about the people I couldn't bear to lose. Growing up and growing old, and everything in between. And October reminds me of that. The good, the bad, and how truly, truly fragile it all is.

I don't really know why I'm writing about this today. I haven't written about it in a few years, and I sat down to write about my day and this came out instead. So then I went to Kendall's old band's Myspace and sat and smiled and listened to all of the songs we used to sing along to, and I laughed to myself remembering that same funny look he'd get every time they'd play that In My Eyes cover. Funny and serious and so intense. Life is weird isn't it? It's so, so shitty sometimes. But then it can be immeasurably beautiful. I still don't understand the whys and I know I never will, but I do know that if Kendall was here, he'd be trying to make everyone around him as happy as possible. That's just what he did. He took all those shitty parts of life and made them good, blue eyes twinkling with that smile on his face. 5 years, and I miss you friend.