In the month and change since I lost my sweetheart, Brandon, to a senseless drunk driver, joy has been challenging to come by.
I am a writer and an artist, and I've been that since I was a young girl curled into her closet, dreaming up worlds, and writing them down. Normally, I write from a place of joy; I usually paint from a place of process.
Just over a month ago, I was happier than I had ever been. Things were going quite well with work, my puppy Waffles and I were getting settled into our new home in Vallejo, California, and I was preparing to fly to Seattle to introduce my boyfriend to some community over my birthday weekend. Then our plans came crashing down.
Two days before my 37th birthday, two weeks before our shared favorite holiday, Brandon's life was senselessly taken by a drunk driver. His death has left his extraordinary community--his army--of family and friends, reeling. It has left me struggling to write.
And yet, creating is how I process. It's what I do. So, in addition to taking walks with friends, going for swims, eating with family, and grieving, I have leaned into dozens of little creative projects. Creating amethyst bracelets for the women in his life. Writing thank you notes. Tending to a lavender plant, one of his favorites. And painting, as that is how I process.
But when it comes to writing, I am at a loss for joyful words. So I will share some from my community:
"Lean into the [white hot rage]. You don't get to any sunrise by running toward light, you get there my running into darkness. It's the garden of Gethsemane, it's Babylon, it's desert. I love you." - my spiritual mentor
"To the extent that you are able to love, you also will grieve." - the same dude
"To the extent that you are able to grieve, you are also capable of love." - my heart friend, Sarah
"You did good, B. You loved our girl so well." - my sister Amanda
"Whatever you need, doll." - my sister's sister, Becky
"The loss you and Brandon have experienced is unspeakable. Praying that you experience God with you in the white hot rage." - our prayer team leader
"His name is Snow." - my nephew, regarding the arctic fox I gifted him for Christmas
"Here, Waffles, you can sit next to Snow." - my heart friend, MD, who walked me through the darkest place
"It was his time. Trust me, I do this for a living." - a hospice worker on a pier in Capitola
"He really loved you, you know. So when he told me about you, I said, 'bring her around." - B's pop
To those of you who have shared not only words, but also presence, thank you so much.
You all are love to me [and B].
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