Thanksgiving / Six Months

The sunlight shocked open my eyelids and pushed me to face the morning. Seven AM wasn't my friend. Perhaps because Four AM and I had grown to know each other so intimately. Four AM was comforting to me in all of his dark and quiet anxiousness. In that time of night, the silent hum of unspoken fears wrapped around me, curious and complicated, moody, but mine. But Seven, she and I had become strangers. Her pesky perkiness was too draining to even acknowledge. "Leave me alone!" I begged, trying to reclaim the darkness of shut eyelids. "Find someone else to force your rise and shine upon. I'm not interested."

But this morning was different. The light had a mission and Seven was unrelenting. As my consciousness took over, snapped into alert, I remembered the significance of this particular dawn. Not only was it Thanksgiving, but also the six month mark of Blake's death. The weight of that realization tugged at my heart, causing me to collapse into the sunlight and embrace my old friend Seven. Today would be too lonely if I isolated myself. "Ok Seven, you win."

These two events coinciding didn't feel like a coincidence. The universe had transpired to lay out this juxtaposition so clearly that it would be impossible to ignore. The national day of thanks and the day that marks half a year without My Love. One with a theme of gratitude, the other: grief. I started asking myself, "How can I respect both feelings without falling too deeply into one or the other? How can mixing the two create a more meaningful day?"

The answer was actually simple: focus on love. The absence of it, the presence of it, the yearning for it, and the hope that it still exists. Love in all of its forms. Love that can be seen and love that can only be felt. Love was both my greatest gift and the deepest hole in my heart. Today, I would focus on love.

My annoying but inspiring friend Seven AM helped me realize that this Thanksgiving, I'm not actually balancing opposite emotions.  On the surface that's what grief and gratitude seem to be, but in actuality, that couldn't be farther from the truth. Because the foundations of both are the exact same thing: love. It's easy to trace gratitude back love, but I had to stretch my mind to come to the conclusion that grief couldn't exist without love either. Love makes gratitude and grief intrinsically linked. The separation of the two only came from my refusal to wake up.

Now, I'm wide awake with my friend Nine AM. He has all the analytical insight of Four, but with the blissful optimism of Seven. At this time of morning, the light is shining bright, but it no longer has to battle against the harsh contrast of nighttime. The sun is welcome to disrupt my sleep because now I want to be awake, enjoying every minute of this day. A day that reminds me of both the past and the present, but more importantly, the love that weaves the two together.

Today, I'm coming from a place of Nine.

Loving Blake Through Loving Myself

When I was thinking about last night, that same enormous smile took over my face. For some reason, my body felt the urge to express this happiness physically. Without even realizing what I was doing, I wrapped my arms across my chest, grabbed onto my shoulders, and squeezed. I held myself tightly, eyes closed, smile pure, and felt the same kind of tingles that kissed my skin when I experienced Blake's presence.

I had an epiphany.

Since Blake's body isn't here, there is no way for me to physically show my love and gratitude for him. Before I could hug him, kiss him, and carry out acts of kindness for him, but now I can't. This left me with pent up emotion and energy that's been bursting out of me in unpredictable ways. Sometimes it's through obsessive investigation, other times self-loathing and despair. I guess I never realized that all of these varied behaviors stemmed from only one thing: love without a clear recipient.

I had no idea how to productively channel all of this excess energy. What do you do when you're so filled with appreciation for someone and have no way to communicate it directly to them? I realized that the spontaneous self-hug was my subconscious providing me with a physical representation of the answer I sought. But why was hugging myself the solution?

I've come to the conclusion that the best way to honor Blake is through loving myself. Earlier this month I acknowledged how taking care of my needs has been put completely on the back burner since Blake passed away. Although I've always known that I need to start making myself a priority, I never had the motivation to. I was missing the why. It was easy to push aside taking care of myself because I didn't understand how self care played into any of this. But self-love has everything to do with this. If I truly believe that Blake is a part of me, the best way to love him is through loving myself.

All of this is encapsulated in another brilliant quote by my new favorite person, Rumi:
"I see my beauty in you. I become a mirror that cannot close it's eyes."
To me, this means that in the reflection of my ability to love Blake so deeply I see the beauty of my own heart. I see that I am filled with so much more love than I ever imagined. And because I am capable of that kind of love, I am truly deserving of that strength of love as well. I owe it to myself to love myself as deeply and as unconditionally as I love Blake.

The Blue Heart

Somewhere in my darkest moments of searching for strength, I rediscovered the word resilience. For me, resilience meant acknowledging the weight in my heart and committing to fight each day by carrying it with respect. This pledge of resilience was sparked by a quote that I found: "Courage does not always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.'" I posted a picture of it on my Instagram with a caption that read "Resilience" followed by a blue heart and a bear.

The bear was a pretty straightforward choice because Bear was a name that I called Blake. The blue heart was chosen mainly because I remembered Blake telling me that his best friends from high school used to call him Blue. I'm pretty sure he got this nickname simply because he liked to wear a lot of blue clothing (high school boys are so creative). I also chose a blue heart because it didn't feel right to use a cheerful pink heart when mine felt so sad. I chose blue because it reflected the sadness of loss. And from that point forward, all of my Instagrams about Blake included the little blue heart emoji.

(Fast forward to a couple months later) As I shared in the post about Blake's birthday, I had a really hard time figuring out what to say to him as I sat at his grave. For several minutes I stared at the assortment of sand, shells, and sea glass that Blake's mom had offered me to give to him as a present. While zoning out, one of the dark blue pieces of sea glass caught my eye. I picked it up and noticed that it was almost heart shaped. I squeezed it tightly in the palm of my hand, brought it up to my heart, and sent a message to Blake. Finding the heart gave me the inspiration I needed to connect with him. 

After I finished, I looked over the piece of blue sea glass again and realized that it was almost the exact same size and shape as the heart already engraved on Blake's headstone. When Blake's mom and Nana came back over, I told them the story and showed how it matched up perfectly. Blake's mom thought that this must be a sign and encouraged me to get super glue to affix the sea glass to his headstone. Now the blue heart is a permanent part of it.

As I was reflecting on this meaningful moment after I got home from Blake's birthday weekend, I decided that I wanted to get a piece of jewelry with what had now become a very significant blue heart. Not only was the blue heart something I had been using all along in the captions of my pictures of Blake, but now a blue heart in the form of sea glass had popped out at me and helped me find the strength to deliver Blake a birthday message at his grave. On top of all of that, while I was searching for jewelry with blue stones, I discovered that the blue sapphire is the birthstone of September, the month Blake was born in. It was all too serendipitous and perfect.

The blue heart necklace I ordered arrived in the mail yesterday. When I wear it, I will think about the different blue hearts that have become part of my life thanks to Blake. I will think of Blake's best friends, who gave him the nickname Blue that inspired the little blue heart emoji in all of my pictures. I will think of his family, who generously allowed the blue heart shaped sea glass to become part of his headstone in the same way they have lovingly taken me in. And I will undoubtably think of the loss of my true love, Blake, whom I will carry with me forever inside of my own blue heart. 

But most importantly, when I wear this blue heart I will think about resilience, the word I vowed to live by when my connection with the blue heart first began. The blue heart will remind me that courage doesn't always roar. Resilience is not about bouncing back immediately with smiles and positivity. Sometimes bravery is a quieter determination, slow, but with consistent resolve to always try again tomorrow. 

Be Fazed

Who started the lie that it's better for us all to pretend?

Who decided that if you walk through life unfazed it shows your superiority over others who don't? That prohibiting things from affecting you is proof that you are above them. That a cool, calm demeanor in the face of adversity is the ultimate sign of strength?

Who tricked us into believing that we should edit our lives to make them look as pretty as possible? That you should spend your energy on maintaining an image. That if you can project the facade of stability and success then that is what really matters.

Who lead us to believe that what we feel should be controlled? That simply deciding to be happy is the key to happiness. That emotions can be categorized as "good" and "bad." That those feelings deemed "bad" should be confined only to the quiet tears on your pillow at night. Or maybe not even your pillow should hear them. Maybe you shouldn't feel anything at all.

Who convinced us that this is a kind of life worth living?

We are the who.

We are the who that started the lie,
decided every day to believe it,
tricked ourselves into living by it,
and denied ourselves the right
to be ourselves.

I want to be fazed.
I want to go through life feeling anything and everything that comes my way.

I want to appreciate the support of my friends and family because I know how destabilizing it is to feel alone. I want to fully understand the power and the preciousness of love because I've felt the heartbreak of having it taken from me. I want to cherish my life with everything I have because I know how painfully fragile it is. I want to reach the highest highs and the lowest lows and acknowledge them both for their inherent value.

A life lived unfazed is not a life I want. When life inevitably knocks me down, I will cry. I will allow myself to feel defeated, unwanted, exhausted, disgusted, disgusting, angry, anxious, alone, afraid. I will feel all of those feelings with the same respect and dignity that is afforded to more socially acceptable emotions. Because we are the who that decides what's socially acceptable anyway. We are the who that can decide it's better for us not to pretend anymore.

Betrayal, Hurt, and Gratitude (A Letter)

Dear Blake,

Hi Sweetheart. I wanted to write to you because I thought a lot about the drugs today. We never had a chance to talk about it and there is so much I have to say. It was devastating to find out that the person I loved more than anyone was fighting a battle I knew nothing about. I want so desperately to know what you went through, how you felt, and what I possibly could've done to be there for you. But it's impossible now. I think that's the part of all of this that hurts the most.

So in an attempt to connect to your struggle, I wrote a poem today about OxyContin. But the truth is, it felt really phony afterward. How can I write about something I know nothing about? I often try to put myself in your shoes, think about what it felt like for you, and figure out why you did the things you did, but I'll never actually know. I wish we could've talked honestly about it. I wish you would've let me in. I would have listened. I wouldn't have judged you. 

Or maybe I would have yelled. Maybe I would have thought you were out of control and given you ultimatums. I know I would have been scared, might have looked at you differently. But I think you knew all of that. I think that's why you kept this part of yourself from me. I'd like to think I would have been there for you unconditionally, but the truth is I'm not sure I would have been strong enough. That whole world is so foreign, so scary, so unlike anything I've ever experienced. It's truly heartbreaking that you, of all people, were using drugs. Especially after all that you went through, what you overcame, and the conviction in your voice when you told me you wanted a better life for yourself. 

Part of me sees this as a betrayal. I mean, how could you look me in the eyes and tell me you were in love with me, wanted to build a life with me, protect me, care for me, when you knew you were hiding a secret that would've changed everything? Did you ever really think we could live together? Get married? Raise children? This was our future. How could you let us paint such a beautiful picture of it if you knew you were withholding vital information?

I truly do have all of those questions, but after my obsessive quest to learn about addiction, another part of me sees our situation in a completely different light. In my heart of hearts, I believe you always loved me the best you possibly could. And somehow, that meant shielding me from your struggle. I'm not saying that was the right way, or the smartest way, but it did come from a good place. Although it hurts that you kept your drug use from me, I do forgive you. I know in your clouded mind it all made sense and I trust that it was out of love. 

But a new part of me is wondering why I even believe you need my forgiveness. Is it self-centered of me to make this about me forgiving you for how your addiction has affected me? You were the one coping with the insurmountable pain, yet every day you prioritized showering me with love and affection. You always made a point of making me feel special, even while you were struggling for your life. Maybe I should be apologizing or at the very least thanking you. Hiding your addiction from me was just a selfless (but misguided) attempt to protect me so I didn't have to take on the stress that was consuming you. 

I feel a certain amount of anger for the way you broke my trust, upset and confused in wishing you would've shared your burden with me and wondering why you didn't, and deep gratitude for the way you continue to surprise me as I uncover new layers of your selflessness. It kills me to think about how badly you must have been suffering, My Love. I know I'll never fully understand what drugs do to a person, but I do know you didn't deserve to carry all of that pain, especially not alone. 

It's unfortunate that one of your most beautiful qualities, generosity, lead you to give everything you had to others, but neglect yourself. I wish you would've let me take care of you like you took care of me. You deserved to experience all the happiness that you brought me and everyone else who knew you.

I pray every night that we'll see each other again in heaven. Maybe instead of harassing you with all of my questions when I get there, I can give you the thank you that you deserve. Although to some degree I feel betrayed and my heart is still filled with incredible sadness, I couldn't be more grateful that I was loved by a man who taught me so much.

I will love you forever,
Briana