In Loving Memory

In the days leading up to PAX when I was starting to fret about shit like how I'd get back to the airport, DP was the one who kept saying "Just get here. Everything will work out." It was awesome to get to put a real person to my drunk-text buddy and the guy who (didn't remember that he) popped my WP Halo cherry. He's a really awesome guy to be around and I'd even go to Florida to chill with him.

That's what I wrote in my PAX Peeps Recap after my trip to Seattle in September of '10.

Chris Brown, aka D34THP1MP72 or just DP, was a staple of my gaming group, The WorkPLace. He was loud, crude, trash-talking, lightning-quick with a hilarious insult or comeback. He was also kind, supportive, and genuine. He was a blast to game with and always the first to assure me that it didn't matter how bad I was, we were playing to have fun, and have fun we did. He was a good friend who got me through some of my toughest times, either just by being there for me or in his own style of "Shut up, you're being stupid, everything's gonna be okay." He was a man who loved his friends and wasn't afraid to say it.

I'm so glad I went to PAX last year. Glad I got the chance to track him down at the airport and lead him to the wine bar to wait for the rest of the limo crew. Glad I got to laze around his hotel room with him and Pat Friday morning and, from the patio, bust a couple getting busy in the pool (at ten AM, seriously guys?). Glad I got to stand around outside the Taphouse with him Saturday night, entirely shitfaced, smoking and bullshitting with our friends. Glad that Sunday night he said that he hadn't been down to the Pike Street Market, so a handful of us went for a walk, clear out till we could see the sound. Glad I got a few minutes alone with him on the patio, smoking and talking about what an amazing weekend it had been and how much it meant to both of us to get to spend it with our friends.

I can't believe he's gone. I miss his voice, his sense of humor, his bitching and swearing. I miss him saying "No" for no reason, or strolling into a random thread and posting "I'm gonna have to lock this." I miss being on XBOX Live and getting invites from him for games that he knew damn well I didn't have. I miss my friend.

RIP Christoper Wayne Brown 5/23/72-10/14/11. Spartans never die, they just go MIA.

"To be half of a whole?"

I am so lost, so broken, so alone.

One of the ladies at the women's meeting told me I needed to go through the stages of grief. I thought she was talking about Cadence. And maybe she was.

But it's not my cat that I need to grieve for. Or my last disastrous relationship.

It's me.

I'm what I've lost. I'm what I need to grieve for. I have to learn how to live when so much of me is dead.

I killed myself. A little bit at a time. I parceled myself out until...until how much is left? Not enough.

There's so much I can't get back. What do I do? Is there some way to grow anew? Or is this all that I'll ever be? This empty shell?

Waxing poetical: "unchosen"

This is more song than poem, but here it is.

You see me on the corner
I don't meet your eyes
The cold sun silhouettes me
Do you realize?
I'm broken without you
And I'll always think about you.

It's so cold in my world
Since you let me go
And I'm lost in the dark
Oh but you'll never know
How you've stolen the light
That you taught me to shine so bright

And if you could go back
Would you do it again?
Would you build me a world
Just to let it all end?
Tell me how do you sleep
With the promise you didn't keep?

The window's cracked, I'm looking out.

I passed my neuro tests. My bloodwork came back normal.

We don't know why I'm losing my mind.

I'm coping with my stress...right? I have my moments when I curl up in bed and cry, or when I want to. But I think I'm okay.

But then...why does my brain feel so disconnected from my body? Why can't I tell my dreams from my reality?

They want to double my meds. They think I'm not coping as well as I think I am.

I want OFF the meds. I think they might be screwing me up...although why now, after four months, I don't know. But what if they're right and I'm wrong? What if I quit the meds when I need them most? I really don't want this to get worse.

I don't know. I guess I'll try praying harder.

The indescribable sadness of a car with bench seats.

I spent 16 straight hours in bed yesterday. Just sleeping or lying there, not watching movies, not reading, not knitting, not gaming. Just...trying not to exist. I think it's a new record for me. I went to Wichita with dad to get my new car, and when I got home I simply crawled into bed and stayed there.

I know some of it is nerves about my cervical biopsy tomorrow. And to an extent, it's always going to be like this. It'll never just go away. I could go years testing okay just to have it come back out of the blue. The only way to be completely free of this means sacrificing my ability to have children, and I'm not ready to do that.

And the rest of it is just depression. The sorrow, the loneliness, the pain, the anger.

It will get better. I know it will. I will be okay. I know I will.

Someday.

“If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there.” - Lewis Carroll

I believe in miracles.

But I didn't understand them.

I thought that miracles were all beauty and joy, sweetness and light.

Silly girl.

Life tested me recently. Tested US. And we failed. We KNEW the right thing to do, but we hadn't the strength to do it.

God had to intervene. He had to do the right thing for us. And we have to suffer because of it. We must suffer because we didn't choose the easier, softer way. And it hurts God to make us suffer like this, but it was the only way. He had to do for us what we could not do for ourselves. Just as we were promised He would.

We will not regret the door. We will forgive one another, and we must forgive ourselves. God loves us even when we fail Him; he loves us even when we are weak. The Shepherd loves His lambs even when they hear His voice but don't come.

We can't drink. We must go to meetings. We must make things different, that they may get better.

I told you that you'd be my saving grace, and I was right. I just never imagined how rough the path to salvation would be. But I am grateful to you, my friend. Our road didn't take me where I thought it would, but it took me where I needed to go.

"Just because something doesn't do what you planned it to do doesn't mean it's useless." - Thomas Edison

Take these broken wings and learn to fly.

Dear Robin,

I had a tuna salad sandwich today, and it SUCKED - you taught me that tuna salad sandwiches are all about rye bread and fresh ground pepper. Remember that? Or macaroni and cheese with WAY too much butter? Or watching every Leo DiCaprio movie we could find? Or the guys who mooned us on Senior Ditch Day?

Remember when you told Liz you were worried about me - that you thought I had a drinking problem?

Well, you were right.

I wish I could have seen it then. I wish I could have turned TO you. Instead I turned FROM you.

I'm so sorry, Robin. I'm sorry I shut you out. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me.

I don't think I'll ever stop feeling guilty. I know that your death wasn't my fault...but I'll never stop believing that I could have prevented it. You always seemed to be better when I was around. I think it's because we weren't afraid to be broken, like the other girls who put on such tough fronts. We could be weak together.

I wish you could see me now. I wish I didn't feel like this is too little, too late.

I remember when I was so sick, and you jogged all the way to my house with Monty. I remember when you took me to see Prince and we fed him apples. I remember Senior Prom.

I remember how bright and sweet and beautiful you were.

I miss you, girlie.

Love,
Jacki

Everything I ever let go had claw marks on it.

I have been SO emo lately.

I had a pretty good - pretty UP - week, then crashed.

It's so hard to let go of the things that hurt me. I decided to try and let someone go on Friday, and that decision is like a knife in my heart. I don't want to let go, don't want to HAVE to let go. I want our friendship to rise above the complications of our past. I want to be able to share our struggles, to lean on each other, to enjoy the progress we are each making as people.

I don't want to face the fact that my friend has become a stranger to me. That the damage I've done can't be repaired. That we were unable to last the long dark night and will never get to see the sunrise.

And the sun IS coming up. I can see the sky starting to lighten already. If only the person I was didn't blow my chance at showing my friend the person I'm becoming.

And all the roads we have to walk are winding, and all the lights that lead us there are blinding.

We had it so good.

It was the most awesome first date. Watching turtles at the arboretum. Sunset over the lake. Walking, just walking. Eating popsicles. The hissing from the bushes - I leapt back, actually lept, and he swept me behind him, protecting me from... the sprinklers. But it COULD have been a rabid animal! We went back to my shuttle, I made popcorn and watched Zim. We must have played three movies, and just talked through all of them. He put his arm around me. "Are you gonna kiss me?" And he did.

Tom's going away party, with all his friends. Double rainbow in the car, all four of us. Sitting on his lap singing Journey. Beer pong in the basement and I broke a couple bottles. "It's okay, I'm just drunk! I'm just drunk!" Dancing - "For drunk and clumsy you're really pretty good!" Happy Meals and Zim and falling asleep on the couch.

Animonday - anime and plum wine, holding hands on the couch.

Who could say no to all that? He's hurting. We're ALL hurting, aren't we? Joy is the cure for pain. Not quarantine.

Tomorrow I'll be 2000 miles away, having the time of my life with some of my favorite people. But suddenly that matters not half as much as knowing he said we could do dinner on his birthday next week.

Teach me how to NOT go all in, for once.

"And every night I miss you I can just look up and know the stars are holding you tonight."

It's over.

She passed away early Father's Day morning.

It's a blessing. She's no longer in pain.

I keep thinking about Simba. Maybe because he was honestly the closest "person" I've ever lost, maybe because his diagnosis came not long after hers, maybe because I'm crazy. Who knows.

At any rate, I remember the worst days with him, before his rally. Watching him suffer, wondering why it had to be that way, but not having the strength to have him put down. I remember the nights I laid in bed crying and praying, "Please God, just let it be over."

I'm grateful she doesn't have to suffer any longer.

Today, the world is a darker place. I will learn to shine my light that much brighter to compensate. I believe I can do it, because she would have believed I could do it. She brought so much warmth and peace and joy to the people around her, just by being. I want to do that. I want to be that person.

Jailbreak.

I pride myself on my open, trusting heart. Despite the number of people who have tried their best to destroy the beauty at the heart of me, I keep on loving, keep on trusting. It feels like triumph.

It also sucks. Twice in the last month, someone I care very deeply for has all but withdrawn from my life. It's wearing on me. Break my heart. Crush me decisively. Don't fade away, leaving me with the hope that you'll someday return.

I live to connect with people. But lately it seems that the stronger the connection, the more likely they are to disconnect. Is it me? How am I getting in so deep when the other person can't possibly be, since they find it so easy to bail on me?

Or is my optimism correct? Are they simply cowards, not comfortable with connecting this deeply?

Rallying.

I learned about rallying because my cat did it.

My Simba. My baby of 15 years. Dying of lymphoma. One day he's almost gone, then suddenly, he's more himself than he's been in over a month.

He's rallying, they tell me. The dying get a sudden burst of life near the end. Once his rally runs out, it'll all go very quickly.

People do that, too.

My friend came to visit today. Unexpected. She's felt really well the last couple of days. As a doctor's wife, she knows all too well what that means.

That strength, that phenomenal strength I last saw, is failing her. She came to me with tears in her eyes. "This is so hard," she said, and held out her arms. She held me so tight, telling me over and over that she loves me, thanking me for all I've done - for her, her daughter, her family. Praising my kindness. Telling me what a gift I am. Somewhere inside me there was strength to hold back the flood. I kept my tears from spilling over as I told her I love her, that she's family to me.

I want to always remember how soft her hair was, from those times she asked me to "screw her head back on" and I did, from hugging her today.

I want to remember every kind word she's ever spoken about me - and there are so many! She has always praised my strength, my kindness, my cheerfulness, my helpfulness.

Dear God, please help me to always be the person she believes I am. Amen.

Your entire world can change in an instant.

My friend is dying. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a few weeks ago. Less than 5% of patients with that diagnosis survive the first year, and hers is quite advanced. She has refused treatment - there is so little they can do, and it would make her feel worse than she does now.

It is entirely unfair. She is an angel - I have never seen her anything but cheerful and loving. In her spare time she holds bible study meetings at the women's prison. When I moved out on my own she continually praised my strength - for living on my own, for being so far from my family, for leaving my life behind and starting a new one in a strange place. She once made blueberry muffins for me just because her niece told her they were my favorite. I can't imagine anyone less deserving of something so awful.

She came to visit. She hugged me tight and said "I guess you've heard some rumors about me." I said I had and she said "Well I'm sorry to say they're true. I wish they weren't, but they are." It was all I could do not to cry. I said "You know, we've all talked about it, and we decided you're pretty much the best woman we've ever met," and she just touched my face and called me ornery. This is just her way - she's dying and her concern is comforting others.