Christmas at the Cemetery

The cemetery was packed today. When I went to go visit Blake's grave to give him a Christmas present, I saw more people than I've ever seen there. Since I've always been a huge fan of people watching, this was really fascinating to me. I ended up observing for a couple hours.

A few rows behind and to the right of Blake's plot there is a grave of a little girl. Every time I've visited, I always noticed her's because it's decorated elaborately for every occasion. She's had balloons, toys, pinwheels, and this time, a Christmas theme of tinsel, Santa, and fake snow. Today she had about 12 visitors. There were adults, teenagers, and even a couple of babies. Since the group was in my line of sight, I ended up watching them almost the whole time I was there. It was interesting to me that all throughout, not a single person cried. In fact, it was exactly the opposite. The family laughed, joked, embraced each other, and added to the pile of decorations overflowing from her plot.

In stark contrast, there was a woman who briefly stopped by to visit her mother. She came alone and without a smile. I watched her walk up to the headstone, tour around it, and kneel down. She feverishly plucked the stray blades of grass around the perimeter. We made eye contact, she bowed her head, and returned to her car. The wheels screeched as she sped away just minutes after she came.

And then there was me. When I wasn't busy observing everyone else, I had bouts of endless tears. I realized that I haven't been crying very much lately. I guess all of the emotion stored up was finally released as I sat by Blake's grave. I cried and cried and cried, like I was the person who invented it.

I sat there with an achy feeling. I started thinking about us during Christmas time last year and remembering how much Blake loved this holiday. I let my mind drift to a scene of what this week could've looked like for us. I wanted to capture that image in a snow globe, shake it, and let sparkles dance around it. But I wasn't joyous like the little girl's family; I wasn't uneasy like the woman either. I was somewhere at the intersection of the two, trying to figure out how to express both my love and sadness. Honestly, all I wanted to do was lie down on the dirt and rest my head next to his picture. A spiritual connection wasn't enough; my body hurt with the urge to physically be with him.

So I put on lipstick and kissed the back of some receipts I found floating around in my purse. Even though I wasn't actually kissing Blake, the sensation of forming my lips into a pucker felt strangely calming. My lips were made to do that, so I think that's why they've felt a little lost and useless these past seven months. They were born to scrunch their soft skin and communicate the love contained within them. Even if it was silly, it was a comfort to finally put my lips to use.

I realized today that every time I visit the cemetery, I'm looking for something different. The first time I went on his birthday, I wanted to feel united with his loved ones. I needed to feel like we will all get through this together with each other's love and support. On our anniversary, I sat there with the need for connection. I wanted to feel his presence to confirm that we were still part of each other. And I guess today, I needed to give love. I needed to show myself that I still have the capacity to kiss. To prove to myself that I'm not irreparably broken.

Everyone I observed at the cemetery today came for a reason. I believe that the cemetery was so crowded because Christmas time reminds everyone of loved ones and togetherness. Some of us, like the little girl's family, came to honor their loved one by celebrating the lives they're lucky to still be living together. Others, like the daughter, came to quickly, solemnly, and earnestly pay their respects. And people like me came in search of something: an emotional release, a connection, or maybe a sign. Although these motives represented by the family, woman, and me may seem different, we are all the same. No matter how we chose to express it, our actions were all rooted in love.

Facing Mirrors

I went through the majority of the past six months avoiding mirrors. Seeing my eyes felt too intimate. If I ever looked, I'd have to search inside of them. And when I did, I saw sadness, fear, but most upsetting of all, I saw a stranger. I didn't know this girl and honestly, I didn't like her.

I very rarely wore makeup. But when I did, I silently cursed at my reflection the whole time I was applying it. I had always prided myself on having great skin, but the face in front of me had blemishes all over. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. But most likely, it was because I stopped caring about myself. I gave up on this new person I had become.

As a birthday present, my best friend bought me the book "The Bridges of Madison County". When I was in New York over Thanksgiving, I read it and highlighted some of the lines that spoke to me. One part that immediately caught my attention was when Francesca was looking at an old photograph that her lost love, Robert, had taken of her:

"She looked at the picture again, studied it. I did look good, she thought, smiling to herself at the mild self-admiration. 'I never looked that good before or after. It was him.'"

I've done the same, countless times. My smile never looked bigger, or brighter, or more genuine than in my pictures with Blake. I look at those old photographs and I see the Briana I was, the Briana I wish so desperately that I could be again. But I can't. I can never be her because she died with Blake. It's frustrating to realize that now that he's gone, I will never be the same again. I've mulled it over a million times and it never gets easier to wrap my mind around. I realized that maybe I didn't want to face myself in the mirror because I didn't know who I was without Blake.

But since coming back from New York, I caught myself looking in the mirror for the first time. As I brushed my teeth this morning, my eyes lingered on their reflection staring back at them. I wasn't ready to search them yet, so I scanned the rest of my face first. I immediately noticed that my skin had finally cleared up. I smiled. My nose was still slightly crooked, my teeth still "she definitely had braces" straight. My face was oval, just like my sister's, my cheekbones high, like my mom's. My face wasn't perfect, but it looked familiar. I liked what I saw. With a deep breath, I worked my way up to my eyes. When I fixed my stare, I poured myself into them, searching for a glimpse of the girl I used to be. But I was right, she wasn't there anymore.

What I did find, however, was something new. I had to strain my neck to get a closer look, barely an inch from the mirror to make sure. There it was. Almost completely hidden by the lower lashes of my left eye was a tiny, new freckle.

Freckles have always been important to me. I only have about ten, so I know exactly where all of them are. One of my favorite memories with Blake, which I shared in our video, was the night we discovered that he had a freckle in the exact same spot as me on his shoulder. He called them our "Twin Freckles" because they connected us and made us one. Maybe this new freckle, under my eye (I), symbolized a new journey focused on just me. To show me I'm different, but still beautiful.

This morning, the addition of the 11th freckle reminded that I am a new person. Although that feels scary and makes me want to run and hide from myself sometimes, it's the truth. I'm not sure if being a new person is good or bad, but it's reality. A reality that's mine and can't be avoided. I need to nurture this new person and learn to love her just as much as I loved the Briana from the photographs with Blake. Who knows, maybe I can grow to love her even more.

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.

To Blake, On Our Anniversary

Blake,
It's weird being in my parents house again. The first couple of times I came home after your death, I refused to step foot here. Without hesitation, I agreed to sleep in the bedroom in your parent's house where you passed away, but was too scared to even see this place, the house where we spent your last week together. But being here has finally started to feel ok. In fact, now that I think about it, this house is actually the perfect place for me to be on our anniversary...

Where I'm laying right now is where I stayed up all night texting with you for the first time. I remember thinking, why is Blake Norvell even texting me? Maybe it's because he feels bad for making me drive him home? Maybe he's just bored? As much as I played it off like I was only mildly interested in you at first, I was so excited that night. I was right here, in this bed, with butterflies in my stomach every time a new text came in.

And there's also the last week we spent here, your very last week on earth. I know it wasn't our most
adventure-filled trip, but it was actually nice playing house here with you while my parents were gone. We got groceries, watched movies, took care of my dog, floated in the pool, and most importantly, got to wake up and fall asleep with each other every day. That's still the hardest part, you know. I still haven't gotten used to reaching over and feeling nothing but empty space.

One year. We talked about our one year anniversary all the time for some reason. I don't know why it always seemed so significant, but we even had the presents picked out that we were going to buy each other for this day. Why did we do that? That's actually really weird haha. But milestones were important to you and that made them important to me too. Which is why I want to make sure that today is filled with as much love as I can cram into it.

I watched our videos for the past hour or so. Every single one. I know I gave you a hard time when you would insist on taking them, but now all I want to do is thank you. If I could go back in time and agree to them enthusiastically, I would. But then again, I have a feeling that at least part of the reason why you liked them so much was because of my playful resistance.

There is so much I want to write to you. My favorite things about birthdays, anniversaries, and celebrations in general, are always the cards. There's nothing quite like stringing together the perfect words to communicate to someone exactly how you feel. Most of the time the gift becomes insignificant in comparison if the emotion in the card is just right. For this reason, I want to write you the perfect note and send it up to heaven for you.

Blake, you mean more to me than you'll ever know. Not only did you teach me about true love during your life, but in your death, you also taught me about forgiveness, acceptance, spirituality, and having patience with myself. I never thought in a million years that something as tragic as losing you would somehow turn into a blessing. But it really has. I wish with all of my heart that you didn't die, but if you had to go, I feel unbelievably lucky that you left me with such incredible parting gifts.

I'm sorry this letter has bounced around from topic to topic in a not so cohesive way, but that really matches how my brain is working right now. I'm thinking of everything all at once, trying to soak it all in. I hope today is a happy day, even though I know sadness will permeate every minute of it. But I think that's ok. I'm learning that happiness isn't the absence of sadness, it's using your sadness properly. Every day, and especially today, I'm using my sadness to feel closer to you, to myself, and the world.

I love you, William Blake. Happy anniversary.

Love Forever,
Briana

Goose Bumps

I get waves of goose bumps all throughout the day. Even when it isn't cold, a shock of shivers will travel down my body. When this happens, I try to pay attention to what preceded it. I look for signs to clue me into the potential message these goose bumps are trying to send. I close my eyes and let the tingles cover me. The more I focus on them, the stronger they get. 

At night these goose bumps are overwhelming in the most beautiful way. The minute I touch my bed my skin becomes a sea of gentle prickles. It feels so good for my body to feel something, that I usually start to tear up. Instantaneously I know that it's Blake, welcoming me back for a night's sleep together.

Sometimes I'll ask him questions, aloud or in my mind, and I'll get responses in the form of goose bumps. I lay there, eyes closed, with a huge smile and a heart so full it could burst. I tell Blake that I love him and he answers me back with a powerful pulse. Every hair on my arm is raised and every pore is filled with gratitude. I drift off to sleep knowing that I'm safe and cared for. 

I've been hesitant to describe these experiences to other people because even to me it seems a little crazy. I know it makes no practical sense, but the more the waves of goose bumps happen, the more I feel like the only possible explanation for them is that it really is Blake. 

Tonight, I deferred to Google to help me make more sense of what's happening to me. I started with "What causes goose bumps?" and found very technical explanations of how goose bumps are a reflex associated with cold, fear, or an emotional reaction. I wasn't satisfied with that because the goose bumps I've been experiencing aren't just physical, they're spiritual. So I decided to go a different route and explore "Spiritual significance of goose bumps." I was hoping the internet would connect me with a meaningful way to interpret them in this regard.

The results of that search were less scientific, but so much more meaningful. It produced amazing articles and personal stories. Here are a couple of my favorites:

From a blog about connecting with your soul mate:

"You may feel the energy around you change, and sense there is another spirit there reaching out to you. Often our physical body responds with feelings of waves, goosebumps, or shivers. Once you feel that presence… Speak with them. Spirits can communicate through energy, which means your thoughts and feelings can be shared and theirs can be received. Space does not exist when working with the soul."

And this one is specifically about a mother getting goose bumps from her son who passed away, and he (through a medium) describes how he makes the goose bumps happen:

"I get up behind you, and I put my hand in your hair. Then I push my energy through the top few layer of your skin, but not to the bone. And just the muscles. Usually your body responds to an interference, a change in the environment, so your body responds with the goosebumps. That’s why it’s really location specific"

I could go on and on about the things that I found. I feel very validated in my conclusion that these goose bumps are actually Blake's way of communicating with me. Death doesn't seem so scary (and so removed from life) when I can think about things spiritually. Because energy can neither be created nor destroyed, it only makes sense that Blake's energy is still around. I feel so lucky that he has chosen to surround me with it and help comfort me with his presence.

The Unfinished Scrapbook

For our half year anniversary, I decided to make Blake a scrapbook as one of his presents. Not to brag, but it was turning out pretty spectacularly. Even though the gift was supposed to be a surprise, I couldn't handle keeping it a secret from Blake. I would send him picture updates any time I finished a page that I was particularly proud of (which was all of them, haha).

The last weekend we were together was when we celebrated our six months. I was going to give Blake the scrapbook then, but we decided that I should wait until I added the pictures from that trip. I was disappointed that I wouldn't get to give him his present on our actual anniversary, but knew it would be worth the wait if it meant adding even more memories to it.

The morning immediately following that trip was when I found out Blake overdosed and passed away. I hadn't even adjusted to being back in California when I heard the news. I couldn't believe I had just slept with him the night before, kissed him only a few hours ago, and already started counting down the days until we could see each other again. How could the man, whom I just spent every minute of the last week and planned to spend every year in the future with, be gone? I'm never going to see him again? Touch him? Kiss him? Hold him? This couldn't be real...

I vividly remember that even in the haze of confusion, my mind went to that scrapbook. All of my supplies were still on my bed. The unfinished book stared at me. It seemed painfully symbolic of the unwritten pages of our love story that were now never going to be completed.

I brought the scrapbook with me to Blake's funeral. In it, I had written a heartfelt note that he never got the chance to read. As I read it aloud to his friends and family as part of my speech, I was hoping that someway, somehow, Blake was able to hear my message too. I knew he would have smiled so big and given me a million kisses after he read it when I finally gave him his present. I felt extremely deprived of that moment. I wanted it more than anything.

There have been countless times that I've endeavored to complete the scrapbook since that day. I even went as far as printing out the pictures from our last week together and putting them inside the pages. But every time I tried to get myself to actually make them, I couldn't. Something about it actually being finished upset me. Maybe on some level I thought that if the scrapbook was never complete, it meant that our story wasn't over either.

Now the unfinished scrapbook just sits on my bookshelf collecting dust. Lately I've been thinking that it might be a good project for me to work on during our one year anniversary coming up this Saturday, but I'm not completely sure I can commit to that. Something in my body is preventing me from giving finishing it a real thought. I know eventually I'll be able to work on it, but for now the wound still seems too fresh.

Collecting Gifts

I'm flying home to Arizona this weekend because November 23 marks one year since Blake and I started dating. This morning when I woke up with an aching heart and eyes full of tears, I decided that today was a good day to start collecting anniversary presents for him. 

The last time I visited Blake's grave I brought shells, sand, and sea glass as a gift for his birthday. I did this because he loved the beach, especially the beaches of San Diego. We always planned that I would move here for graduate school and he would join me soon after. This gift  was my way to bring the beach to him, showing we can share San Diego in a symbolic way. And as an ongoing reminder that I have the honor and privilege of living our dream for both of us, I decided to bring bits of the beach to give him every time I come to visit.

So in order to find Blake's anniversary presents, I walked to the beach at the end of my street. But what started out as a quick way to listen to my heart, turned into hours of connecting with the ocean. I was mesmerized by the tide and its enchanting pull. I watched as it rushed over my sea gems, clouded and concealed them, and then revealed all that I saw before and more. 

The tide followed the same pattern over and over again, but somehow it kept teaching me different lessons. At first I learned how to rethink my disappointment when a pretty shell that I wanted got swept away. I was excited to find something beautiful, so when the water took it I got upset. But as this kept happening I started to realize that the shell wasn't mine to begin with; it belonged to the ocean. Because of this, I didn't actually lose anything. I was lucky to see the pretty shell for as long as I did, so I learned to let it go with peace and gratitude.

Eventually I transitioned from that lesson to a lesson about the power of patience. Instead of searching for shells, I started to let them come to me. I just stood there, basking in the sun, floating in the wind, and feeling like part of the ocean. When I looked down, the tide would retreat back just long enough for me to pick up what it had left for me. I knew what was there was mine to take because I didn't reach for it, it reached for me.

There is so much more I could write about the ocean. After Blake and my trip to the Monterrey Bay Aquarium back in May, we talked for hours about how magical it is. Not only does the ocean have a pulse, as evidenced by the tide, it also has a soul. If you are quiet enough, you can hear it speak to you. And if you are open enough, it has gifts for you to collect. Not only in the form of shells and rocks, but in lessons about how to live your life connected to the beauty of the world. 

Knowing You're Not Alone

Three:
the number of girls I talk to about losing our boyfriends.
Although that number takes up less than a hand's worth of fingers, three somehow feels like thirty. Three hundred. Three THOUSAND. Counting doesn't seem to do them justice because numbers fail to quantify how much those three women mean to me.

Our four stories are not the same. One death was a tragic accident, another medical, and the other involved the same drug that took Blake's life. For a couple of us it's still fresh, the other two it's been a few years. There are also differences between how long we dated, the role we were allowed to play in the funeral, our continued relationship with their families, how we react to new men, and our general methods of coping with this unfathomably difficult situation.

But connecting with these women isn't about comparing who has it the worst or who is the strongest now. It's not about our disparities at all. What sets us apart melts away because we have this immediate and innate foundation of understanding. I feel like I can tell any one of these girls my scariest fears, most shameful thoughts, or wildest hopes. They may not feel the same things, but I know they would accept these confessions with a love that can only come from having "been there."

This is the power of knowing 
you are not alone.

It makes me sad that we've been conditioned to mask ourselves in front of each other. We are taught that the truths about our lives that may not look as pretty splashed all over Facebook are worth hiding. Ignoring. Denying their existence. When in fact, these are the building blocks that shape who we are and create meaningful bridges between us and other people.

I may never have met these three courageous and inspiring women if it wasn't for us reaching out to each other. If in that moment we chose pride over vulnerability, we would've never known the power of each other's company. We might have spent months, years, our whole lives thinking we were alone, believing that no one could possibly understand what life is like for us.

Four:
I was contacted tonight by a girl in South Carolina who's boyfriend also died in May of a drug overdose. Although we have no mutual friends, she stumbled upon my blog and bravely shared her story with me.

As we messaged back and fourth, I was reminded that the world is such a confusing, but beautiful place. Somehow the ugliest experiences are the ones that provide the pathway to the most life changing connections. If we open ourselves up and risk judgement, we will be rewarded with the unparalleled gift of knowing that we're not alone.

New Beginnings (A Poem)

There's something about a sunrise
like staring deep into your eyes
remembering them open wide
telling me "Baby, look! The Sun!"

Holding me is pale pink,
orange, yellow, all I think
is the colors make my heart sink
back to the hammock, in your arms.

The sky becomes a light blue
recalling sunrises with you
Are you here for this one too?
The warmth tells me "Yes."

After all the painting is done
many colors fade to just one
highlighting the beauty of the Sun:
a symbol of the new.

Lost Lips

Blake and I would have to go weeks without kissing. With me in California and him in Arizona, sometimes our lips had to be hundreds of miles apart. During those periods, they would wait impatiently on our faces. Once they knew each others' touch, an existence quietly perched between nose and chin would never be enough. After they tasted sweet purpose, they changed. They knew how it felt to come alive, so they lived in anxious anticipation of their next embrace.

Especially after longer gaps between reunions, our lips met with overpowering urgency. It was as if they had been holding their breath all along and were finally able to greedily gulp in oxygen. They were completely consumed with each other. Inseparable to the point that it was hard to tell where one set ended and the other began. So when one set ended, the other couldn't begin again.

Now my lips are just lips. 
They no longer get the chance to feel and lust and love. They reluctantly hold their place between my cheeks and resent me for leaving them there. Filled with memories of when they used to dance freely, my lips fight to imagine their phantom partner. They fall silent in defeat, waiving a white flag to signal their surrender. And so they lay dormant. In defiant refusal to live a life any less than the extraordinary one they once knew.

But even though hope is faint, they still cling onto the dream that maybe one day
they will come alive again.

     

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.

In Me All Along

It clicked tonight.

Lying in bed, silent and still, I felt him. My skin turned into a sea of goosebumps and my heart lit up. Although it sounds crazy, it was the farthest thing from irrational. It felt more real and obvious than anything I've ever felt. I whispered out loud, "There you are. I missed you."

A bigger smile than I thought was possible to produce spread across my face, which sent another wave of goosebumps rushing over my skin. In that moment I knew I had been asking the wrong question. It was pointless to grapple with what distance to keep Blake, because he's been inside of me this whole time. Whether I realized it or not, that's where he's always been and that's where he'll always stay. So instead, I need to be asking myself how can I be inspired to move forward by this empowering force within me?

After this became clear, I started to reflect on the struggle I was having with trying to picture Blake. I realized that I've been going about that the wrong way too. Since Blake no longer exists in his physical form, attempting to imagine him that way is futile. It only brings me the superficial aspects of his appearance, which just frustrates me further. Although it's hard to stop trying to reconstruct how incredibly handsome he was, that body no longer belongs to him. I need to let it go. However, instead of imagining him I can feel him in an all encompassing and spiritual way. A way that fills me with far more meaning than any mental representation could.

I am ending the night and drifting off to sleep thinking of a quote I read today. Moving forward, I am going to think back to these words whenever doubt creeps into my mind.
"Goodbyes are only for people who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with their heart and soul, there is no such thing as separation." -Rumi
But do not be mistaken. Acknowledging Blake is within me won't leave me frozen in time, chained down by unproductive thoughts of what might have been. Instead, it will push me to live a life filled with a renewed sense of purpose and love. He will radiate from inside of me and multiply my light.

Create Your Own Signs

Sometimes (most of the time) my mom ends up telling me the exact answer I need to hear before I even know what the question is. Do all moms have this magical power or is mine just even more amazing than I already thought? I'm thinking it's both.

We got into a conversation tonight (the messages are split up into three sections, forgive me if the formatting is confusing) about what I want moving forward. Do I want to learn how to connect and talk to Blake? Or do I want to distance myself so I can start moving forward? I am struggling to pick because choosing seems impossible. But at the same time, having it both ways seems like an inherent contradiction.

After my mom suggested I look up how to contact people who've passed away, I tried to explain to her that I'm not sure if that is what I want. I don't necessarily have things I want to say to Blake or things I need to hear him say, I just have a desire to know he's always there. Especially in my weakest moments, I want to have confirmation that he's looking out for me.

She responded by telling me that I already know Blake is watching over me and I need to be secure with that. I don't need continual reminders.

I pushed back a bit and insisted that constant reassurance is what I crave. Maybe I second guess his presence so much that I need those outward signs to remind me. Maybe if I have proof that he's watching over me, I can focus on other things. If I don't have to question that he's always going to be there, I can move forward.

This is where my mom employed some tough love. Basically I was sounding like a needy, insecure girlfriend. When Blake was alive, did I ask him to tell me he loves me all the time and assure me that he was there for me? Of course not. First of all, that would've been extremely annoying and self-conscious. Second of all, it wasn't necessary. When Blake was alive I never questioned his love for me. I always knew that no matter what he would be there for me, comfort me, stand by me, and support me. Why would it be any different now?

    It isn't.

Probably the most profound part of our conversation came in the final part. This was one of those pearls of wisdom that my mom gave me before I even knew I was asking for it. Even now I'm kind of in awe of her insight. When I explained that maybe I just like getting signs because receiving them makes me feel good and renews my faith our connection, she simply told me "Give them to yourself."

Give them to yourself? Can you even do that?
Yes. Absolutely, one hundred and fifty percent, yes.

Although these are not the grand signs like finding the blue heart-shaped sea glass or an old email popping up on my computer screen out of no where, these kind of signs are just as important. The signs I give myself might actually be more important because they come from within my own heart.

There is a confidence in our love that dwells inside of me. It is so strong that it could sustain me even if I never get another sign from Blake again. This belief doesn't need the validation of anyone else because to me, it is as indisputable as fact. If I can tap into that internal truth and bring it out, I create conviction in Blake's presence that won't disappear. Distance, time, and the doubt of others won't affect my certainty that Blake is with me. That's what it means to be self-sufficient. That's what it means to create your own signs.

Keeping an Open Mind

Without realizing it at the time, I went searching for Blake today. After waking up, I found myself looking up directions to the San Diego SPCA. Throughout our relationship, Blake and I spent hours talking about what kind of dog we'd get together one day. We even had a name picked out for him: Moose. Although I knew that I wasn't going to actually adopt a dog today, sometimes just entertaining the idea makes me happy. I felt a pull to the animal shelter, so I listened.

I walked around looking at all the puppies, seeing if Moose was in there. I know that when I find the right dog it won't necessarily be a particular breed or color, but a feeling I get when I look at him. Almost like Blake telling me he's the one. Unfortunately, Moose wasn't there. But I decided that was ok. I know I'm not ready, so it might have hurt more to see a dog there that I wanted, but knew I couldn't get.

I started walking out, feeling a little defeated, when I noticed there was a nature trail close by. I didn't have any plans for today, so I decided to take a walk. I felt weird about doing this all by myself, but something was telling me that I needed to get better at enjoying time alone. Besides, the day was too beautiful to just go straight home.

Someone close to Blake messaged me last night to tell me that Blake is all around me trying to help me, but is having a difficult time getting through. A few months ago, this would have sounded crazy to me, but after my recent experience with the medium nothing sounds ridiculous to me anymore. She offered me more information about the symbolism of the blue sapphire, which started me thinking about what I need to do to heal spiritually.

As I was walking, I was drawn off the paved path onto a side trail. To my left was a bed of fallen leaves in a sanctuary formed by clustered trees. The way the light poked through the branches as the wind rustled through them spoke to me. I decided to sit down and try to meditate.

This didn't go well, as I don't know the first thing about meditation. Blake tried to teach me a couple times, but my brain was always too busy to actually slow down enough to make meditation work. As I sat cross legged on the ground, the blowing wind felt like Blake trying to coax me into relaxing. I closed my eyes and it got stronger, but not powerful enough to silence my thoughts. I opened my eyes and whispered "I'm sorry, Blake. I tried." The wind gently swept my hair off of my face as if it was saying it's ok, you'll get there soon enough.

Although I couldn't clear my mind, what filled my thoughts was a message I wanted to write down. I didn't have any paper, but I decided to remain in my hideaway and jot it onto my forearm:

"Always searching for the path to you. How can I open my mind enough for you to fill it? What can I do to show you I'm ready? Ready to receive the gift of spiritual awakening. No longer trapped in my head and a slave to my own negativity. One day I'll be ready. Every day is a step in the right direction. A step closer to you, yes, but more importantly a step closer to me."

These thoughts are pretty disjointed, but I like them as they are. I am proud of myself for keeping an open mind and trying new things even if they aren't coming naturally yet. As the person close to Blake told me last night, another gift Blake gave me through his death was opening me up to a more spiritual and meaningful way of life. Although this is all new to me, I'm getting closer to figuring it out. This will be a lifelong process, but one that I'm sure will transform me in a beautiful way.

Separating (A Poem)

Enough space to keep me sane

Close enough to heed my heart

Straddling this fine line 

Crossing over, ripped apart 

The strength is in the balance

Of knowing how to choose

At what distance to hold you

The amount of separation to use 

If away is where I place you
I'm lost, disconnected, alone
Wandering, restless, broken
A soul without a home

If I pull you in too tightly

It's like embracing the sun

Engulfed in blissful light 

But scorched and overdone

Where's the happy medium?

The perfect in between?

Fully accepting my reality

While still honoring the unseen

So goes my daily struggle

Learning to navigate this mismatch

Loving you thoroughly and truly 

While beginning to detach 

Karmic Connection vs. Soul Mate

Last night when the medium explained to me that Blake and I had a "Karmic Connection" in this lifetime, I was really fascinated by this new term. I had never heard of it before, so I started to research it today. After spending hours on different websites, I found a ton of information on karmic connections, soul mates, and the differences and similarities between the two.

This made me think back to one of the very first entires I wrote in June called "Soul Mates?" When I wrote it, I was having an incredibly difficult time putting Blake and my relationship into perspective. Blake and I had talked about being each other's soul mate, but were we really? If he isn't here anymore and he was my soul mate, does that mean I'm never going to find love again? Can you have more than one soul mate? These were some of the questions I asked myself, but I never came up with any definitive answers. I settled on the fact that maybe I didn't need to figure it out.

Interestingly enough, every single website that I read was in agreement that people have more than one soul mate (but not necessarily in the same lifetime). They explained that because of free-will, missed connections, and the fact that not all souls will be on earth at the same time, the blue print created for your life includes a few soul mates with the hope that one or two will work out to be actual long term partnerships.

One website explained that although soul mates have Karmic Connections, not all Karmic Connections are with soul mates. This was something that confused me. After a lot more reading I think I have the concept figured out, so I will try to explain. When someone is your soul mate, they have an immediate pull and magnetic connection with you that makes you feel like you might have already met them before. What's confusing is that this is the exact same experience you feel when you meet someone whom you have a Karmic Connection with. The difference is that a soul mate is potentially with you for a lifetime, while a person with a Karmic Connection is only temporarily put into your life to teach you a lesson or solve unfinished business (from a past life experience together).

Going back to what the medium told me last night, he explained that he thought that Blake and I were married in a past life, but he betrayed me in some way. Because of this, Blake had bad karma with me that he needed to balance out in this lifetime. This is why the medium referred to what Blake and I had as a Karmic Connection. Blake was supposed to make up for this past betrayal by showing me true love. However, Blake repeated his same mistake in this lifetime and betrayed me again. For this reason, the medium said he wasn't sure if we would continue to meet up again in subsequent lifetimes.

So what does this all mean? The fact that he thinks Blake and I were married in a past lifetime could mean that he is one of my soul mates. However, due to the betrayal and missed opportunity to fulfill his Karmic Connection, it's possible that my soul won't choose to include him in my blue print in any more lifetimes. The medium told me it will be up to me to decide to give him another chance. But, he said I may not even want to once I meet the soul mate that comes into my life next. So will Blake continue to be a soul mate or was he just a failed Karmic Connection? I'm still not sure. But what I do know is there's so much love left for me in this lifetime that I have yet to experience. That should be my focus now because the rest can only be sorted out in another lifetime.

**Side note:
For anyone reading this who thinks I've gone off the deep end now that I'm talking about karma and past lives, I promise you I'm fine. I believe more and more every day that coping with the death of a loved one has a way of awakening your more spiritual side. Knowing that Blake is dead, it would send me spiraling down a black hole if I thought that was just it for him. Spirituality gives me hope that there's more to life than just the physical world and that even in tragedy, there is a bigger message from the universe at work.

Here is one of the websites I liked the most if you want to read more about Karmic Connections and soulmates : http://spirit-rising.wisdomwoods.com/tips/is-it-a-soulmate-or-a-karmic-connection/

Connecting With Blake

Sometimes at night, when I lay perfectly still, the wheels in my brain stop spinning. The incessant and ever-present buzzing in my mind takes a pause. Instead of a million thoughts racing around, bouncing off of each other, crashing, and colliding, there is peace.

I become hyper aware of my breathing. My lungs swell and my chest rises, my lungs deflate, my chest falls. Air streams into my nose and swirls ever so softly inside of it. I feel a burst of coolness before it leaves to return to the outside. This repeats over and over and over again. Rhythmic... Even... Stable...

Gradually my body gets heavier, but I acclimate to its weight in the most effortless way. My bones settle quietly within my skin as I slowly melt into my bed. I sink into the mattress almost as if I was meant to be part of it my entire life. I grow roots into where I lie.

My mind is finally calm enough, my breathing steady enough, body still enough, to feel Blake. Although tears well up and leak out through the bottom of my shut eyelids, I am not sad. I am not only happy, but complete.

Sometimes I see Blake and sometimes I just hear his voice. But the way he looks or the things he says are never the important parts of this experience. The most spiritual, emotional, moving piece is how my heart feels. In those brief, but incredible moments there is no hole inside of it. The constant ache that has become as much a part of me as the blood that flows through my veins, disappears. I am who I am, but bigger, myself, but stronger, me, but absolutely and positively whole.

He leaves me, but his kiss lingers on my lips. Although goose bumps cover every inch of my skin, I am the farthest thing from cold. The warmth of his embrace cloaks me like a security blanket. The ripples in the sound waves he caused with his voice act as a soothing lullaby. I drift comfortably into sleep knowing that's where he's waiting for me.

Half of My Heart (A Dream)

I just woke up from a terrible dream:

I was at the reception of my wedding. It was absolutely gorgeous and everyone I love was there. I spent the whole time going from table to table, making sure everyone was having fun, laughing, taking pictures with friends, and accepting congratulations. I didn't stop smiling for a second.

As the party was winding down, I went over to the corner where my father was standing. After I gave him a big hug and thanked him for such a beautiful day, he asked if I thought it was weird that I didn't spend any time with my husband tonight. ...I hadn't even realized.

I looked over and saw him standing with his back against a wall with the saddest look on his face. I rushed over and he immediately started crying and screaming at me. I begged him to stay quiet so we could talk somewhere else, but he kept saying everyone was already talking about it anyway. They were all saying, "Poor guy! What kind of life did he just get himself into? How can she love him with half of a heart?"

I wanted so badly to calm him down by telling him something reassuring. But I didn't. I couldn't. I just stared blankly. All I felt for him was pity.

And then I woke up.

Interpretation:
What scared me (and caused me to originally post this without an interpretation) was my first instinct upon waking up. I panicked, thinking that this nightmare must be foreshadowing my actual wedding day. It was telling me that I will live the rest of my life with only half a heart, unable to give any man the life and love he deserves. There I was, ruining this poor man's life by trying to trick him, our families, and myself into thinking I could commit to him. But deep down we both knew I would never fully be able to do that.

I've said many times that I know it's better for me to be alone for a long time because "I feel bad for any guy who tries to date me now." I think this is partially because I realize how broken I am at the moment, but also because it would be an unfair position for anyone to be in. He would be signing up to compete with a man that I'm still in love with and have no way to ever get real closure on our relationship. As far as I'm concerned, if Blake was alive we'd still be dating and very much in love right now. How can I begin to consider anyone else as a potential partner when I know that to be true?

But maybe this dream was more of a warning, rather than a peek into my future. Maybe it was to remind me that I can't be in a healthy, lasting relationship if I go into it only giving the man half of my heart. If I am still thinking of Blake and wishing he was the one next to me, then I'll spend the whole relationship ignoring the man in front of me, like I did at the wedding in my dream.

I am going to take this as a gentle reminder to take care of myself. Since I still feel like I'm in a relationship with Blake, then that is my reality. To push myself to do anything that contradicts that reality would be harmful to everyone involved. I have faith that eventually I'll be in a different place, but for now I need to start figuring out how I can begin to carry both halves of my heart.

Every Negative Has a Positive

When someone dies of an overdose there is no right way to take that news. Do you feel pity? Disgust? Shame? Guilt? Or do you just decide it's too uncomfortable and try not to think about it at all? It would be a lie to say that someone passing away from drug related causes has no barring on how you look back on their life. Although it's not his whole story, how Blake struggled in life and what took him in death are integral parts of it. To ignore these aspects of him would mean missing out on the invaluable messages we can take from them.

Although Blake's addiction and death are both ugly parts of him to think about, I choose to remember everything about him. I wouldn't call it "the good and the bad," but there were obviously facets that shined brighter than others. Regardless, I've grown to love all of them even though some pieces are sparkly and others dark. To me, that's what true love is. When you decline to acknowledge an aspect of Blake or focus solely on another, you don't do him justice. He was the sum of all parts of him. Every piece is both a blessing and a lesson.

It crushes me to think of someone judging Blake's character because of his addiction or the fact that he overdosed. Yes, these are valid parts of him and yes, I would like to pretend they didn't exist. It would be easier to deny them or tuck them away in a mental vault and throw away the key. But every day I make a conscious decision not to. It's challenging to think about these things positively, but I strive to see them not as degradations of who he was, but as a legacy of hope for others. If sharing any part of his life or my coping with his death speaks to someone and helps them, then I know that even the darkest pieces of him can become a gift.

Although Blake was far from a saint, he was an incredible man who taught me lessons that I'll never forget. The best one was that in every negative there is always a positive. The key is not to forget the bad things, but instead process them in a way that exposes the pearl of wisdom that lies within. To say abusing drugs and dying from them is an awful fate would be a gross understatement. But we can learn a lot from both how he excelled and his downfalls, how he lived and the way that he died. If we give the negatives a chance to show their positives, we can come to appreciate Blake's entire story and all of the messages it delivers.

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.