Only In The Darkness

wednesday, may 18th


Hey there,

I've spent much of my time lately looking inward, wondering what my future will look like, wondering how to find my way out of darkness. I'm realizing the grey areas are where we start figuring things out. We find contrast. We gain perspective. We learn and move forward differently than we came. 

This is a place I've often found myself in while grieving. It hit me for the first time that my Dad isn't coming back. For the FIRST TIME since November 19th. Yet I've still found myself going back to safety and swimming ashore, denying sadness and pain. I've learned this is a common response to grief. We slowly wade in and out of the water, to avoid drowning in these feelings all at once.

This is a note for both you and myself, to remember it's okay to step into the water when we feel ready, and to hurry back to shore when the current feels too strong. As long as we try again. 


The Hardest Part

Wednesday March 23, 2016


8:47 am marks the moment my father passed away on November 19, 2015. Yesterday at 11 pm, I finally remembered that moment. I forgot what that week had felt like until I found myself at my cousin’s services with clear flashbacks of what it had been like to stand above my dad and wish that wouldn’t be the last time I would see him. My cousin had been diagnosed with Burkitt's Lymphoma last year, and passed away this month. It was a devastating recollection of everything I unknowingly tucked away in my subconscious, and an immediate need to give back all of the love I so graciously accepted during that period of time. I wish I could have gotten to know my cousin better but realizing the impact he had on so many other people gave me the understanding that I had known him at his best. I can’t speak to what it’s like to lose a son, or a brother, but I can speak to what it’s like to lose. Dealing with those feelings is still a harsh process for me, as expected. Figuring out how to accept it is going to be something I work towards daily. There is no answer to any of it.

I feel like at a certain point, people expect you to be over it. Everyone returns to their routines which are mostly unchanged and navigate their days as before. Unless you live in a house where the piece is missing. That is the hardest part. That is what’s hiding behind a wake and a funeral, a burial and a gravestone.

That’s where we are no longer strangers.