maternity, Lompoc, babies, flowers, sunset, wings, vans, 2016
Dawn Kincade
Waiting for our boy....

Whitney and Kevin are awaiting the birth of their first child.

Waiting for our boy....

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.

Happy Birthday to you!!

Today is your birthday and as you begin your 29th trip around the sun I want you to know that we are so proud of you and are so grateful for the light that you bring to us. We don’t always agree and that’s ok. We hold on to the things that matter most, each other. This last year found you doing new things and forging new, uncharted paths.

As your mom, I want to give you space to acknowledge how the threads of grief and loss weave through the very fabric of any occasion we celebrate. The passing of time is a thief and sometimes we are left empty handed watching it run away from us. It seems to start as the season's change and carries through, at least for me, until spring. Honestly, it never goes away. I also realize that there are things that Dad and I don't know that only Evan held about you, and it's those things that I mourn. It's that proximity that I agonize over as I can't give those to you. You can't always articulate those things; you often seem without the words you need to express it, and I want to help, but I'm just a listener—an observer of the grief you bear. So I listen. I hold open the door so that you can walkthrough. I mourn with you as it seems hard to find those who understand these parts—the loss of a brother and all that comes with it. Happy Birthday, son! May this year hold great things for you as you continue to walk out your path.

Mosaic of Seasons

"Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting, and autumn a mosaic of them all." Stanley Horowitz

I love this quote as it is a lovely word picture of the seasons and the different art mediums. Fall brings cooler weather, leaves changing, shorter days, and the smell of rain in the air. On the other hand, spring brings the brightest flowers, warmer weather, longer days, and the scent of new beginnings. Fall brings an end to the cycle that will begin again when spring returns. It's part of the journey, and yet we so look forward to spring, at least I do. Fall brings changes and those feelings of loss and grief for me.

This Saturday will mark the last birthday I spent with Evan here on this planet five years ago. It's one of the many birthday memories I have of us as a family, and as I begin this new year, it's a longing to be together that never leaves me. The internet isn't always kind when we see all the family's celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, and other special events, and I am ALWAYS repeating the same photos and feelings. This time of year is hard. I woke up the other day, and this overwhelming sense of grief came over and had me crying into my pillow until the sunrise. The days between tears have gotten longer. Softer. But they're still very hard. Sad. Painful. I read this article about Grief Math and had often wondered if these calculations I do on the future anniversaries and such are just a quirky thing that I do, but I've come to realize that it's a thing. That helped me feel ok about what I do.

So Saturday, I begin my next trip around the sun, and with that, I've come out on the other side one-year cancer-free. YAY! I've recovered from radiation and C*vid, and I've learned who can be trusted and who will see me through when the going gets tough. That has been the most painful and most challenging lesson for me. Just as in the earlier parts of grief, you come to realize who can be in it for the long haul, and you find that most of the time, when you go to lean back, the community has left you, and just a few are left to hold your heart. You also learn that the people who dare to stand with you are the people that have similar wounds that you do. Those people understand, and if your space is filled with a few of these precious souls, you are luckier than most.

So I walk into this birthday, feeling slightly anxious about what the future holds but more resolute to follow my path and with the feelings of grief and loss still right on the surface, ready to wake me in the early morning hours to have me watch for the sunrise.

John and Alex, thanks for always talking me off the edge. You both always find a way to carry my heart even though you, too, are walking out your grief.

Looking in the Rearview Mirror

There has been a gloom that has settled over my soul that I can't seem to shake. As much as I try, this feeling is always just on the edge of my heart, and most days, I can keep it at bay. If you were to ask my husband or anyone close to me, they would say that it is evident in my attitude and responses. I've come to realize that this gloom is just grief. My anger, my silence, my anxious thoughts, and my discontent...is grief. So on this day, 8/30, it is officially National Grief Awareness Day. What a funny thing! Funny, not in a ha-ha kind of way but in a WTH type of way. For people who have suffered loss, grief is every day. It is a never-ending thought or feeling, and although we may not speak of it every day, it is EVER present.

Last year moving into this week, it had been a rough time, and I believe even then, although I felt anxious about the world, I thought I had lived through the worst of it and was rounding a corner. I started having some issues within my body during this time, which I attributed to the shutdown. My doctor disagreed and told me she wanted to see me. But everything took twice as much time cause of C*v#d. So after multiple appointments which spanned months apart when I got the call from my doctor on that Thursday last year that I had cancer, I went into the fight or flight and self-preservation mode. Only to get a call the following day that my mom had passed away. It put me in motion to walk through over a month of planning, talking, processing, and lastly, watching as things fell into place. It gave me great comfort from God as only He could have set the many doctors' appointments, bloodwork, scans, and other things that needed to be done before my surgery. The aggressive nature of the type of cancer I had, the surgery needed to happen sooner rather than later. So from 1st ultrasound to surgery was about six months.

As I shared in my blog last month, I'm not brave or strong; I'm just trying to survive. Literally and figurately. My grief and anxiety were multiplied by other factors as the passing of my mom brought with it loads of different unprocessed feelings. So this week brings back that unbridled mixture of emotions and anxiety from a year ago that my brain did not have a chance to process.

I recently started reading a book called Try Softer, and this book talks about the mantra of "Try Harder." For most, we've found that trying harder doesn't always bring the desired outcome we want. After trying harder, we still come up empty and anxiety-filled. So in the book, the author shares to try softer. Be gentle with yourself. Listen to your body because your body holds the pain, the anxiety, and the trauma. Talk to your body and let it help you find your way back to health and healing. I'm just beginning, but I desire to take on the banner of "Try Softer," and with that, I'm asking the Lord to help me get there.

https://www.amazon.com/Try-Softer-Approach-Mode-Connection/dp/1496439651

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!!

"You need to pull your mask up!" "Oh yeah, let's discuss your diagnosis."

Our family is just a few short weeks from the 4th anniversary of Evan's accident and many other anniversaries that seem to come each year. I've spent a good part of 2020 writing and capturing stories for my work, and with that, much of my grief journey has been done in the background. Busyness has taken the place of sharing my deepest thoughts, and so after so much silence, I thought I'd share what the last few months have looked like. Although I do not know what the future holds for me, I know the One who holds that future, and I continue to trust Him as I stand leaning against a wall for support and taking baby steps towards the next moments.

This has not been an easy season. It has held anxiety, uncertainty, loneliness, and LOVE. I've really had to learn such a hard truth about how much I'm able to carry, and I've come to understand that it's a lot. To be clearer, a lot for me. This is not about comparing as we all have our own stuff, and I've learned about grief; each personal journey is unique, and we chose how that is measured. Throw in this mix a world health crisis and other variables, and well, you get my point. What I’m about to share is polarizing. I’m unsure of any subject right now that isn’t, but most people like me aren’t really saying much. So I will say this is my personal experience.

In early spring, I had health issues that I thought were due to stress and other things. I chatted with my doctor, and she said if this continues, you really need to be seen. Well, it did continue, and if you've had any health issues during this crisis, the health crisis has taken over any thought about "other" health issues. Every appointment took 30 days to attain cause of COVID. After nearly 6 months of different appointments, it was confirmed that I have cancer. Yes, cancer, which in my opinion, is a health crisis for me. For anyone reading this who is thinking of wearing the mask for others...be about others, I'm wondering what your feeling is about people who are having true health issues that aren't COVID. I'm finding that MANY have strong opinions about masks but aren't advocating as much for those experiencing health crises that aren't COVID related. This has been especially eye-opening for me. Even my experience with a medical professional who was going to do my surgery, who was more concerned about how high up the bridge of my nose, my mask was than my diagnosis. Please spare me the essential worker lecture. I get it. They are exposed daily. Goodness knows that everyone based on ALL of the data is exposed daily. But my anxiety is not eased when you lecture me more about COVID exposure and give my diagnosis less time or understanding, along with the lack of compassion and care. In this, we have lost our way. We will suffer the consequences of this lack of compassion, trust me, and the mask will be the least of our worries as a society and a nation.

Today I am nearly one-week post-op. The first few days were hard, but I'm feeling stronger, and although I'm unsure of any of the pathology, I will continue to trust the team of doctors who have cared for me during this time and, ultimately, the Great Physician, Jesus. I want to acknowledge the care given to me at Sutter Health at Mission Bernal Ambulatory Surgery in SF, my oncologist, Dixon Family Medicine, Burlingame Women's health for your care over me. Thank you for arranging appointments, finding places for blood draws, and CT Scans. I want to thank my family and friends for being with me through this crazy time. Your texts, flowers, food, and Peet's have been such a blessing. I also want to thank my husband and son, who especially saw this challenging when they had to leave me at the surgery center's front door and not be with me during any of my appointments or my surgery. Just another aspect of COVID that is invisible to the public when other health issues arise.

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Grief, Coffee, and the missing of Community

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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!

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Walking the streets of Malta

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A year ago we took a cruise on the Adriatic Sea. I’ve posted a blog or two about this trip but now these photos and memories mean so much as we are unable to travel around and these memories are precious to us. Malta was the one location that we were able to sample the nightlife and it was by far one of our favorite stops. I've always loved the doors I've found on our travels to the other side of the world and Malta had so many with vibrant colors and rich character. We had an amazing dining experience and the streets came alive with music and families enjoying gelato and the lovely fountain in the center of the city.

Walk with me down the streets of this beautiful city. It may inspire you to think about a visit.

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.

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.

Empty Arms

Recently I started a birth and bereavement doula course, and I'm currently in the last two modules. The particular module I'm in now, we are talking about the emotional experiences of having a baby in the NICU. One of the exam questions is to choose from the list of 10 experiences one that could have a similar feeling if a child is born sleeping. So much about these emotional experiences are similar to the loss of my almost 26-year-old son. I've learned not to compare losses as when you do that; someone will always have something less or more of what you've experienced. Each loss is unique, as each person is unique. Give space for each loss and hold the heart and hand of that person so that they feel heard, understood, and valued. 

While reading through these experiences, I felt like I could identify with nearly all of them, and yet the question asked me to choose one. I decided on the word derealization, which for the parent of a NICU baby the emotional experience can be so overwhelming for them, that they find themselves in denial, forgetting, or suppressing important information that was spoken to them. Even if they appear to practice active listening, repeating things often can be helpful, along with keeping a journal of things mentioned and questions to ask. (reference from StillBirth Day)

This module, in particular, really has me thinking deeply about the painful process of birth, loss, and bereavement as it feels so very real. It had me thinking back to our days in the hospital and all the information that came our way that I heard but did not process. So much of my time in the hospital was spent with all the people: Evan's friends, Alex's friends, our friends, fielding Facebook messages so much of the processing of vital information was processed by John and Alex cause honestly, it was too much for me. The entire process of it was too much. It's hard to understand unless you’ve walked that long lonely hallway. I can never truly articulate to my husband or my son how much love I have for them. They showed me during that time, what unconditional love looks like as it was walked out during the darkest of days. It wasn't easy for them either. My husband never left Evan's room the entire time he was in the hospital. Alex always was caring for us. Both of them handled the most challenging parts of those days.

Life and death are fragile and fleeting. Whether we are talking about a baby born sleeping or a nearly 26-year-old son whose brain has stopped working but whose organs help save the lives of 5 people. Say your words — even the hard ones to those you love. Reach out to that momma who's arms are left empty because of her loss. Be a light in a world that so desperately needs it.

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Just a few of the highlights of 2019

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I often wonder what the highlights look like when you're a photographer. Is it the number of clients you had? or is it by how you've improved over the previous year? Maybe it is the number of followers you've acquired, and yet for some, it may be the amount of money you made. My highlights are the ones that make me smile on days when I’m unsure if there is a smile left in me. They are the highlights that bring back the sights, sounds, and smells of that moment.

We live in an age now, where everyone is a "photographer." Just one click gives you the ability to capture a moment. So this grouping of photos is my highlight reel. The images that helped me tell the story of 2019 for me. I captured a lot of babies and mommas. I saw families grow, and I saw young adults enter onto the pathway of adulthood. I enjoyed events and traveled hither and yon, but in all of that, I found a deep-rooted passion for telling the stories of life. I'm grateful for that and I hope you'll join me as I venture into 2020 with an ever-increasing passion and an ever-growing desire to communicate through photographs.

The several photos in this gallery I didn’t take but I am in them which is rare for those who are behind the camera. The last photo is the ever-present reminder that Evan is part of every highlight reel and that we miss him EVERY SINGLE DAY!

Happiest of New Year as we move into the next decade!

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Hello November!!

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I saw a post recently that said, what will you do with the remaining 61 days left in the year. I always find these questions interesting because they come from a place of thinking you have total control over your life and future. Some days I feel like I can grab myself by the shoulders and say, “You can do this!”. But as I step into the first day of November and I look ahead to the remainder of the year, I must do so by looking back.

On this day 3 years ago, I was editing a photo session of a dear friend and wondering what the week ahead would look like. I had captured a photo while I was waiting for them to arrive at the photo session cause I wanted to share in the “Thankfulness” of November. When I posted, it was meant for encouragement for others, but also it gave me pause as I was encouraging a friend who was facing a tough time. The verse I used was, “Be thankful in all things.” When this friend said, she was trying, I encouraged her that this verse was directional. Christ sees us. That he comes near when we can’t. The strange thing about this dialogue is that less than 48 hours later, I would come to understand this truth authentically and tangibly.

So when I think about the next 61 days, I ask myself what will you do “today?” Maybe I’ll think about tomorrow, but I genuinely hold things loosely. I’m living in a state of change that I did not plan for, nor did I agree to and that is said with living this grief life for my short 3 years. Motivational speeches should look different for those who are grieving or mourning. Instead of asking about the next 61 days, how bout we just make it through the next thing...So live your best day today! Hello November!

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Don't Look Away...Come Closer

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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.

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Venice...Queen of the Adriatic

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Our cruise of the Adriatic began in the city known for it’s bridges, canals and masks. I think what endeared it to me was the way that family life and work co-exist here. It seemed to also be multi generational in this way too as parents worked in many of the shops their children played nearby as grandparents kept a watch full eye. This was our second visit to Venice and it was just as charming as I remembered. 

This visit we took the water taxi to the furthest part of the island (Venice is among 117 smaller islands) and walked along the promenade to find a lovely walking street. We had lunch and found a outdoor park with art pieces. We put in a lot of steps and enjoyed pizza and quaint window sills filled with flowers. Venice is a must see if you are ever in Italy.

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Paris is always a good idea...our adventure began in the city I love!

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When we arrived it was almost noon on Father’s Day. We made our way to the hotel and waited there til our room was ready. We had a beautiful snack and drinks then spashed some water on our faces and took off for a walk around the city. We only had one full day here before leaving for Venice but it was filled with lots of beautiful architecture, river views, and meals along the beautiful streets of Paris.

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The Bench

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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

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Sunflowers among the weeds...International Bereaved Mother's Day 05/05/19

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Sunday, May 5th is International Bereaved Mother’s Day. I’ve done blog posts in the past, and after spending some time editing sunflowers that I happened upon here locally, I saw an opportunity to share in part what I saw while photographing these beauties.

Sunflower season here in Solano and Yolo Counties will be sometime in June, and yet I was able to find a few springing up in a field where they were last year. Sunflowers are one of my favorite flowers. I’ve added a few fun facts about them just to give you an understanding of how amazing they are. Sunflowers are used to demonstrate a mathematical term called a Fibonacci sequence. You can also see this sequence in artichokes and cauliflowers. While reading about this sequence in sunflowers researchers have found that the patterns can be inconsistent in sunflowers and quoting the article “real life is messy.” This is a truth that is lived out daily in the life of a bereaved parent and when speaking about loss and grief. https://www.sciencemag.org/news/2016/05/sunflowers-show-complex-fibonacci-sequences It is the only flower to have the word “flower” in its name. Sunflower removes toxins and is a natural decontaminator of soil. They have been used to clean up dirt at some of the biggest environments disasters, including Chernobyl and Fukushima. Sunflowers are native to the Americas. Some of these facts come from this article. https://www.thespruce.com/fun-facts-about-sunflowers-3972329 As you might now see sunflowers have a medicinal quality to them. They have been used to heal and remove toxins from soil. As I photographed these beautiful flowers, I was struck by the fact that even though they were growing among weeds, they thrived. I saw a few bees although they seemed to be moving slowly and possibly dying. So much about these flowers lead me to see myself and other bereaved mothers the same way.

These flowers were strong. Even though the weeds had dropped some of the seeds to strike down these flowers they still stood firm...strong almost like flower sentinels. They’re looking for the sun and following its course across the sky. They are beautiful. Some of their petals hidden from the sun but just as yellow and brilliant as the noonday sun. Some of these beauties had yet to open, and many of them winking so to speak as only a few of their petals had started to open.

This blog goes out to all of you who mourn the loss of your child/ren. You inspire me. Even amid your loss, you continue to move towards health. You still remind me that you are bright sunflower standing firm in your memories of your child/ren. You are learning that your loss has defined for you those things that are toxic and you move towards removing them from your path. Some of you are still trying to figure out what you need and yet, you persevere opening up just a few of your petals as you follow your path. The loss of your child will continue to shape each move you make. It will define who you are and why you do what you do. I pray that you continue to remain strong and resilient. Standing tall like a sunflower.