Giving my feelings a voice.

November's cool, crisp air brings a melancholy of watching the warmth of summer cool into fall. October is always packed with birthdays and days of Indian summer. Alex and I share a birthday month, and it's always endearing for us to have that thing we share. Some of my favorite people share a birthday month with me, and I love that my birthday comes at the beginning of the month so that my party-happy Enneagram Seven can have an entire month of fun. But all the fun must make way for other feelings, even the hard ones.

Over the last year or so, I've done a lot of grief work. Grief work is hard. It brings with it truth and reality. For me, that fact could not be more accurate than November. Although I've done significant work with grief and have had the privilege of helping others, which in turn has helped me, November is a melancholy month for me. Completing losses means delivering those communications that in your relationship you wish had been different, better, or more, and your hopes, dreams, and expectations for your relationship. The truth in those communications is where pain lives. Last year, I worked on completing those communications with Evan, and in turn, I felt that the poetry slam would not be happening and that it had extinguished its lifespan. Writing that now feels different than it did at the time. For me, it felt like a betrayal to Evan. As if we were leaving him behind, I may need to write a P.S. to him about it as I write this. Because it may have been that what I was leaving behind was the pain. Some of that became evident the year before, but almost everyone was trying to help me process my loss and came to rally around me and our family.

So that brings us to today. November 2023. Seven years after Evan's death. It is a lifetime, yet a moment, and I'm sitting with my feelings about this and unsure how to articulate my heart. I've felt a lot these last seven years, and still, as this month approaches, the melancholy moves in, and I sit with it. No one feels like I do about Evan, which is okay. Everyone experienced him differently, and they are experiencing that loss at 100%. Milestones happen daily with us as a family and with his friends. I feel those losses and have learned to process them independently and through a lens of gratitude that I get to share those milestones with others who loved Evan, too. Time does not heal. Time and correct actions heal. Nothing can replace my losses. Keeping busy doesn't heal my loss. These are myths that I've been taught throughout a lifetime, and they haven't helped. Part of the process of understanding is sitting with those feelings and giving those feelings and ponderings a voice, and in doing that, I honor Evan's memory and the short life he lived. I love and miss you, son.

Bereaved Mother's Day

Today marks my seventh year acknowledging Bereaved Mother's Day, the first Sunday in May. Much has changed since I first wrote a blog about bereaved motherhood. How that feels as I look at this day and all the many people I know and who I've met over the seven years who have lost a child, either through miscarriage or premature childhood death or adult children that have passed away, I know for a certainty that this was not a club that I joined voluntarily nor is it one others would join on their own. Although time has passed, I feel, on some level, that I've turned a corner. My enormous feelings are still just as acute and just as honest as they were on that first Mother's Day without Evan. There has been much that I have tried to regain through counseling and the completion of my relationship with Evan through the Grief Recovery Method; as Mother's Day approaches, the missing him is not different; that feels the same, and no amount of counseling or processing or logic will change that. My fond memories and my love will last a lifetime.

To all the moms I've met along this path, thank you for being a voice of encouragement to me. Thank you for seeing me and sharing your love for your child with me. I'm grateful for your friendship and your acquaintance. In general, grieving parents are misunderstood. To a world that wishes for us to be OK, we are OK. We have someone we love very much, our child, die, and until you can feel that pain, it's challenging to understand. We don't need pity, and we don't need fixing. We need to share our story and to be listened to. You may have moved on about our child, but we haven't, and not speaking about them tells us a lot. I'm grateful for the training I've gone through with The Grief Recovery Method. It has given me the new tools I need to help others experiencing loss and allowed me to be available for them to share their story and complete their losses. I'm thinking of you on this Bereaved Mother's Day.

Here comes the rain...oh, wait, those are tears...Welcome, Fall.

The rain has come to Northern California; with it, the cooler weather has made me melancholy and brought a movement away from the pool-splashing days of summer into the cool crisp days of Fall. This year seems different. I'm trying to understand what's shifted and don't have the words yet to describe it, but it might have something to do with the grief training I've gone through and the completion of my loss with my mom and Evan. Although I have many other completions to do, my mom and Evan have significantly impacted the healing of my broken heart.

Recovery, for me, does not mean forgetting. On the contrary, recovery means remembering fond memories of those I love, thinking about them daily, and healing my heart from the emotional pain loss brings. I can confidently say that my training and understanding of completing my losses have been a game changer for me. Grief is cumulative, and when we realize loss's impact on us, it can transform if we allow ourselves the time and space to unpack it so we can heal. It starts with being fully honest and not criticizing or judging ourselves. It opens the door to being empathic and compassionate for ourselves and others who may be grieving. It also can be heartbreaking when you see people's pain, yet they cannot take the steps towards recovery.

As someone who has been a part of the small group movement, I've seen growth in myself. People's desire to change is genuine until a day and time are announced, and all of a sudden, obstacles start to arise. I recognize them cause I've seen that behavior in myself. I'm grateful that we ask people to commit to 1% of their recovery as part of the program. If you are willing to take a step toward what I can offer, I can bring the elements that can transform and help. I began my pilot group, and we just completed our 4th week of our gatherings. These folks not only have showed up they have begun to do the hard grief work that can lead them to the completion of their losses. I'm fortunate to have a program I can believe in and that I can share with others. I'm grateful for this group of grievers who have allowed me to walk with them as they begin to discover and heal. It is a privilege.

My Christmas Playlist

I opened my Spotify playlist for Christmas recently and was instantly brought back to December 2020. This week marks one year since the beginning and ending of radiation for cancer. The Christmas playlist was something I listened to on my way to and from therapy in Sacramento. For the therapy portion of those days I tried to find songs that had a length of at least 5 minutes as that would be how long my treatments were. Maverick City Music always came through for me as most of their songs are at least that long. I haven't been listening to this playlist this year. I'm not sure why, maybe because I know myself well enough that being transported to that time isn't something I like. It wasn't painful; it was just that it was CANCER. It's like grief. It's constantly in the foreground. Always lurking. I'm grateful that I feel good and that my checkups to this point have been fine. It's just that I never know. So while picking up coffee, I remembered my playlist, and the memories of last year came rushing back.

A Man of Prose and Poems

The clouds have been looming overhead for the last few days gray, dark and stormy. Today the sun has come shining through, and memories of this day and this time of year five years ago are always swirling around in my mind. People who have had significate trauma through the loss of a person and, for me, the loss of a child remember details that at the time seem insignificant to most. I remember the weather and the lack of photos I took leading up to this day and the following days of waiting and watching. I was still learning photography, and taking pictures every day was part of the process of learning, so for me to look back on this time and seeing very few photos seemed strange for me.

I've heard that during the days, weeks, and months leading up to his accident, Evan had reached out to several folks that he had lost touch with or just had things that had been left unspoken. I often wonder if somehow the universe was making way for him to fill the holes he thought were there. I usually live in this space of contentment and regret when I look back on these days leading up to this time. Contentment as his parent that Evan was doing the thing he had worked so hard for and that he was working as a salesforce administrator, coming into his last semester at Sac State and finding his sense of purpose. When I think in those terms, my regret and sadness seem multiplied. He was finally finding the rhythm. So the regret for me is why???

I know I'm five years in, and shouldn't I feel less regret. Unfortunately, the answer to that for me is no. With every promotion, every child born, every announcement, and the significant moments of others, I wonder and ask why? I wondered why in the earlier days of my loss, but now it's become a painful part of the healing and angst of loss. I run into people even now who remember Evan and are quick to share the impact he made with them. Maybe it's their way of finding peace, or they are just being kind, but we're talking five years later, and they still remember and want to share that with me. Their words fill the empty place in my heart that misses Evan and yet it brings a great sadness and returns me to Why?

In all of this, the building of my Faith has been strengthened, and honestly it’s a mystery. In the mystery and depth of Christ, that question goes unanswered. It is not because of anything I can do but because I can't know all the answers. I don't have all the answers, and it keeps me dependent on a God who does. It keeps me open to the possibility that even in the most painful and misunderstood parts of me, He is there to walk with me...carrying me...hold me and to show me that I'm not alone. He brings me peace in the turmoil and if there is anything I can tell you about the last five years is that I know that Jesus has carried me. He brings those people who remember and have good things to say and encourages me to see the impact that Evan had, and with that comes peace, if just for a moment. It makes me smile through my tears as I can tell you I miss Evan, and I know that Alex and John do too.

So as I move into this time of reflection of this significant loss for me, I do so consistently with a clear understanding of the significance of faith and with the questions of my loss placed entirely on the shoulders of Jesus. He carries the load with the strength that I'm unable to maintain.

The Painter of Life Gloria Ann Kincade

I had an appointment in the city today, and after a stop in Oakland to have coffee with Alex, I drove home through the hills of Berkley. This time of year is always so beautiful; even here in California, the leaves are changing. The fresh rain helped to brighten the leaves with a soaking these last few days.

While preparing for surgery, my mother-in-law, Gloria, took her last breath from her earthly home on Sunday. I had the entire drive home from the city to process what that felt like to me. I stopped along the way and took a few photos of the landscape and that made the trip home weepy and filled with memories. The reality is that none of us will escape death. It's a hard truth but a truth just the same. What we can reflect on is the impact that we make and the lives we touch.

Gloria was the keeper of memories in the Kincade family. She spent many days putting memories in scrapbooks and reminiscing of her childhood. She was active in the lives of her children and grandchildren. I was fortunate to be the first in the family to fill her arms with a grandchild, Evan. She was an active grandparent, and although she worked full time when Evan was born, she made time for him and never missed a holiday that she could celebrate her firstborn grandchild. Not too soon after that, her second grandchild, Alex, came along, and again she and Pop-Pop made every family holiday and some made-up holidays extra special. My boys have the fondest memories of those days.

Today has been hard for many reasons that don't honestly make sense to the average person. Gloria and I had so much that we loved and enjoyed. She was an artist and loved to paint. She and I could talk for days about color, landscapes, and all of the beauty and wonder of creation. We often spoke of Jesus, and we would even complain about some of the same things. One of my fondest memories recently was the year that my father-in-law passed away and the last Thanksgiving we had with Evan. Nana (Gloria) wanted to cook Thanksgiving dinner at her house for the family, but it was a tremendous undertaking for her. So she and I partnered together, and we made Thanksgiving dinner for the family. That was our last big dinner in her home as it became too hard for her to perform that task. She LOVED to prepare and decorate for the holidays, and that is just another of the things I loved about her; her sense of style.

The Summer before Evan passed away, she and I were docents at the California State Fair. I had several photos chosen for the photography section, and it was one of the best times I can remember of us having done something we both loved. I'm grateful for Nana's influence on my life and the lives of my children. I know that Pop-pop and Evan greeted you with the biggest hug.

Silence

I’m hoping this is a jump start to a return to writing after nearly 7 months of silence. Silence may not be the best word maybe it’s better to say I’ve felt without the words and emotions to express where I am in this journey.

Sad

Indifferent

Brokenhearted

Crushed

Hopeless

Empty

Angry

Hurt

Anxious

These words are just a short list of my current feelings. These probably don't fully communicate all that I have bottled up, but these words are the ones that bubble to the surface. I wrestle with them. I stuff them. I try to put a sunny face on them, but in doing so, that leaves me just on the brink of a full-on crying spell. So I continue. Not fully expressing my thoughts/feelings and internalizing all of it. Sometimes in stuffing them, I lash out at the things that show me the most compassion, but like a container under pressure, the angst has to go somewhere, often to the people/spaces that gives me the most expansive room.

We live in a world that, for the most part, does not want to acknowledge any of the above emotions along with failure, remorse, being tired, depressed, or just unable to “do it”. "You're so strong" or "you're so brave" isn't something we are, but it's an expectation that we honestly don't want. We face each challenge and conflict with resistance and anxiety just like the rest; we just chose to move forward with fortitude because we must.

2020/21 has been emotionally fragile, resurrecting my already monumental grief, anxiety, hurt, and sorrow. I want to return to a gentler time when people loved each other when I could rely on those closest to me to see through the strength and nurture my soul. Trying to navigate my feelings and emotions and in that I’m praying for the Lord to bring a sense of calm and nearness that has been absent.

These trials will show that your faith is genuine. It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold—though your faith is far more precious than mere gold. So when your faith remains strong through many trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world. 1 Peter 1:7 NLT

Slippers, Stocking Stuffers and Moving Furniture

Last year during our annual poetry slam that we have to celebrate Evan's love of poetry, we had a time of just hanging out in our family room. Not much about our family room had changed since Evan and Alex would hang out with their friend here back in the day. We chatted a bit about how we wanted to change things a bit and possibly get some new furniture and change the room's configuration. For me, this was a tough change, and even to talk about it welled up feelings that made me weepy.

As a grieving parent, it's impossible to explain the impact changes like this make. I feel like changes like this bring about the thought that if it changes, Evan won't be here anymore. Like somehow, the position of furniture holds his presence. It is probably why Evan's room is still in the same condition as the day he left for class, never to be occupied by him again. It was comforting for me to know that one of Evan's friends felt the same about changing the room, and although I know it was for different reasons, it was very similar to how I was feeling. That evening that same friend mentioned that his feet were cold or something like that, and I remembered something that helped me heal a deep yearning.

It was always part of the fun of the season for me to get the stocking stuffers every Christmas. I start looking for stuff early on and put stuff away that I later forget where I put them, and that's a story of its own, lol. So the Christmas that Evan passed away, I had purchased slippers for everyone that I put away. We didn't spend Christmas at home that year, so I forgot that they were hidden. Fast forward to 2019, and I found the slippers while searching for some other things in my closet. It was a hard find—a treasure but yet such a feeling of deep sorrow and sadness. I couldn't take them back as so much time had passed. So as we sat in my family room talking about changes to that room and the difficulty of those changes, I remembered the slippers. So when Evan’s friend said his feet were cold, I thought this is the best possible way to give something meaningful and it was satisfying a real need. So the slippers found a home, and my heart rested, knowing that I was giving them to one of Evan's friends.

The holidays are tough. Oh, they are happy too, but so much expectation we place on ourselves, and sometimes we just have to lean in and let the emotions fall as they will. It's hard to tell people just how much life changes when you suffer such a great loss as this, but you never truly understand until you suffer it yourself. I often feel melancholy for the sweet days of old. They weren't perfect, but they are days where Evan was here, and my parents were younger and alive, and life was full. My heartaches for those days.

Happy 30th Birthday, Evan!

Change is my most inflexible friend. It reminds me every day that it is arriving, whether I want it to or not. It can sometimes come quietly, but lately, it has decided to use its outside voice to gain traction and to stifle my sense of balance. Some of what I've experienced over the last four years is a lot of change. Not just in the present but for the future. It has shifted my ability to pivot quickly to circumstances beyond my control and has caused me to pause. Grief has changed me, and at times it feels like it's not always for my good. November 26th marks a significant milestone for me, and it will come and go without the world even knowing as our world is plagued with lockdowns and canceled plans, it has become much more challenging to navigate. It has layered upon my grief of Evan multiple secondary losses and has tried to take from me what little joy I've been able to conjure up. This time of year is tough for those suffering the loss of a loved one, and you can multiply that by the loss of social connections, business closures, and fear. What remains is a deep sadness and an overwhelming lack of hope. If you know me, I'm a glass-half-full kind of gal, but if the goal in all of this is to strip us of hope, I'm sure for many, the plan has been met, and it wins. For me, I will always be grounded on the side of hope. Hope is walking me through the death of my child; it most certainly can get me through anything this world can throw at me.

Evan would have turned 30 years old on November 26th. Many of his birthdays were spent celebrating Thanksgiving, and as Evan got older, unfortunately, Thanksgiving would be spent serving the retail industry and its patrons. Turning 30 is an incredible milestone for most young adults. As this day has come closer, and as I've walked through several major life events in the last 90 days, I struggle with every ounce of courage to grab hold of hope. It's hard, and I'm trying to see the good in all the depth of sorrow I feel. I'm trying to remember the words Evan spoke to me in the last letter he wrote to me on Mother's Day 2016...He said, "That is one of my favorite parts about you: your ability to remain calm, collected, and positive even in the face of vulnerable circumstances." As Evan's friends also reach these milestones and others like this, such as getting married, having children, purchasing homes, and fully walking out their lives, I'm left on the sidelines with memories and days long gone and forgotten. People like me like to be fully present at every milestone, especially with those we care about. I’m having the most challenging time with the created normal imposed on my life. So I continue to live in yesterday's memories trying hard to be present today and always aware of what could have been. To speak these words is difficult and can appear harsh, but I'm speaking from grief and loss and this voice isn't for everyone; it's the reality of child loss.

So as we gather around our table to celebrate a day set aside for Thankfulness, my thankfulness is connected with the memories of spending 25 years, 11 months, and two weeks with Evan here on earth and the grief that you are not here with us for this birthday and for all of the other milestones in the future.

This reality is my greatest heartache!!

Grief, Coffee, and the missing of Community

The last month I’ve been busy writing stories for work. It is by far one of the things I enjoy most about the work that I do. Yesterday while working on content for my stories I came across some old photos from many years ago. Old photos have a way of bringing to the forefront those things that have been hovering just below the surface, and today, those feelings came rushing back. It’s hard to express with any understanding of how the pandemic has brought with it the pain of loss and grief but multiplied to the 10th power. I was sharing with a friend recently that one of the difficult things about grief is that nothing is ever the same. Now, of course, that can be said about many things really, and that’s not to diminish how others feel. But I can say that one of the things that I needed was routine after Evan died. I needed to have something that got me up every morning as sometimes sleep was fitful, and my heartbroken.

One of my routines is getting up and going to Peet’s every morning for coffee and to see the carousel. Sometimes I can catch a sunrise or chase the moon as it sets. But Peet’s is the place I could go and oftentimes think about Evan. When I went in for my coffee in the afternoons, he’d sometimes sneak up behind me and say, Hey Mom!. It’s a place I could always find Evan or Alex back in the day, and it is, without a doubt, a memory keeper. It has always been a place that lets me know I am home. For me, it is essential not only for coffee but for my emotional and mental health. In the first few weeks of SIP, I remember going in and being teary as I thought about how they stayed open and how for me, it was a lifeline. Peet’s never closed. When sleep was fleeting, and I was up at 5 am, I’d go and wait for them to open. The first few months of this shutdown were hard for so many reasons, but the fact that something stayed the same was comforting. I know it sounds silly as we are in the middle of a global crisis, but as many are learning, much about this SIP has to do with grief and loss. The pandemic made grief that much more intense, and it continues to feel that way.

Peet’s holds memories of past employees who have moved on to other jobs or cities. It’s a place where I’ve made friends, and it’s a place where community happened every day. It’s something I REALLY miss. I miss the community. I wonder about some of the older folks I met who came to Peet’s for connection. I miss seeing them, and in the missing, my heart longs for Evan and for days that are long gone and fading. Just to write that is heartwrenching. Grief is not always gentle. It can come at you like a freight train or like a gentle breeze, but I can tell you that it’s not made this SIP easy or manageable. Thanks, Peet’s, for providing for this grieving, heartbroken momma.

You are essential to me!

Have I told you about Evan??

Today while the world is laser-focused on a pandemic, for many, we will be thinking and speaking about the children we have lost. The how of that loss is diverse as the many mothers who will be missing their child/ren this Mother’s Day. Today like every day, many are suffering a loss that doesn’t take a break. We suffer silently as the world seems to have discomfort with our voice. So with the world around me clamoring to be heard, I’m raising my voice.

Have I told you about Evan?

I’ve wondered during this pandemic what would be Evan’s thoughts and actions. Evan was always very passionate about his convictions and would start a discussion to see how people would respond. It was the art of the debate that he loved just as passionately as the debate itself. He was an extrovert and a person who would bring together those on the fringe or just needed a place to feel connected. At his memorial, he was given the title of a “Zookeeper” of Introverts. I loved that name and the thoughts that name was an active part of his life. He was a writer of many things but poetry was his heart, a book collector, and an avid reader. He came into this world nearly three weeks early as to get a head start on living, and he continued to live until his final days, which for me came far too soon. He was a giver of life through the gift of organ donation, and he left behind a brother who, like Evan, is passionate and chose to walk out that passion by successfully hiking the PCT in 2019. Alex did this to raise awareness about organ donations, to raise money for that cause and I believe to honor the gift of life that Evan shared to five people.

To all of the moms, I know personally, and on social media, I see you. I am sad that we share this journey of loss, but I’m grateful that I have you. That you see me and that I can always find unity and love in this space. I pray for our world, our nation, and you as we again celebrate another day without our child. My love and understanding to you today.

Don't Look Away...Come Closer

The clock begins today to move me towards the last month of my 5th decade. It seems a significant thing to think about as I count down the days to my birthday. The 5th decade has been filled with change. Although most of those changes have been eventful, the power of those changes have left me feeling overwhelmed and looking cautiously towards the future. A future that for now seems very vague and leaves me a little unnerved and pondering.

I began the 5th decade in full-time church ministry, I’ve seen the passing of a dear friend who I miss every day but with her passing it set me on a journey to discover my passion for photography and to start a new business of understanding the world through a camera lens, I started a job at a local university, to than experience the most significant loss of my life the death of my oldest child Evan. Within a few short months from Evan’s untimely death I watched as my dad succumb to lung cancer and after a few side roads have now started back into Faith-based non-profit work along with starting an online Birth and Bereavement Doula program. I sometimes think that my words can come across as melancholy, hopeless, aimless, and sad, probably for some, they sound depressed or repetitive. But that is the harsh reality…this is life. It may not be your life today, but it wasn’t mine either for most of my 5 decades. I sometimes wish that we talked about hard things. The things that hurt. The things that don’t make sense. Sometimes things seem abstract because the reality is this is life and when we observe it in the abstract the reality of that life can be overwhelming.

We seem to talk about Paul the disciple as the pillar of transformation and strength yet the reality for Paul was that he struggled and yet in that God did not remove the struggle. He gave Paul overwhelming Grace and more compensating strength as we see that Paul says that God’s power is made perfect in weakness. So, the reality is that in all the hard things God shows up. I’ve not lost Jesus, on the contrary, He is walking this path with me. He is the Hope that gets me through. I indeed desire for the thorn to be removed. The reality is that it seems to be hang around. For many, you will need to look away...it can be hard to watch. But my challenge for you is don’t look away…come closer. Look deeper. Jesus has overwhelming Grace and more strength for you as you come face to face with your thorn and possibly the thorns of others.

The Bench

Graduation season is upon us with all of the excitement and anticipation that graduation brings. For me, it brings an element of melancholy. I love things that are consistent, the same, and yet with the excitement of the future, I grab hold of the past. This week many will end their high school and college careers and begin their futures — the taste of the bitter along with the sweet. Ten years ago this week Evan and his friends walked across the stage at Vacaville Christian Schools setting their sights on the future and what it holds.

A few weeks ago I came across Evan's senior photos. It was always my intention that my kids be able to express themselves within reason, and senior photos were no different. Even now, as a photographer, I so want people that I photograph to be there authentic self. Evan chose a friend, Looking Glass Photographs, to do his senior photo, and I love that she captured him so well.

While looking through the photo, I wanted to find the place where his photos were taken. As I looked through the pictures and as I drove around Vacaville looking for the place that had "The Bench" I realized that I'd lived in Vacaville 30 year and never really saw a bench like the one in the photos. The place that I was looking for had hills, trees, grassy areas, and a baseball diamond, the universal look of nearly every park in the US. But it had some unique things that I knew if I tried hard enough, I could find them.

Last week on my way home from Sacramento I drove through Davis which would have been a place that Evan would have wanted to do photos. He loved Davis, and so much of our time was spent there as a family. I stopped near the park that seemed the most likely, Slide Hill Park. After getting out and looking around, it became clear to me that was not the location. I continued to drive home and passed Community Park and thought maybe but I was hungry and cold, and I need to look again at the photos.

So today after work I picked up my camera and some items that mean something to me; art pieces, photographs, Evan's ashes, and his original draft of "Ley LInes" his first published poem and set out to find "The Bench." After doing some research, I realized that Community Park was probably my best choice, and as I carried my bags towards the skate park in the distance, I saw it...The Bench. Many things about the park have changed, but the overall layout has remained the same. The tree that was in the background of the photo of Evan on the bench has grown, and as I sat and looked around, I felt this genuine connection to this space that once was occupied by my son. It was surreal. I could see him hang on the fence, laying back in the grass, and thinking deeply about life. I set up my makeshift memorial, and I too pondered many things while sitting there.

So much of my grief journey has been about looking back to go forward. It seems to those watching that something is broken if the past is what you cling too. Well, I am broken, but in my brokenness, I see life through a different lens. Not a better lens just different. Ten years ago, Evan graduated from high school. If he had lived, he would have graduated from college Spring of 2017 and who knows what other things he would have accomplished. I say that because he does not have a future here on Earth. Evan’s future is now walking around in the lives of 5 other people who 931 days ago got the heart, lungs, and kidneys of our boy. Our other son, Alex, is raising awareness about organ donations through hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. I say this with all confidence that we (John and I) couldn't be prouder of our sons. Proud of their sacrifice and proud of their decisions.

https://www.gofundme.com/PCT-NDLM

What I've Learned...

These are just a few of the things I’ve learned over the last two year since Evan’s death. The 2nd year has been one of the hardest as I’ve come out of the fog of the first year to find that time and people keep moving. Leaving me far behind and at times unable or wanting to catch up. I’ve learned that grief has no timeline for those who are grieving, but it does for those who aren’t. I’ve learned that everyone grieves differently and as much as you might want to be understood there will only be a few that can walk along the path with you. It takes a lot of work, patience, and love. It’s not for everyone, and most of it is yours to own. I’ve learned about myself through group and individual counseling that grief has a way of shaking up our lives and through the help of others taking the brokenness of our past gives us hope for the future. I’ve learned the incredible void that has been left in my life now that Evan is not physically here. I see that void in others as well, but that’s not my story to tell. I’ve learned that the 2nd year is by far harder than the first and the further away I get from my real/earthly time with Evan the space between the then and now becomes quieter. What’s not quiet are my thoughts…pictures and memories are never silent. They are the things that keep you in the present, and I desire to keep you present. I'm your mom, and you’re important to me so I will ALWAYS want to keep you present and I’m giving myself permission to do so. I’ve learned that the Lord in the midst of our yearning and longing gives us Hope and comfort. That He allows that space between Heaven and Earth to come together so that we can be comforted by not only those around us but also by those who we have released to His loving care. I’ve learned that who I was before Evan’s death has changed and that I will never be her again. Grief and loss don’t define me but they’ve changed me. That who I am now is different…and who I was will not return. That person I was is missed at times, but she no longer fits in the space that I now currently occupy.

Tonight we will come together to remember and to use the spoken word to do that. You now become a part of the great cloud of witnesses who contiues to cheer us on and remind us that you are not that far away.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. Hebrews 12:1

Touch of Heaven

This morning at maybe 3:30am you entered into my dreams, and that has not happened to me since before the accident. I hung between waking and sleep just because the realness of your presence was tangible. When I finally had woken up I wanted to write all of it down. I’m weeping cause the nearness of you was so real. I could see you and sense you as if you genuinely were here. You were whole. I saw you just like you were before you left to go out with your friends. Nearly clear shaven and haircut like the first photo in this gallery. Your eyes had a smile in them. You held me in the hug that always brought comfort and understanding. You had on a black sweatshirt I remember that you wore and black jeans. I heard you downstairs in the bathroom you were looking in the mirror. You saw me and said I know you don’t think I’m here, but it’s me. You came to me, and you gave me the biggest hug, and you said I know you miss me. I couldn’t speak. I wish I could have said more to you although it didn't seem necessary. You seemed to understand. You seemed to know that I miss you. That all of us miss you. I honestly have not cried as much as I have in the last few days as I have since you died. These aren't just tears this is guttural crying from the depths of my soul. My soul cries for you. Thank you for reaching out from eternity to let me know you understand our longing for you. That you see the longing, your brother has for you. That you know how much you are missed. The ache in my heart is without quenching, but I also am so thankful that you came to me. Thank you for such a great hug. I wish so much that you were here and although I know that cannot be I'm grateful Evan that you reached out from eternity to give your mom a hug and hold me close. Grief has a strange way of showing up in the time and space that you least expect it. Today it took my breath away and I am still trying to make sense of all of the feelings that it brings.

Spring Forward, Fall is Back...

"How beautifully leaves grow old. How full of light and color are their last days." - John Burroughs

Sunday, September 23rd marked the beginning of Fall, and that always brings about all of the Fall feelings. The one thought at the forefront in my mind is that I miss Evan. This isn’t a rare thing as I miss Evan every day, but maybe I'm anticipating the fact that this will be another birthday without him. This time of year has always been a favorite of mine. All the colors, the cooler mornings and warm afternoons, the anticipation of celebrations and just the vibe of Fall...but alas I'm overcome with melancholy. I know it will dissipate over time only to come back sometimes stronger than when it left, but it lingers through January. The new year and winter time brings its own set of emotions and feelings with it.

I'm trying hard to be in a different state of mind as I approach this birthday. I'm battling the voices and memories inside my head that want to take me back and then yank me forward. I want to find a place that is restoring/filling me, but I also want to be mindful of remembering. When I mention Evan, he is in the present, and my desperate need for him to be in the present with me is the thing that I think is the most difficult for those who don't understand. I can't help but think that I'm celebrating yet another birthday and Evan’s not here. That I will continue to celebrate birthdays and he won’t be here. That my future does not hold Evan and yet the past is filled with him. So the question is where do I want to be? And where should I be? The answer to these ponderings can't be answered by me at this time cause the space between the want and should is too vast.

The last few weeks I've kept busy with event photography and other thing photography related. I've been working, and in all the busyness I've been able to keep the memories that are inside my head at bay. That doesn't change that you won't be here to give me a hug or debate the latest political challenges. That makes me weepy...pretty much most of my memories make me weepy. I know it makes people uncomfortable. I know they want it to be ok. I know that they have the best intentions. I know that I'm loved and cared for in the best way. I just feel on some level that I've been cheated, robbed of moments in the future. I sometimes think that I worry about what people think. I’m learning that in all of this I am ok. That what I do and what I say can be judged, but in the end, I must walk out my grief in the way that fits me. I’m grateful for people who understand this truth. I’m especially thankful to my son Alex who walks along this path with me. Although we each are walking our own way, I realize that a portion of this journey we are walking in tandem with each other. Helping each other to take the next step and at times stopping to mourn our loss together. The vacancy of our loss is real to us as a family and the pain of that is raw and at times so very painful.

Sunflowers and what they're teaching me...

We are just a few weeks away from the start of Fall. It’s hard to imagine that when we have days that the temperature is close to 100 degrees but by the ticking of time the calendar inches closer to the date that signifies to us that cooler weather and falling leaves is around the corner. There is something that always tugs in me as we say so long to summer and welcome the coming of fall. I’m kinda a big fan of most of the seasons but fall and spring are usually my favorites. Spring as it brings the beauty of new birth after a winter of loss. Summer is filled with long days in the sun and warm evenings of smooth conversations. Fall brings with it the vibrant changes in nature and for me it was always a time to plan for significant milestones as it is my birthday season and the birth dates for my boys. 

Much of the joy and excitement of fall has changed for me since Evan’s death. There is almost this resistance/hesitance to slow down the movement of time. I can’t really explain it other than fall was always such a great season for me but I have sustain such a significant amount of loss during this season I want to stay parked in summer indefinitly. The reason being is maybe not so obvious to most but summer is easier. There are no time constraints. The days are longer the nights are shorter and the sunflowers are blooming. All of it doesn’t remind me that soon you will need to start walking towards fall. Because fall holds with its beauty a measure of pain. 

This year in my travels the process of this beauty for ashes was much more evident for me as I watched the transformation of my beloved sunflowers. If you follow me even a little you know I start my search for sunflowers in early May as they are just starting the growing season here locally. I try hard to extend my watch through the summer but this year I went out to some of the fields as they were dying. The significance of the dying process for sunflowers is just as important as the beauty they bring to us as we drive by the fields. It permitted me to be fully part of the loss of these flowers and to understand the great impact they have in their beauty and in their dying. 

Today, September 9th. 2018,  which is 22 months since Evan's death and is a few months shy of what would be his 28th birthday. Alex and I will celebrate our birthdays next month. The Earth will keep spinning. The trees will change and days will get shorter. But what I wonder does the significance of Evan’s life that was so vibrant when he was living continue in his dying?? Does the impact he made continue even though he isn’t here to have his voice heard? As I ponder those things I think of the beautiful sunflowers.  

https://www.davisenterprise.com/local-news/yolo-grows-sunflower-seeds-for-the-world/

Where have you been?!?!?!

It has been a while since I last blogged. I’m not sure why only that life has been a bit glum, and the words have disappeared. Perhaps the words came earlier in this journey because the desperateness I was feeling from the initial shock of Evan dying or maybe they just continued so that the Lord could guide me towards a path of healing. Perhaps I have no idea, and in my way, I want to find the answers. All I know is that my words had gone silent. 

So much can be said about this season. As a person trying to promote a business and also reaching out to those who are hurting I sometimes find myself in the unfortunate space of having envy. Now that can look like a lot of things when you break it down, but I mostly envy all that will not or all that is yet to be. Guess that’s why it’s called envy. There is no end to it and society is enslaved by it. We live in an age of being in people’s front room by merely scrolling through IG or FB and drenched in people’s opinion just by responding to a post or thread. The noise and chatter are overwhelming, and it leaves little room for pondering or true evaluation.

I think that what I need is understanding as the places that I land on and the threads I scroll through leave me empty, shattered and unloved. I want a connection with people, and I am connected, but many times it feels as though something is missing. Most of the time I feel the emptiness of Evan not being here. Not that he would be with me at every event or outing. It's just that I miss him. It probably doesn't help that my husband and son are on a backpacking adventure and are on week two of a 4-week journey.  

I sometimes think with all that is going on I've forgotten the sound of my voice. 

Recently I spent time in the mountains and found little time for reflections as the busyness kept me from thinking or pondering too deeply. It wasn't until I traveled back home and the hollow feeling of loss came over me and left me feeling overwhelmed and anxious…nauseous really. When I finally got home and uploaded the photos from my nature walk in Yosemite that I thought that somehow in the busyness the Lord brought comfort as is His way when it comes to my photography. Photography gives me space to feel the full impact of what is going on within my heart and mind for grief is a constant thing.  It doesn’t rest or take a break. Sometimes it's a quiet whisper other times a raging sea...It can go from a sweet memory to a full-on belly cry. But alas it is constant. 

Grief is hard. And as much as we try to avoid it, we can't. We are all grieving something or someone. So when I'm feeling consumed by it. Shunned by it. Avoided by it. I have to remember who I am and to whom I belong. That the Lord is near to the broken-hearted. That He holds my tears in a jar. That those that I love He sees and that He sees me. He comes close to me. He values me. He sees my worth, and my heart ache. It doesn't scare Him or frighten Him. He comes CLOSER! So much comfort.  

9 years later...Vacaville Christian High School, Class of 2018

Thursday was the graduation ceremony for the Vacaville Christian High school Class of 2018. I was invited to come by several of the families and I had hoped to take a few shots of the seniors that I had done their portraits. I walked onto the field and headed towards where the seniors were gathering with advisers and administrators in preparation of them walking towards the stadium. I wish I could say that my steps were light and sure…as they were not. I felt an overwhelming sense of disconnection. I felt at odds with my heart and head so after hanging out for a bit longer I left the ceremony with my head winning over my heart. I often have this happen to me. It’s a struggle to let the mind win cause typically the most important people you care about lose. I wish I can say that I’ve mastered “taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ” but alas I have not.  After countless texts to a friend who had their own struggle, I decided to return and do what I had set out to do. 

This time of year always bringing about feelings of melancholy and nostalgia it also holds great excitement, anticipation, and joy. Most times I have to do a great deal of talking myself through these things as they will continue to be a part of living and loving people. I want to so much to be included and sometimes I don’t always sense that connection. I feel at arm's length from it and maybe that is just the season I’m passing through. 

Congratulations to all of the Class of 2018!! Thank you for allowing me to photograph this chapter of your story. 

I’ve included a few photos from Evan’s graduation in 2009 at VCHS. He was the second graduating class from the new high school.

An April Wedding...Becoming the Botkins.

In about two weeks some dear friends of ours and the best friend of our son Evan will be getting married.  This has been something we have waited for a very long time and the wait is almost over. We believe it will be the wedding of the year and we are excited to celebrate with you both.

I know that if Evan were here this would be the party he would be right in the middle of...I know he would've had great words to speak and you would be able to hear his voice singing loudest of all. So although it is bittersweet I know that Evan's presence and spirit will be with his dear friends as they say, "I Do". 

In preparation for this great day, I wanted to share a few snapshots from Brinton's shower that I've not shared. 

Enjoy!! and we'll see you in April!