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!

Making Space

Recently I met with a friend, and one of the things that I love about our time together is she helps to complete my circle of grief. I'm not saying that because it completes my circle that my grief is linear or circular. It's just that when we talk, she makes space for my tears. When we chatted, we talked about all of the new things that seem to be happening within our group of people. She also lets me verbalize that my writing about my journey had tapered off. My words that once had jagged edges had begun the process of being smooth, and with that smoothing comes a sadness.

Raw grief is edgy. It's vocal. It gave me a voice, but now it has grown quiet. For the most part, the world around me is grateful for the quiet. Yet there are others that are on the front end of their grief. They don't have a voice of their own. I believe that I give them a voice.

So that brings me to my friend. The grief she carries is similar to mine. She sees the devastation of a future without our person. She is reminded of others within our circle who, although it's not spoken, the loss and emptiness left behind are fresh and new as each birthday is celebrated and each wedding attended. We can see the love of our person in each of the people that have been left behind, and we can see how very much we miss him. So inevitably, when we are together, tears are freely shared. The language of love, grief, and longing are the words spoken.

I'm grateful for these coffee dates, for they give us both space to feel all that is within us that doesn't have room in the large crowds around us. I believe they are an oasis for us both. Thank you for making space for me. I miss Evan every day, and I'm so thankful for the days that when I miss him, and I'm with you, I don't have to cry alone.

On this Day....One year ago

Today November 9th, 2017 is the 365th day of not having you on the planet.  As I look back over the days leading up to this I'm amazed at how the Lord prepared me. Our community would spend days petitioning God for a miracle...to give you life but instead the miracle was that you would give life to others. That selfless act is so much a part of who you are and of the people that you associate with. I remember the hours and moments as they ticked away and we waited for them to come and take you to the operating room. They came to your room at 2:14am and I see so vividly all of us walking you to the door of the operating room and of us standing in a huddled clump, Dad, Alex and I.... with all of our friends watching us watching you. What I remember the most is the silence. Almost as if at that moment the world had forgotten it's voice. A silent cry. Not a sound was made. All I could hear were our tears. We asked Dr. Gaborko if he would go with you...as a prayer covering and a witness that you would be watched over. I can honestly say that knowing he was going in with you gave us peace.  Jeff's kindness to us was a selfless act and one we can never repay. The other thing I remember is looking back at all of the people who stayed till the end and seeing their faces. Such brokenness. So many tears. I shall not forget those moments...never ever. Letting you go was so, so hard. Even to write this brings great big tears.

Oh, how we miss you. The thing that is hardest is your voice. I can't hear it. Your ridiculous laughter is silent. Your words live on only to be read in a voice that is not yours. Most days we do what we have always done. We wake up, drink coffee, go to work, come home, eat, go to bed. Time has marched on and the seasons have changed and the world has not stopped. We have not stopped. I'm one year older, we still wonder about the holidays and what we will do, we still talk about life and truly most days I still feel your presence. Maybe it's the familiar things that make you seem close...my daily journeys to Peet's where I keep expecting you in the afternoon to come up behind me and say "Hey! Mom!"...maybe it's driving by Best Buy and thinking of all the time you spent there and the holidays you missed because of the craziness of the seasons...maybe it's the train at the Nut Tree that for years we spent EVERY WEEKEND during your train faze as a young child...maybe it's the sound of your friends at our house to commemorate a birthday or to just play a card game...or maybe it's what I see through my lens that brings me into close proximity to your presence...the more familiar the location the closer you are to me....I'm learning to look for the things that the Lord is showing me because that's where you are....with that said you're missed...every day by us. 

I know you would be proud of us for putting one foot in front of the other....for pressing forward. Looking back only to remember with fondness and a little bit of angst. Today we will celebrate you with the thing you loved most....A Poetry Slam! to honor you and to keep a bit of who you are alive in our hearts. To celebrate a life lived and loved well and one that gave the gift of life to others. 

Drying out from the rain....Capture 2017 Week 2

We have been under clouds of rain for the last week and finally in the last few days we have emerged to dry out and be outside. Although the dampness has caused a bit of ground fog it has still been nice to see the sun and although I LOVE the sun there is beauty to be appreciated in the rain and fog.  

The journey I'm currently traveling is a strange one for me. I have moment of great joy and happiness (the sunny days) and moments of such great sadness and tears (the rainy days) with moments of not knowing if I can see beyond the moment I'm in (the foggy days). Now I can use other analogies that are weather related...but these are the ones that are the most fresh....the here and the now moments. I suspect they are no different then what you probably experience on a weekly basis but I've found that I am much more contemplative~ watching...looking...observing. Trying to find Hope at a time when I feel rather lost and out of sorts.

We recently found a few of Evan's writings and I'm amazed at his work. So much depth. It's funny cause I too wrote much during my younger years. I guess we both had a lot of emotion that didn't have an outlet so we wrote. Most of those writings were born of pain and sadness. Evan's too have the same flavor...depth...sadness. Many though are quite spiritual....almost prophetic so to speak. I hope to add them as I post these updates to the Capture 2017. 

Contingency   

My heart never told my brain to have a contingency plan.

Landlines, locked down by strong winds,

pacified by semi-meaningful promises and

dual-fated illnesses, lack the structural integrity to hold out

and the floodgates burst wide.

Even the eye of the storm–mildly calm compared to

the rest of the sorrowful, cloudy night– is brainwashed

into thinking that it has to act as the rest of tempest must:

with vengeance till the last exhalation

and the floodgates burst wide.

Though I've dabbled in sailing and preparing safety nets,

it must've slipped my first mate's mind to prepare

my last line of comfort and consolation.

I am alone. No one can hear me. I am alone...

and the floodgates burst wide.

My psyche is lost in the tide.

I cannot get out.

 By Evan Kenneth Kincade    3/08

Fall is knocking at the door.....

The last few days I've been preparing myself for my early wake up call on Saturday. It sort of helps that my husband has been getting up before the birds the last few mornings which is a great motivator. The world looks so different in the early morning hours, before the sun comes up. It as though the world is stretching and slowly rising from it's slumber. As I was sitting out by the airport this morning I felt a bit like an intruder to the peace that surrounded me. No planes taking off, no children scrambling to kick the soccer ball or throw a baseball. Just me and a flock of birds in a far off tree and a lone pheasant. For a moment as I was shooting it felt like I was in the Serengeti like you see in movies...but alas I was in Vacaville, near the Nut Tree Airport enjoying my Peet's Coffee and grasping a hold of the beauty right here. Enjoy the photos from the sunrise today.