tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71824886006392712882024-02-19T05:14:32.394-08:00Fly Girl, Fly.Carrie Bradshaw meets Tinkerbell... Thoughts on life, love, and every thing in-between.Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.comBlogger70125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-85662382994450054562014-08-14T12:04:00.000-07:002014-08-14T12:04:47.090-07:00Little One<br />
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Let me start this post by saying I realize that I am not the
first woman to be pregnant. I’m
sure it seems like a pretty normal thing to most people. I mean, my Facebook newsfeed pops up
with pregnancy announcements from various people on a daily basis. It’s the age group I guess. The general order goes as such:
engagement announcements, then wedding pictures, honeymoon, etc., and then
finally, (or in our case, very quickly) sonogram photos follow. But regardless of how simple and
“normal” it may seem to the world, I can tell you as the woman carrying this
soon-to-be person, it is far from a normal experience. Every day feels like a momentous
occasion. Every time I realize my
belly is bigger, every time I think I feel her moving – it is a huge event for
me. </div>
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Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those people who’s going
to sit here and romanticize this whole pregnancy thing. Honestly, I spent years (as most girls
do) trying really hard NOT to get pregnant. The beginning of pregnancy felt more like a parasite than a
human as I tried to keep food down and barely got out of bed. The “side effects” and “symptoms” of
pregnancy range from gross to just downright weird. (Trust me, you have no idea.) And I sincerely have to question the women who just “loveeeeee”
being pregnant (my mom included).
I did, however, never forget how much of a privilege it is to be
pregnant. I have always known that
I wanted to be a mother someday, and the thought of not getting that chance is
a type of heartbreak I cannot even fathom. So even on my sickest days, I made sure to take a moment to
remember how truly lucky I am. </div>
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Now that I’m in the midst of the second trimester and feel
almost human again, I think I’m finally starting to think of this little alien
inside of me as a real person.
Knowing she’s a girl (which I knew in my heart from day one, but has
since been confirmed through medical technology), picking out a name, and
watching Danny fall more and more in love with the idea of her has certainly
made it more real. I admit I was
afraid in the beginning. I confess
I still am. It’s my medical
knowledge, it’s my professional and personal knowledge of all the bad things
that happen to people, it’s my firsthand experience of loss, and bottom line,
my overwhelming anxiety that contribute to this fear. What if. . . [insert a thousand possible tragic scenarios
here]. </div>
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What I’ve sort of had to teach myself in these almost five months is this baby is a person.
She’s not a medical condition – she’s a gift that’s been given to
me. Yes, a million things could go
wrong – with the rest of the pregnancy, with the rest of her life, for that
matter – but worrying about all those possibilities just takes away from the
happiness we have right now. </div>
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Through everything that has happened in my life, I have
fought to hold onto that sparkle of hope that we are all born with. That belief that all good things will
win in the end, even if that belief has been tested time and time again. And I have to admit it hasn’t been
easy, but somehow knowing that it’s <i>my</i>
job to help this little person hold onto that belief as well has given me a newfound
strength that I did not know I had.
</div>
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I want our little girl to believe in magic, in the goodness
of people, and the world for as long as she possibly can. I know that inevitably things will
happen to shake that belief. And I
will do my best to prepare her for those times. Thinking about it now, I feel for my own sweet mother who
tried her best to shield me from the bad parts of the world. How hard it must have been to watch the
difficult, unfair things overshadow the good in my life for some time. </div>
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I like to think that I have more to offer this child now
than I would have had I never faced difficulty. I always admired my mother’s strength, and it in turn, strengthened
me. I will be honest with my
daughter. Bad things happen. And those things often don’t make
sense. But that doesn’t mean we
shy away from the things that make us happy. Life is not meant to be lived in fear of the unknown. All we can do is make the most of what
we’re given, the time we’re given, the happiness we have today. And I'll make sure she knows she will always have a safe place to come home to when the world seems unkind. </div>
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Having Danny by my side gives me such reassurance and happiness. The ONE thing I NEVER worry about is what kind of father he will be. This little one and I are both incredibly lucky.</div>
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I know exactly what thought will cross my mind when I hold
her for the first time. I will
think to myself how brand-new she is.
How untouched by the world.
How her heart is unbroken and so open to all the beautiful things this life has to offer.
And how I will do my best to protect it. </div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-87433018883252282792014-02-04T08:34:00.003-08:002014-02-04T08:35:55.612-08:00Two Years Ago<br />
<br />
J,<br />
<br />
<br />
At this time, two years ago today, I was curled up with my face buried in your shirt. I had already lost you several hours ago, but little did I know that hearing your last heart beat {<a href="http://laciluv.blogspot.com/2012/02/more-than-life-itself.html">See this post</a>} would not serve to be the only traumatic part of that day. I had thought about losing you over and over again, imagining (morbidly) what it would feel like. I've learned that the brain does that for survival. . . it tries to prepare and figure out if you can make it through the event you keep thinking about. What would it feel like? Would I survive?<br />
<br />
But I never thought about the other stuff that goes along with death. Having to call your mom and tell her the news, calling your best friend in the world and telling him. . . waiting . . . simultaneously wishing for more time alone with you and someone to show up to fill the emptiness. Dealing with the police officers who to this day, I wish I had taken their names because they were so insensitive and awful to me. Being asked by the funeral director to pick out clothes for you to be buried in. Hiding in the bathroom while the funeral home carried your body out in my favorite Pottery Barn sheets. These are things no one can ever prepare you for. These are the things that made your death seem casual, messy, and like something else that just happens in life. I hated every second of it. I'm not sure what I wanted to happen. I knew angels were not going to come down and carry you away in front of my eyes, but I just wanted something more. I wanted the rest of the world to feel the gravity of the loss, too. I wanted the policemen to be kind, and respectful and recognize all we had gone through -- maybe I wanted some sort of credit for dealing with all of this alone, for the most part. Didn't they know who we had lost?? But it never came. The sun came up against my wishes. Papers were signed, an outfit was selected, and you were gone. Suddenly, our tiny apartment felt huge. <br />
<br />
There was a sense of finality in that last moment; an emptiness that I'm not sure I will ever be able to fully put into words; a sense of defeat. We had lost. You were gone. And in those few seconds of silence where your heart beat was supposed to be, the world got a little darker, and the future seemed blurry.<br />
<br />
Two years later, I can still close my eyes and feel every second of that day. I hate today because I almost want to just skip past it. I hate commemorating it. It's not your birthday, or another special day -- it's a bad memory, a life-changing event that causes flashbacks for me, and causes pain in the hearts of the people who love you most. <br />
<br />
Sitting in that apartment two years ago, the concept of going on with my own life seemed out of the question. I never thought my heart would open up to someone else, or that, two years later, I'd be the happiest I've ever been. Remember last year when I told you I was going back to school after taking that time off? Well, I have three months left! I hope I make you proud. There are so many things I wish I could tell you, but deep down, I know you already know. I know you are responsible for so many of the happy things in my life, and the lives of the people closest to you. I can't thank you enough for sending me Danny. Our hearts are the same. I could not have picked a better person for my husband, and I feel so incredibly lucky to be loved by him every day.<br />
<br />
What I want to make clear is, I will never ever be without you. Being with you, and losing you, shaped who I am as a person to my very core. You are with me in so many little ways, every single day.<br />
<br />
You're in my words, in the way I approach things, in every ounce of confidence I have. I believe in myself a little more because you always believed in me. Every time I laugh at a joke about poop, you're with me. Every time I giggle with your sister, or tease your mom or listen to Almost 6' 6", you're with me. Every time I try to correct my grammar, or edit my own paper, you're with me. Every time I put mayo and mustard on a sandwich, you're with me. Every time I look at Danny and smile, you're with me. I know it might sound strange to some, but you taught me to love fiercely. And inevitably you taught me that life is too short, to wait around for the "right time" to do things. You are in everything that makes me, me. You are what I like most about myself. You brought so much magic to this world in such a short amount of time. I feel lucky to have shared so many memories with you, and so privileged that you chose me to share your life and inner most self with.<br />
<br />
I will never stop missing your presence in this world. I will never forget all that you taught me. As the years go by, as they invariably will, the light you brought to my life will never fade. The world and the people you touched will always shine a little brighter for having known you. <br />
<br />
I know you are safe. That you are happy. That everything makes sense to you now. I can feel it. <br />
<br />
Two years, or two thousand,<br />
<br />
I carry your heart. <br />
<br />
<br />Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-47026318918553885512013-08-13T11:12:00.003-07:002013-08-13T11:12:30.580-07:00Rain, Rain<br />
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I usually hate rainy days. Unless you're in The Notebook, making out in a storm, the rain is not romantic. It makes me moody (i.e., moodier than usual), and it makes even simple things (like grocery shopping) more difficult. It makes people drive 5 mph as if they have blindfolds on. It's messy. It's gray. But sometimes, it's a good excuse to be lazy, to be sad, to be pissed off at the world, and to let all the things you normally push out of your mind, seep in. </div>
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Today, my mood matches the rain. I know I'll be totally fine tomorrow. I know later I'll read this blog and think how whiney I sound, how dramatic. But today, I think this weather is perfect. If it were sunny today, maybe I'd write about all the AMAZING things going on in my life. My rapidly-approaching, beautiful wedding, the impending marriage to the man of my dreams, my adorable dog, my supportive family, my ethereal wedding gown, my less than 9 months of school before becoming an NP, my super fun friends who keep me smiling, my health. . . Yes, I have tons to be thankful for. But let's be honest, no one really wants to read about that stuff. And I'd be a liar if I said rainy days make me smile and think of how lucky I am. </div>
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No, today is a blah day. Today, I'm not going to feel guilty about feeling sorry for myself. I feel like being sad, and I think I'm allowed to be. Those who are close to me know there are a lot of things going on in my personal life, and today, for once, I'm not going to pretend that it's all easy. </div>
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Rain makes me think of living in Manhattan. You know, that other life of mine that wasn't too long ago, but seems like a lifetime ago. Nothing is worse than trudging through city puddles of brown water. I've come to believe that almost every single girl in Manhattan owns Hunter rain boots. They are a necessity. Out in Suffolk, I'm usually one of very few people wearing them . . . and sometimes I smile to myself, as if I know something they don't. Pssh these people clearly never had walk through the West Village in a downpour. These boots were my armor as I fought my way to the nearest Starbucks. There was no hopping in the car to drive two blocks. Ahh how 50 miles away can seem like worlds. </div>
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Rain also makes me think of tears. Obvious, right? But I mean, c'mon. Had to throw that one in there.</div>
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I remember when Jon was sick, I prayed for rain. I hated waking up in our shoebox bedroom to the sunshine. For a split second when I first opened my eyes and felt the sun on my face, it felt like everything was ok, until reality set in. I remember being so angry that the sun was still shining even though he was dying. It didn't seem right. And during his burial, why was it sunny? Why wasn't it thundering, the way my body felt it should be. Why wasn't it freezing? How could I feel this warm? How is it that the world lost someone so bright, yet the earth was still turning? I imagine anyone who ever lost someone (or endured the process of losing someone) can relate to these feelings. </div>
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Because of what I've been through, I find my newest determination in life is doing everything I can so that the people I love never have to experience this. I know how damaged parts of me are, and I just want to protect others from ever feeling these things. From ever having to carry bad memories. It's like a secret club I don't want to be a part of. Sadly, add this to the list of things I cannot control. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
When Danny and I first started dating, believe it or not we talked about our losses. He let me cry about Jon, while I listened to his experience losing his father. Though very different, there was enough similarity that I believe, it brought us closer on a deeper level. I would do anything to protect him from ever feeling anything even remotely like that again. But I'm only human. What I've learned over the years is that although there's little I can control, I'm really good at loving the crap out of people. So that's what I'll do. Just love him, more and more every day. . . that parts easy. :) I like to think love forms a protective barrier. That although it can't change what obstacles come our way, it can shield us, even if it's slightly, from the hurt and pain that life throws at us. </div>
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I know that being loved is what got me through losing Jon. . . the love I knew he had for me surrounded me even in the toughest, hope-crushing moments. My mom -- well that's another blog altogether -- but her love has always been a cushion from the blows of the world. Countless others. . . I won't sit here and say "I wouldn't have survived" because, I would have. I'm not a quitter. But it would've been an even harder battle, and I'm not sure how well I would have come out on the other side. </div>
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<div>
So love someone. You never know when they'll need that little forcefield of protection. Your love might make all the difference. It just might be the thing that reminds them that, soon, it will stop raining. </div>
<div>
</div>
Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-58714817907816608722013-07-30T11:16:00.002-07:002013-07-30T11:32:03.820-07:00Dear Jon<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Jon,</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last week, I was on my way to the gym (which is way too far from where I live). I got stuck in traffic and missed the class I wanted to take. For some reason, I kept driving. I had this thought that came out of nowhere that I would drive all the way to NJ to the cemetery to see you. I haven't been to the cemetery on my own. I've only been there for your memorial, and I admit, my wall was up as high as it'd ever been that day. I didn't let myself really feel the depth of what I was seeing that day -- your name, your dates, beloved son, brother and perhaps most bittersweet, SOULMATE. I don't know what made me want to go there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I never understood people who take comfort in visiting a headstone. I just don't get it. I'd rather sit on a bench in Riverside Park where we spent countless afternoons, or stop on the Palisades overlook, or listen to a song you wrote. There's comfort being in places you've been, places you've touched. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I never actually made it to the cemetery. I got all the way to the bridge and saw bumper-to-bumper traffic. Something inside me decided you wouldn't want me to spend a sunny day in traffic just to visit a headstone. . . one I'm not sure I'd be able to find on my own anyway. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You've been on my mind a lot lately. I know I say this in every blog, but I still have a hard time letting myself believe this all really happened. I know how unhealthy that sounds. What makes it even more difficult is the juxtaposition of my life right now. I'm <b>so</b> happy. I'm so excited for my life with Danny. But that doesn't diminish how happy I <i>was</i>. How excited <i>we were. </i>And all that has happened in the last year and half. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's so hard to explain, but somewhere deep down, I know we weren't meant to spend our lives together. I mean, we should have been able to, but somehow, without <i>really</i> knowing, I know that it just wasn't meant to happen that way. I'm not sure who decides what's meant to be and what's not, but I strongly feel in my heart that things happened the way they were supposed to. Not that that changes how angry I am about it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I read this quote the other day and it really hit home. We always said we were soulmates. People always think soulmates are meant to be together forever. But maybe this makes more sense. We were meant to meet exactly when we did and spend the exact amount of time we did together. Though I know I will always wonder what would've happened if we had made different decisions -- chosen different treatment or gone to a different doctor -- deep down, I know there were no wrong choices. In the end, you enjoyed your life. You were home, with me. No hospitals, no residents surrounding your bed, no abrupt wake ups for examinations. We kept as much control as we could. I can say with complete certainty that every touch you felt was love. Every word you heard during your last hours, was love. That's more than so many people get . . . and so much more than most people get to give. </span></div>
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<h1 style="font-weight: normal; margin: 0px 0px 15px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-size: xx-small;">true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave.</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-size: xx-small;"> </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-size: xx-small;">A soul mates purpose is to shake you up. . . break your heart open so new light can get in. . ."</span></span></h1>
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<h1 style="margin: 0px 0px 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Not sure how two people can be so unlucky and lucky at the same time. I do know that you changed who I am . . . down to my core, I am a better, stronger, calmer, more loving person. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">I miss my best friend. Katie and I talked about you the other day. We laughed a lot. You always had that effect on us. I know you must be so proud of your baby sister. She is turning into such an amazing woman. I credit a lot of that to you. You always had that effect on people, too. I will always be grateful for the family you brought me into. A family that continues to support me, not to mention two of the bravest women I know. I can't thank you enough for bringing such amazing, truly good, people into my life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">I don't feel weird telling you how happy I am, and how in love. I talk to Danny about you quite often. He knows that you will always be in my heart. He knows I believe you brought him into my life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">I've been doing pretty well in school. I think I even figured out what I want to do when I graduate. I hope I make you proud. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">I know you'll be smiling down on my wedding day. That may sound weird to some people, but I don't think you feel jealousy or bittersweetness... I think, wherever you are, you know that this is how things were meant to turn out. And though part of me will always mourn the life we didn't get to have, I feel peace knowing you are with me every step of this beautiful life I'm going to get to have. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Chickens 4L.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Love you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Always,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Laciface</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">"I want it all, some kind of wonderful... " <3><!--3--><!--3--><!--3--><!--3--></3></span></div>
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<br />Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-87402051396666933722013-04-28T09:28:00.002-07:002013-04-28T09:28:55.490-07:00Jon's Memorial <br />
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“There is an ache in my heart for the imagined beauty of a life I haven't had, from which I had been locked out, and it never goes away.” </div>
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I wasn't going to say anything today, but I kept having this nagging feeling inside that I should. Jonathan always had the right words. He would've thought of something so profound to say. He also probably would've hated the idea of us standing in a cemetery a year later, but I'm sure he appreciates all of us coming together one way or another.</div>
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It's been 449 days since Jonathan left us. I know this year has been hard for all of us. There were some dark places along the journey this year, but what keeps me pushing forward is Jon's attitude. He would never have wanted any of us to dwell on our loss. Just keep moving... let yourself be sad, cry... and then fight to be happy. Fight to do all the things he would have done but didn't get the chance to. That's all he would have wanted... all he still wants for all of us. When I stop moving for a second though, and close my eyes, the thought of Jon not being in this world anymore still has the ability to shake me to my core. It will never feel right that he's not in this world, brightening it with his smile, calming it with his words, and igniting it with his talent. </div>
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What I've learned is to take him with me. I am forever-changed for having had Jon in my life... for having been loved by him. The reason we miss him so much is because of how much he brought to our lives. We are lucky to have that piece of Jon as a part of us, forever. We are better because of him, in every aspect. Every person we meet will know a better part of us, because we are truly better people for having had Jon in our lives. </div>
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Right before he died, Jon was worried about being forgotten. I'm sure he is smiling down on us as I say this now, seeing how silly that was. Mostly what I think he was afraid of was being remembered in the wrong way... in a sad way. Yes, losing Jon is probably the reason all of us know first-hand how short life can be, and how tragic, but (and I struggle with this myself) that's not what he would want us to remember or learn from his time on earth. Make him the reason you know that amazing people exist. Make him the reason you never settle because you know all he would have done if given the chance. Let him be the reminder that true love, true friendship exists. That a person can be stronger than we ever imagined to be possible. That we are all stronger than we think. He was able to do so much in such a short time... to teach us all so much. It would be so wrong to not live these lives we've been blessed with to the fullest. </div>
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He lives on in all of us. He is the warmth we feel on sunny days. He is a silly joke that makes us smile to ourselves. He is in our old memories, and we take him with us on every new experience, on every occasion or event he would be at if only this universe made sense. He is the spark of an idea, or a song. </div>
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He is the fight inside me, the strength I've built. He is the heart of me, the reason I believe in love. The reason I refuse to settle for less than wonderful. He is the faith I have in myself. Jon is the best part of me. </div>
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Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-40364093210552795462013-02-20T16:56:00.001-08:002013-02-20T17:09:23.401-08:00Good Stuff<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469);"></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469);"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469);">When I met Jon, I swear the earth stopped moving for a moment. I'm not trying to be completely sappy and romantic. That's actually not how I mean it at all. I don't want to say it was love at first sight. The only way I can describe it is like getting hit in the face. My world stopped for a split second, and though I could not put my finger on it at the time, it was like hearing a voice in my head say, 'He's going to be important. This <i style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">moment </i><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.0078125);"> is important . . . life-changing." I'm not sure if that makes sense. I had experienced moments like that to a much lesser degree a few times before that. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was watching Forest Gump the other night while Danny and I were both sick, and at the end, Forest talks about how some people believe in destiny and others say we're just floating around 'accidental-like' on the breeze... and how he believes it's a little of both. I have to agree. The only way I can really explain it is that the moment I met Jonathan (and the somewhat similar moments I'd experienced previously) was a "destiny" moments. Moments like that are rare and they serve almost as a reminder -- as if to tell us (in case we were wondering) some things are NOT coincidences . . . the choices we make are life-altering, and </span><i style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.0078125);">this</i><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.0078125);">one right here, well, it's </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">is a BIG one. You're gonna remember this one. And maybe, just maybe, there is something bigger than us guiding us along, at least for the important decisions. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I believe without a shadow of a doubt, that I was meant to love Jon. That I was meant to enter his life at that EXACT time I did. And though it pains me to say, perhaps, I was meant to lose him. I'm not sure why I was part of that plan, but as painful of a journey as it's been, I feel nothing but blessed. Someone or something chose me to love him, when he needed to be loved the most. And yes, my loss is profound, but I share it with the hundreds of other people who miss him every day . . . and we share the common despair over what he could have done with more time, as well as the pride in all he accomplished in the time he had. I feel lucky to have been one of the lucky ones who got to know him and be a part of his life. The people who knew him, grew up with him, loved him . . . they will always hold a special place in my heart. More than anything, I know how lucky I was that he chose me to love back. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Right after he died, EVERYthing was a sign. I like to think that at least some of the little things I noticed or small coincidences were in part his doing . . . his way of reminding me that he was thinking of me. But, now it takes a hell of a lot to get me see it as a sign. Maybe it's because I've experienced REAL, life-changing, world stop spinning moments. I think when you know, you know. And there will be big and small reassurances that you're on the right path. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Take the moment I saw Danny for the first time, for instance. It felt like my brain emptied of all it's thoughts, except that I wanted to know him. And not just because I thought he was attractive. It's hard to articulate, but it was so much deeper than that. There was that "he's important!!" sign flashing in my head. And little did I know just how important he would turn out to be . . . or how wonderful. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And now, every important future moment that I see in my head, has him in it. I know without question, that I'm where I'm supposed to be and I'm loving who I'm supposed to love. The hard part for me is letting go of the irrational thoughts in my mind that say, what if I lose him, too? At least I know I'm being crazy. It's just that Jon and I made plans that never happened. Yes, Jon had cancer. Yes, there was a constant, realistic threat to all of our plans . . . Unfortunately, the possibility of losing him was always a rational thought. But I'm still scared. Mainly because I think a person's heart can only take so much. I am afraid to dream sometimes. But little by little, as pieces fall together, I can breathe a little easier and recognize how silly I'm being. I don't know if I'll ever let my guard down completely though.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I've given this man my heart . . . and he holds it, ever so gently, knowing how fragile it is. Jon and I used to say, "Only good stuff from now on." I hear that in my head sometimes when I'm sitting next to Danny on the couch and I look over and can't help but smile. I know Jon would be happy about all the "good stuff" in my life . . . and all the beautiful, sparkling moments yet to come. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">" The heart is made of the only substance in the universe that gets stronger after it has been broken."</span></div>
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Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-25693141410721887402013-02-03T15:55:00.000-08:002013-02-03T15:58:14.523-08:00To you, Love, meDear Jon,<br />
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At around 1 am tonight, I know I will wake up. I don't want to, but I know I will. My heart and my subconcious mind will force me to. They will force me to remember that exactly 1 year ago, I heard your very last words: "I love you more than life itself." And too soon after that, I heard your very last heart beat.<br />
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I obviously think the year anniversary deserves a blog post, but I couldn't stand the thought of sitting here, saying how difficult it is, and explaining my saddness to nameless viewers. They've read it all before. It's hard to explain but venting to them isn't what I really need. Because it's about you. It's about losing you, losing a huge part of me, losing the life I thought I'd have. And as heartwarming as people's sympathies are, they are not what I need. <br />
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What I need is your voice, your words. I want to know what you think, where you are, what you're doing. I want to sit and talk shit about everyone around us like we always did. I want you to finish my sentences, agree with me that it sucks that you're not able to be with me anymore, and then I need you to tell me it's going to be ok. I need you to flash me one of those million dollar, twinkly blue-eyed smiles, squeeze my hand, tell me you like my "love" tattoo that I got in your handwriting, and that you'll always be with me. <br />
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I miss my best friend. It's bizarre, but I guess I never really let the finality of it all truly sink in. I obviously recognize that you died, that we can't be together. I just thought I'd somehow still be able to talk to you. It sounds ridiculous, I guess. But to think that the world will never see your face again or hear your voice...to think that I will never be able to hug you... just all seems so final. Even 365 days later, it makes no sense. So I'm writing you this letter. And I do know that you'll find a way to respond... somehow, some way. <br />
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Is it vain of me to think you know what's going on in my life? I like to think you watch over me, that you sort of guide me, and probably also critique a lot of my moves. I also partially blame you for pointing me in some wrong directions shortly after you left. Or maybe just not doing anything other-worldy to intervene. I know you just were trying to help me feel better. But where I am now, I love. And I know you brought me here. I also know you have a bunch of people to look after, so thanks. :)<br />
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Is it weird for me to talk to you about Danny? I know you sent him to me. You knew he would love me, and more importantly, that I would love him more deeply than I ever imagined I could love someone. I know you must be sad that you and I didn't get to have the life we wanted, but I imagine you have complete clarity now...that it somehow makes sense to you. There was a time I was so convinced I'd never be happy again, and Danny has changed that entirely. <br />
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It's hard to believe a year ago today I was saying goodbye to you. This year has changed me so much. I feel like there's so much to tell you. <br />
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You know what makes me laugh sometimes? I hear your silly voices in my head. Or I crack up at a the 1877 Cars-4-KIDS radio commercial. Bc we both freakin' hated it. I listen to "Better" and all I can picture is you playing it on your keyboard in your room...and me video taping it...and you getting mad...and making me delete it. I wish I still had it now. <br />
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For the most part, I have a hard time watching videos of the two of us. It forces my heart to feel too much...to remember what's been lost. I am one big barrell of defense mechanisms. I can sit here and write about the bad memories and even talk about them, but I have severed the connection that tells me all of this stuff actually happened to us...to you...to me. The worst part is my brain has a hard time letting me remember good stuff, too. There's too much emotion, too many memories. It's like it only allows me to remember so much before my attention span makes me focus on something else. Yeah, yeah I know...you're a big believer in therapists... but you know how you just get tired sometimes? Tired of making yourself talk and remember?<br />
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I started school this week. It was probably the hardest thing I've had to do in a long time. Besides my usual nerd-anxiety, it was just hard. Being there, remembering last year and the last time I ws there, was just really really hard. I know you wanted me to finish school. I like to think you're proud of me. <br />
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I want you to know I never forget you. You are on my mind so much, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of you. I think we both were really lucky to have had the time we had together. That doesn't mean I'm not pissed as hell that your time was cut short. If anyone could have changed the world, it was you.<br />
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When I think of exactly 1 year ago, the main thing I remember about you dying, is that all I kept saying over and over in my head was that I needed to make sure you weren't afraid. And also asking God, if he was listening in those moments, to please not make it drag out too long. Because you at least deserved a peaceful exit...and for the selfish reason that I didn't think I could handle much more. I wish you could tell me I did a good job...that I made you feel safe and loved and as fearless as you could have been in those moments. <br />
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I will never truly get over you.. I will always talk about you. I will always carry you with me. You will forever be the bravest person I've ever known. You will always be the person who impacted my life the most. You will always be with me. I promise to always make up silly songs. I promise to never stop laughing at our inside jokes. I promise to try to use correct grammar. I promise to try to be the person you saw in me. I promise to try and like the Super Bowl. I promise to love the way you taught me to...intensely... unconditionally...and live the way you showed me...without fear..<br />
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I will always love you.<br />
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Till the year 4001.<br />
<br />
LacifaceLaci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-15227967240619530352013-01-10T12:32:00.002-08:002013-01-10T12:32:08.626-08:00Winter<br />
Winter is a difficult time for me. The holidays were obviously difficult with Jon no longer here, but it's more than that. I mean, every part of the year is difficult knowing Jon isn't with us. Winter is just particularly brutal.<br />
<br />
As happy as I've been, I can't help but remember how difficult last winter was. Not only was it sad because Jon and I didn't do much celebrating, but the winter itself seems to spark vivid memories I wish I could erase.<br />
<br />
The cold wind reminds me of trying to bundle Jonathan up for our trips to the clinic. It reminds me of struggle. Struggling to get him out of bed and dressed. Layer after layer, hoping to shield his frail body from the bitter Manhattan wind. Struggling to walk down the steps with him leaning on me while simultaneously trying to hold the door open. Struggling to make sure he was sitting or leaning somewhere steady so I could get us a cab. Struggling to get into the cab. Struggling to get him out of the cab. Struggling to run and get a wheelchair or try and arrange a nurse to meet us with one. I would often push Jonathan to try and walk the few steps inside. Looking back, I feel incredibly guilty for that. I was just so sure he'd get better, I didn't want him to stop trying. It seemed like a small feat... just a few steps into the lobby, but I know now it must have seemed like a daunting task for him at the time. And he usually was willing to try, just for me. It makes my eyes well up with tears just thinking about it. <br />
<br />
Part of me thinks if I had known, maybe I would've been easier on him. Maybe I wouldn't have EVER mentioned how hard things were for ME. Maybe I wouldn't have let him see me cry as much as he did. But then I stop and think, he knew me better than that. I have to believe in my heart of hearts that he knows I only wanted the best for him, that I only wanted him to have the life he deserved, and that when I seemed upset or frustrated, that I was so angry at cancer, not at him... never at him.<br />
<br />
I have to remind myself I am only human. Last winter, my life shattered piece by piece... I think I was allowed to cry. I think Jon would've known I was faking it if I hadn't broken down in front of him.<br />
<br />
Starbucks in the winter reminds me of my small window of free time where I'd run to get a latte while Jon's parents or friends would stay with him. CVS in the winter reminds me of the daily visits to pick up new prescriptions. Coats with fur lining remind me of Jon's awesome jacket I bought him for Xmas (and gave him early). Slippers remind me of the slippers he insisted on wearing inside and outside of the house. My plain back heels just remind me of the cemetery, the sunny February day of Jon's funeral. I have, without a doubt, some form of PTSD. The hardest part is people. Certain people remind me of last winter... certain people bring me back to a place I just can't bear to go all the time. And I hate it, because it's not their fault or intention. Then again, I'm sure I am the trigger for some people as well. I hope someday that will change.<br />
<br />
Last year for Xmas eve, Jon couldn't come with me to see my family. Last year on New Years Eve, Jon had a seizure. Last year, my birthday came and went. And I was such a brat... so pouty that he wasn't feeling well for my birthday. That he wasn't "with it" for my birthday. Never really letting myself believe the reality that was before me -- that at some point in the future (which came more quickly than I ever imagined), I'd wish to never celebrate my birthday again if it meant Jon would be alive.<br />
<br />
There are little things I've come to miss that seem sort of silly. Almost a year without Jon, and yet I dialed his phone number the other night. It just rang and rang and this silly, hopeful part of me wished he would answer. I would've even been satisfied with hearing his voice mail message, but obviously that's gone, too. I know it doesn't make any sense, but I just wanted something concrete, something real to make me remember that he was here, not too long ago. Pictures help, but as I've said before, sometimes when I look at them I feel like I'm looking at someone else's life...like that's not me in the photos with him. What I find myself mourning more and more as time goes on, is the life Jon will never get to have. Even if you take me out of the equation, there's a part of me that wishes he was off living some great life like he should be. It would make me smile to know that he's happy somewhere. I tell myself he is.<br />
<br />
I know this post is heavy and I apologize if it brings you guys down. The truth is, I feel pretty torn. On the one hand, I am UNBELIEVABLY happy...so in love... and grateful for an amazing Christmas and winter so far. I think about last year and how it felt like things would never get better. And then Jon didn't get better... but somehow, my life has gotten better. Little by little the pain has lessened and I feel like I've found myself again. I feel calm and excited at the same time for everything to come. I finally feel like I'm myself... like I am capable of making rationale decisions again (haha)... like I'm getting my life back together.<br />
<br />
But there's always this little part of me, pulling, tugging at my heart, bringing me back and flooding my mind with painfully sad memories. And most of all, forcing me to remember who I was and the life I had... as well as the life I'll never get to have. I imagine it would have been a beautiful life with Jon. I KNOW it would have been. I grieved his death and with it the death of that imagined life we might have had.<br />
<br />
I also have come to realize, for reasons I might never understand, it is not the life I was meant to have. I also know without a shadow of a doubt that the one I WILL have will be equally as beautiful. <br />
<br />
With the one year anniversary of Jon leaving this earth coming up, I know the rest of the winter will be hard. I am grateful for the beautiful life I had with Jon, the beautiful memories that I know will someday soon overshadow the sadness. I am grateful for the beautiful life I am living right now. RIGHT NOW is amazingly perfect, honestly beautiful, warm and sparkling. I am surrounded by love every single day... on earth and from up above. I feel lucky. I feel like what I have experienced, what I've gone through, has only made me stronger and able to love more deeply. I am also so lucky to have someone who understands why I'm sad sometimes, listens to me talk about Jon, and even laughs at some stories. He loves me completely, even in my fragile moments. I'm honestly not sure if the tables were turned I'd be strong enough to be that unselfish.<br />
<br />
So when the cold wind blows, I will close my eyes and remember the love that surrounds me and keeps me warm. I will try to remember Jonathan smiling at me for that always warms my heart. Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-81929227720452121512012-11-14T10:10:00.002-08:002012-11-14T10:10:23.270-08:00Another Miracle
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Most of the time I am impressed with how far I’ve come. I can think about Jon and talk about
him, even talk about difficult memories, without breaking down into tears. It’s the moments that come over me out
of nowhere, the intense feelings that hit like a ton of bricks. It’s the times when I remember, all
over again, the tragedy that occurred in my life. A miracle and a tragedy – all wrapped into one, too-short
love story.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I sit here, clicking through picture after picture . . .
each a piece of our journey and I can see my own reflection in the background
of the computer screen. And every
so often, I have to remind myself that these pictures I’m looking at, are of
me. I was there. I was with Jon. He was here. We did this, we did that, we were happy. Sometimes I still don’t recognize that
girl anymore. Or maybe this girl .
. . I’m not sure. It feels like a
lifetime ago, and in some ways, it was.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>This </i>girl is
happy. Happier than I ever
imagined I’d get to be again. And
every single day I am surprised and grateful for the gift of true love . . . a
gift I have received not just once but twice, in my 26 years on this planet. A treasure I thought I would only
experience in memories for the rest of my life. A blessing I was sure I’d only get once in a lifetime. A miracle that I thought began and
ended with Jon. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I know, with every part of me, that he had a large part in
my second chance. He never wanted
to leave me. He was more afraid of
that than dying. Knowing Jon, who he was as a person, and the immense selfless,
unconditional love he had for me, I am sure he decided if he could not physically
be on this earth to love me for the rest of my life, then he’d pick the perfect
person to do it. And knowing the
way he truly knew me, he recognized that this love had to go above and beyond,
because I was SURE and 100% convinced I’d never experience that kind of love
again. He knew it would have to be
special. It would have to be right
in front of my face. It would have
to be intense and ‘you’re-an-idiot-if-you-don’t-get-it’ easy. It would have to include no room
for doubt, and also no room for comparison. He chose someone who was completely different than he was in
so many ways, yet so wonderful in so many of the same ways. He picked someone who would be able to
give me so many of the things I wanted in life that he could never give me
himself. He also chose someone who
would never attempt to write a song for me . . . he wanted to keep the upper
hand there. Haha He chose someone
he knew would love me the way he believed I should be loved, and most of all, someone
I could love back just as much. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Maybe this all sounds sort of far-fetched. Perhaps you think I have a false sense
of grandiosity. Maybe it sounds
like I think I’m some special case.
But the truth is, I don’t.
I just know how Jon felt about me.
How he saw me. And I will
never stop wondering why. Why he
picked me . . . why he loved me as much as he did . . . what he saw inside
me. And what I did to deserve that
kind of love . . . and why I’m somehow worthy enough to be loved like that again. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I have seen enough terrible things happen to good people to
know that not everyone gets a second chance. Not everyone gets “rewarded” or blessed after facing
heartache. Sadly, that’s not how
life works. But in my heart, as
hard as it is to find reasons for things, I believe there are reasons. I was meant to be by Jonathan’s side
for the rest of his life . . . but by some twist of fate, he wasn’t meant to be
with me for the rest of mine. I
will never understand that, but I <i>have to</i>
believe, he does. I like to
imagine he has perfect clarity now.
That he can understand everything.
That if anyone knows my future, if anyone sees a plan laid out before
me, he does. I hope he’s with me,
guiding me along the path I should be on.
Scratch that, I <i>know</i> he
is. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wrote a blog a long, long time ago about my difficulty
believing in God and committing to religion. I wrote that LOVE was my religion; because it was the only
thing I could feel when I closed my eyes . . . the only thing I could have
absolute, unconditional faith in.
That continues. LOVE is my
higher power. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I miss Jon constantly.
Mostly I miss his presence, what he brought to this world, and my
life. Sometimes, I miss who I was
before he left. We were so
hopeful, so convinced that we could take on the world. I hate that I’ve experienced such a
loss, and whether I like it or not, I know it has changed me as a person. I guess we are all shaped by our
experiences – good and bad. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am thankful.
For the miracle that was my time with Jon, for the personal angel I know
is always with me, for the belief and strength that relationship brought me,
for what I’ve learned and how I’ve grown as a person. I am thankful for that love story. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am grateful (and excited) for this new love story. For this person who was sent to me, who
understands who I am, <i>why </i>I am who I
am, and who loves me in a way that I pray everyone gets to experience at least
once in his or her lifetime.
He is everything I could ever hope to find. I was handed another miracle. </div>
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Lucky girl<3 nbsp="nbsp" p="p">
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Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-2553079647235564292012-09-27T11:49:00.000-07:002012-09-27T11:50:37.406-07:00To Live AgainI haven't written in quite some time. I think it's because there is just so much to say that it's difficult to write without jumping all over the place. Jonathan has been gone for almost 8 months. Sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago. Sometimes it seems like yesterday. And sometimes there are moments when it feels like I am re-living it all over again. Those are the moments I hate.<br />
<br />
I often think of Jon and it brings a smile to my face. I am so grateful, so thankful -- in ways I cannot put into words -- for knowing him, for being loved by him, for all the memories we shared, and all the ways he shaped who I am as a person. In the moments of post-traumatic stress when awful memories flash across my mind, I get angry. Those are not the moments I want to remember. That is not how I want to think of Jon. That sense of dread, sadness, and sometimes sheer panic... I know those are not the feelings Jon wanted to leave me with. Thankfully, those moments have become fewer. Over time, the happy memories, the heartwarming thoughts, have slowly but surely taken over and replaced many of the thoughts I'd rather not remember. <br />
<br />
I miss my friend. I miss his laughter, our inside jokes, our silliness. As in love with Jon as I was, I think the foundation of everything was our friendship. He knew me so well and losing someone who was so in-tune to who I am as a person felt like losing a piece of myself. I often find myself wishing for his advice. There were some dark moments throughout the course of the last 8 months when I was angry at him. I felt like he had let me down. I felt like he had abandoned me. I would pray and ask for his advice, for answers, and I felt like I wasn't getting any. Until... I did. <br />
<br />
My life has changed a lot in the last few months. I find myself smiling more than I have smiled in a very long time. I have found happiness and a sense of calm completion that I was sure I'd never experience. There is no doubt in my mind that Jonathan has everything to do with it. This person who is the reason for my happiness is undoubtedly one of the best people I have ever encountered in my 26 years on earth. And I am unbelievably surprised and grateful for the chance to be this happy. As I've said in previous posts, I was convinced I'd live the rest of my life feeling like I settled. Like it would never be as good as it "could" have been. But I don't feel that anymore. For the first time in a long time, I'm excited for the future. <br />
<br />
I don't know why I am this lucky. I don't know if I deserve it. But I know I will cherish every second. I know that Jon would want me to be happy. Knowing that for a fact allows me to jump headfirst into this new-found happiness. It allows me to soak it up, enjoy every second, and allow love to surround me.<br />
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<3 nbsp="nbsp" p="p"><br />
<br /><!--3--></3>Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-28949867448831290412012-07-29T19:23:00.003-07:002012-07-29T19:40:38.414-07:00Sweet SurprisesAs aspiring ballerinas, one of the greatest skills we were taught was the art of balance. My teacher would demonstrate how to center ourselves. She would help us place our arms in the correct position, and sometimes have us close our eyes. It wasn't just about not moving or falling to one side; the real skill came from learning how to essentially use your own body to stabilize yourself. By using our own muscles and strength, but making sure not to tense-up, we developed a fair amount of stability in our own bodies. Without holding onto anything at all, we held ourselves up.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I close my eyes and try to find that skill again. The world has been way too shaky for my liking. And there seems to be little I can do except to try not to fall over.<br />
<br />
Things have gotten so out of focus that the things I've been stressed about, I've come to realize, are not even the things I should be upset over. I lost Jonathan almost exactly 6 months ago. I've let myself hurt, and cry, and feel that unsettling realization, but lately, so much nonsense has somehow overshadowed it that it sets me back. My nature is to take care of people. Obviously, in my role as a pediatric oncology nurse, it's not only my nature, it's my job. But I tend to do it outside of the hospital as well. I want to help. I want to be there for people. I want to "fix" things. <br />
<br />
People tend to come to me with their problems, and for the most part, I'm happy to help. Trust me, if I care about you, there is nothing more important to me than your happiness. But there are times when I allow myself to be put second. And the truth is, I don't want to do that anymore. <span style="background-color: white;">My therapist says I'm "magnetic". I'm not sure if that's something a therapist is supposed to say, but she did. She says she gets why people are drawn to me. And I love that people talk to me, or want to. And I don't need someone to take care of me, but it might be a nice change of pace for a little while.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
I've been disappointed a lot lately -- in the world, in people, in myself, even. I'm not always the person I want to be. I don't always live up to the standards I hold others to. But I've been let down in such a way recently that has certainly shaken up this balancing act. When I believe in something, especially a person, it becomes my religion. There is nothing that can make me change my mind. If I love someone, there are very few things that person could do to make me change how I see them. I'll put up with a lot. I'll make excuses. I'll give the benefit of the doubt. It takes a lot for me to open myself up completely. (Vulnerability is not something I like to show to the world.) But when I do, it means everything and my heart is exposed. I know I'm not perfect, but I deserve for someone to believe in me, too. Not having this particular friend to hold onto surely makes staying upright even more tricky. But I'm managing. <br />
<br />
I have also been surprised lately. There have been moments of sweet surprises and exceeding of expectations. (And 'Happy Birthday-flavored' Oreos) And it reminds me that there is goodness in life. Those moments that make your heart happy... they will never cease to exist. No matter how many times your beliefs are crushed or how many people disappoint you, there will always be those times when your faith is renewed, and those select few who surprise you and don't let you down. Bad things happen. Everyone knows that. We all have our stories. But they don't define us. It's what we do after. It's how we recover. It's how our hearts say to our brains, "hey, I'm still here. I still work." It's whether or not we listen. <br />
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"Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let the pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place." <3</div>
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<br />Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-9163323359698310062012-07-11T19:20:00.000-07:002012-07-11T19:28:41.682-07:00Some Kind of Wonderful<br />
There were moments after Jon died when I was so afraid. I was afraid of the rest of my life. If I had already had something so wonderful, so beautiful, so extraordinary... if I had been loved that much, in a way most people never get to be loved, what were the chances I'd get to have that again? What were the chances I'd ever experience happiness like that again? The future looked like one big let-down. And though I wanted to believe I'd fall in love again, that I'd have the life I'd always hoped for, there was a part of me utterly frightened of living a life always knowing it 'could have been' better. <br />
<br />
What I have learned is quite the opposite. No one will ever be Jon, and that's okay. That life, our life together, is over. It will forever be etched into my heart and preserved in my mind as a beautiful memory. It will be the thing I am always grateful for. And he will remain a part of me for all eternity. But experiencing that kind of love, knowing it exists, only makes me want it more. Only makes me believe in it more, and believe in other people, in connections, in friendships... in everything. It makes me more open. And being loved in the way Jon loved me -- completely -- makes me recognize my own worth. A very wise woman who experienced an all-too-similar scenario said to me recently, "<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I get to have him be a part of my being and confidence in such a concrete way that most women our age don't ever get. We aren't desperate, we aren't t self conscious, we know we are worth loving and that our love is worth giving because we have been loved by real life angels that had no reason to HAVE to be with us.".</i> (Thank you for that, Bahar) :)</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I know what I'm worth, I know what I deserve, and I want to have it all. Jon loved me fully, completely. He made me a better person, and accepted my flaws. He knew me in a way most people never will. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I think little things are what make people beautiful. I think their quirks and understated unique qualities mean everything. Like the way they laugh or how their eyes sparkle, or the funny way they say a certain word. I look for those things in the people around me -- those special things that maybe no one else will notice. And I think that's why I love so intensely and quickly. I see past what other people see pretty fast, and fall in love with what makes them special.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I can picture myself in so many different situations that it's hard to see where I want to end up. I'm city and beachy and maybe a tiny bit country. I'm sensitive. I take things to heart. If I care about you, I will do anything for you. I'm devoted. I'm bratty. I'd pick salty snacks over sweet any day. I'm passionate. I can eat pickles right out of the jar. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I HATE when people say "calm down". It actually infuriates me. I hate tomato juice. I'm obsessed with sea turtles and owls and animals in general. Daisies make me smile. I think roses can be boring unless it's one perfect, non-red one. I have hundreds of lip glosses, but barely wear any. I used to think my stuffed animals had feelings and I'd take turns putting them on my bed so none of them felt left-out. </span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="line-height: 14px;">I can't sleep without a blanket on. I can fall asleep pretty much anywhere. I love unique one-of-a-kind things. I fully believe in the magic of dream catchers, the bracelet that I was told will protect me from evil spirits, and the ring I wear that symbolizes endless possibilities. Sometimes when I'm walking down the street and a little bird pops out, I think he's saying hi just to me. (Snow White complex?). I sing "Part of Your World" from The Little Mermaid in the shower...like all the time... since I was 4 years old. My parents say when I was a kid I'd never go to sleep because I was afraid I'd miss out on something. Cheez-its are amazing. I've never seen Star Wars in its entirety (I know, I know!). I think I was meant to be a mom. I'm pretty judgmental of how other girls dress, carry themselves, laugh... ok I guess girls in general. But it's mostly because I expect more from my gender, though I can't say I've never disappointed myself. I can rap "Gimme the Loot", either Biggie or Inf's part (thanks, Bon!). Coldplay and an iced coffee make me reminiscent of college. I think dogs are guardian angels. I think the nicest thing we can do for someone is to let them know we thought of them. I like to be thought of. :) </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="line-height: 14px;">When a moment is important to me, I memorize it... every aspect. And I can play it back in my head as if I'm there. Like when Jon told me he loved me, or Katie said "I still have a sister", or when my mom gave me a matching angel necklace when I was 8 so "we'd always be connected" or the way my dad got choked up at my high school graduation party. I notice the way someone says my name. I remember songs playing in the background. I find it hard to believe in coincidences. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 14px;">I don't know how to say more than a few sentences without incorporating some form of sarcasm in there. I think a lot can be felt in a simple touch.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="line-height: 14px;">I think I come across as pretty confident, but I'm actually self-conscious. . . a lot. I have a photographic memory. School always came fairly easily to me. I wanted to be a ballerina. . . I sort of was one, at least an aspiring one. I had modeling pictures done. . . once. (Only 3 people have ever seen them). </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 14px;">I obviously enjoy compliments about my physical appearance, but I secretly fear that I attract guys simply because they think I'm "hot" or want to get in my pants. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 14px;">I want someone to notice the way I say their name. Or the different color specks in my eyes. I want someone to not be able to control their own laughter when I laugh. I want someone to notice the beauty mark on my right cheek. I want someone to look at me with pride in who I am. I want someone who is thankful for how much I care for them. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 14px;">I think having a partner to go through this life with is a blessing. A teammate, someone you can count on. Someone who makes you a better version of yourself. Isn't that what we all really hope for? </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 14px;">I fear no fate. I'm not afraid of anything anymore. My heart is open. I've known more truth and felt more love than most people ever feel in a lifetime. I know who I am. I trust my heart. It's never been wrong before.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span>Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-54722584519630081202012-07-08T20:51:00.000-07:002012-07-08T20:54:49.526-07:00Nobody KnowsThere are things that no one knows. Things that even if I write them down, you'll never understand exactly what I mean, or what that particular moment was truly like. It's a burden of sorts, that I've described in previous posts. The person who shared each of those moments is gone. And I can't help but feel like half of a whole at times. <br />
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It's not all bad. There are wonderful things. Things that words cannot begin to give enough depth to. The way I was loved, for instance, is beyond words. But to have that taken away, seems to me, might be more horrible than never having experienced it. That's the negative side of my mind talking. I know I was blessed. I know how lucky I was. But it still doesn't seem fair. And that's because it's not.</div>
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Do I sound like two different people in this blog? Sometimes that's what it feels like. I'm excited about life, I'm positive, I feel lucky to have known such a love, I'm ready for the next chapter. I recognize my worth. Then other times I'm just sad. I miss my best friend. I feel like the rug got pulled out from under me. I can't help but feel some bitterness for the pieces left behind in the aftermath of an incredibly difficult time. All the energy -- physical, mental, emotional. In other words, I tried SO hard. And I know there was nothing else I could have done, but sometimes, it all seems so futile. So much effort. So much belief. So much hope. So many physical tasks, mental breakdowns, and so much unconditional love. So much beauty wrapped in so much pain. Wishing with every breath for things to get better. It was tiring. It overtook everything I did, overshadowed every thought. But then it was all over. </div>
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A few days before he died, Jon said he wasn't ready to leave me. He said he'd "be fine". He told me I could go to work and school and he would just wait for me at home. He said that was enough of a life for him. And it broke my heart to look at him and hear him say that. I would have traded my own life for him to have the chance for a better one. If I could have taken some of the pain, some of the nausea, some of the disappointment... if it meant he'd have one good day where he could feel good, and run, and play basketball -- I wouldn't think twice. And I mean that, even now. I wanted so much more for him, for the both of us. And we promised each other we'd never allow the other to settle. And there he was, dying, looking at me saying he would be content just to wait for me to get home from work. It was the end. I feel like we both knew once the words came out of his mouth, that there was no going back. I sometimes wonder if that's when he allowed himself to give up. In my weaker moments, I wonder if I allowed him to, and if it would have made a difference had I taken my usual "no -- you're going to get through this" position. But instead, I shook my head and let the tears flow. </div>
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There are things that nobody knows. There are flashbacks that pop up unexpectedly in my mind... things I must have blocked out. And I wonder how I'm still able to breathe. It's so silly, but there is so much guilt in my heart. When I was still working, Jon was my main concern...and I have such guilt for leaving him at home while I was at work. And so much resentment for not having been able to focus on anything but the intense anxiety over why he wasn't answering my phone calls or getting in touch with his doctor to figure out the next step. When I was out of work on leave, I was frustrated at how difficult it was to do everything. I did everything for him out of love, but I couldn't help but feel angry at the overwhelming task at hand. I think I was more frustrated at the fact that I couldn't fix him. It was pure powerlessness.</div>
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I learned to anticipate his every move. I could tell when a seizure was coming sometimes minutes before it would happen. I understood what he was asking for even during those horrifying times when his words didn't make sense. I would wake up the second I felt him stir during the night. I hooked up hydration. I heated up egg drop soup and easy mac. I washed him and changed his clothes, put his deodorant on, lotion on his skin. I cleaned and clipped his nails. And numerous other tasks that annoyed the hell out of him. </div>
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I remember one night getting so frustrated at him because he wouldn't answer me when I asked which ice cream he wanted. He would look at me and say "yea", when I called his name, but then not respond. At first I thought he was just being his usual day-dreamy self, but it occurred to me when I let it sink in, that he could not understand or formulate the answer. When he stopped commenting on sports games we were watching, I was terrified. I told myself it would pass. It was a side effect of the radiation. It was this, it was that... it was never the end. Until it was. And I tell myself I'm only human, but there are moments when I wish I could go back and be more patient, more loving. I know I gave him my all, though. I hope he knows that. </div>
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There are things nobody knows. How we talked about having "genetic all-star" babies. How we had secret hand squeezes. How we frequently told each other complete sentences with one look. How when I'd come home from work we'd "Team Shower" (sorry for any family members reading this -- TMI). How we always went to sleep spooning. How we ate Chick-a-rina soup at least twice a week. (Both of us grew up with it as our FAVE -- soul mates for real.) How we made fun of literally, everyone we knew... out of love, of course. ;) How our first fight was over face book. How he used to not like public displays of affection (that changed, real fast). How we said I was him with a vagina, and he was me with a penis. How we both said we wished we'd never met anyone else or been in any other relationships simply because they didn't compare. We'd say, "If I knew you were coming into my life..." </div>
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He taught me about basketball -- watching it, players, trades, March Madness brackets, and even how to shoot. We once played at the JCC after a concert event. We snuck off to the gym and I was in a dress and heels. When he was about to shoot, he stopped, looked at me with that look that always made me melt into a puddle and said "My girlfriend in tights -- there is a God." He taught me about The Beatles, musical terms (flat, sharp, pitch, etc), the combination of mayo & mustard = heaven, how to throw a football, how to wrap a wrap so it doesn't fall apart, Lox bagels, Mac computers, Photo Booth, beer pong technique. He showed me how to love unconditionally, how to be a better friend, how to fight without yelling (not great at that), how to calm myself after a panic attack, how to be a sister (seester). He taught me that lullabies weren't just for children. </div>
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There are moments nobody knows. Like the silly dances we'd make up in the kitchen while making omelettes. Songs about stick butter. Songs about windy beach days. Songs about balls and other things that would make 12-year-old boys giggle. <span style="background-color: white;"> I'll never forget how he looked at me the first time I got dressed up. </span><span style="background-color: white;">Things like that are forever recorded in my mind. </span></div>
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Sometimes the sound of his voice makes me smile. Sometimes it makes me burst into tears. Usually a little of both. I wonder if and when that will ever change. And then I wonder if I even want it to. </div>
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I once covered Jon's entire bedroom door and walls with yellow post-its. Each one had a different inspirational quote, or phrase about love, or inside joke. I just wanted to reassure him that I wasn't going anywhere, and even when I wasn't with him, the post-its would do that for me. (They are still hanging). I could use some reassurance. At a time when so much has changed, so much has been broken. Every little disappointment seems like another loss at this point. </div>
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There are things nobody else knows. Things I will keep in my heart forever. Some I will try to forget, or at least remember less. I can say with certainty that I was lucky. I can say without a doubt, I knew another human being like he was another part of me -- an extension of my heart. <span style="background-color: white;">But nobody knows what that love felt like. Nobody knows what that disconnect felt like when he was taken from me. I knew so much of Jon's heart. I wish I had a chance to know more of it. I wish I could have seen him on our wedding day, or as a father, a grandfather. Those are the things no one will ever know. And what I will always miss deep inside my heart. </span></div>
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Was I worthy of such a love? Of Jon? I'm not sure. But whatever it was that made him love me, I hope I still have some of it left. I know I carry him with me, and that's the best part of me. <3</div>
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</div>Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-38116789493916271382012-07-01T18:39:00.002-07:002012-07-01T18:39:37.187-07:00ShineI'm not sure why people like to read my blogs. I guess some of it is curiosity -- they want to see how I'm doing. Whatever the reason, my wish is that I'm able to provide some hope. Whether it is hope for love -- because I'm pretty sure I can prove it exists; or hope for strength -- because I like to believe I found some of that, too. Or maybe, more specifically, hope after a loss.<br />
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You don't get over losing someone. I will never "get over" losing Jon. I can guarantee that his family and close friends would have to agree. But in the very beginning of this journey through grief, I wasn't convinced I'd survive. It's not about being suicidal or anything like that, although I'm sure many people struggle with those thoughts, too. It's just that the pain is so intense. The emptiness, the constant state of missing someone, that void -- it's almost physical. It is by far the worst thing I have ever experienced.<br />
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It's weird because that loss is still overwhelmingly present, and I can't say it's necessarily gotten "better," but humans are resilient creatures. We adapt. It sounds really cold to say it that way, but we somehow learn how to live a new life. The hole is still there. We learn to walk around it. Inevitably, no matter how much time has passed, no matter how good we've gotten at maneuvering around that hole, sometimes we still fall in. But the difference is, now we're able to climb out of it, usually on our own. Occasionally it helps to have a hand pull us out. <br />
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And so, if you're currently experiencing a loss, I am so sorry for you. I can't tell you it will get better, but I can tell you you will learn how to survive. That doesn't make you miss them any less or diminish how much they shaped your life. I'm no expert, but I think the best thing I did for myself throughout this entire ordeal was to allow myself to be sad. I let myself break down, even at times when it wasn't convenient or even if it didn't make sense. Sometimes you need to let yourself feel the weight of your loss, or at least as much as you can tolerate. Otherwise it sneaks up on you and it's twice as heavy. <br />
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There were moments immediately following losing Jon where I was "proud" of myself for not being "a mess". But who cares? Be a mess. We all deserve that. And the people who love you will love you anyway. The truth is, it's not something to be proud of. I was numb in those moments. It's a defense mechanism. And it's only lately that I feel like I emerged from that darkness.<br />
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I like to believe Jon sends me inspirational things. It very well could be just me finding more beauty and inspiration in the world, but I like to think he has a lot to do with it. The sunshine when it feels extra warm sometimes. He sends me ladybugs and butterflies who insist on landing on me for longer than normal periods of time. And birds. Birds were always a thing for us. Right after I first met him, I was walking home one morning while it was snowing, and I saw two pigeons snuggling and 'kissing'. I know pigeons aren't the cutest birds around but for some reason it made me happy and reminded me of Jon. I texted him a picture of those birds.<br />
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In our apartment, we loved hearing the birds outside our window. Since Jon died in February, birds seem to always be around. There's one who stays perched outside my kitchen window all day. In Paris, a bird ate out of my hand. And at the park, they hang out by my blanket (even when I don't have food). Maybe it sounds bizarre, but it's comforting to me. <br />
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There are times when Jon's voice is so loud and clear in my head that it's almost as if he's standing next to me. I know how he'd react to most things. It makes me smile when during certain moments I think about what sarcastic comment he'd make if he were there, or dirty joke. It makes me sad when something happens that I know he'd be angry about or frustrated. It's difficult to watch people close to him make choices that I know he'd talk them out of. If only he could give us advice every once in awhile...we'd all be better off. <br />
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Jon was other-worldly. It's the only word I can use to describe him that fully depicts how truly one of a kind he was. As connected as we were (are), sometimes I don't even understand why he chose me. I don't have low self-esteem, but God, he was just SO good at everything, in every single way. He was so much better at life in general than most people, including myself. He had his faults, of course, but even his flaws were perfect to me. I legitimately loved the things I hated about him. And I like to think he felt the same about me. <br />
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I find myself re-reading my blogs and knowing Jon could say it so much better. When I talk to his family or friends, sometimes all I can feel is this inferiority, knowing if Jon were here, he'd make a better joke or have better words of comfort. There is a comfort in surrounding myself with people close to him, but at the same time, I know they are just wishing for him to be there... just like I am. I'm not Jon... and maybe sometimes, in some ways, I am the closest thing to him... but simply put, I can't compare. He shined. What I wouldn't give to stand in his light, simply smiling at him, laughing at literally everything he said. The most flabbergasting thing to me is I know he thought I lit up the room. He thought I shined, too. How lucky I was to have someone look at me that way.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">When Jon and I first started to become serious, he told me that he had spent an extraordinary amount of time "in his head" after he was diagnosed and while he was getting his initial treatment. He felt like he had learned so much about himself and grown so much. He told me he learned how to be alone, and he didn't want to do it anymore. That's where our expression, "get out of your head" came from...which later became, "get out of </span><i style="background-color: white;">my </i><span style="background-color: white;">head" because we always seemed to know what the other was thinking. I never really understood what he meant until recently. He's been gone for just about 5 months now, and I have spent an extraordinary amount of time in my own head. Maybe our darkest moments are when we grow the most. </span><br />
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I miss my friend, so very much. It boggles my mind to think that I'm only 26...that I have so many more years (hopefully) of living to do. <span style="background-color: white;">I do think my heart is more complete having been loved like that. I think I know myself better because someone loved all of me. </span><br />
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<br />Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-46340153721766419652012-06-27T21:15:00.002-07:002012-06-27T21:15:26.882-07:00iPod Shuffle<br />
I constantly have my headphones in. It's a weird obsession. I've always liked music, especially songs that make me feel something, but lately it's more than that. I don't want to be alone with my thoughts. Maybe the music drowns it out. Granted, I pick music that suits my mood and whatever situation might be going on...but I hate even walking down the block alone without my iPod on. <br />
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I think I'm doing ok. I mean, it doesn't really get any easier, but at least I feel like I can <i>feel</i>. I miss Jon as always, but I find myself missing him in different scenarios than before. I obviously miss everything, but my life is going on. And so I find myself missing my best friend... the person I feel like would have all the answers and advice I need. There is this overwhelming feeling of abandonment... I find myself feeling sort of angry that he's not there and he's left me to fend for myself...to figure out this already challenging life without him. I know it's not his fault, but I can't help it. Sometimes I want to just yell out his name and ask him what the hell he thinks I should be doing. I believe he's with me. He sends me signs and reassuring thoughts, but in all honestly, it's not enough. <br />
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It's amazing how life goes on...it just keeps moving. It's amazing how resilient the human heart is, even though mine was shattered into a million pieces, it's still hanging on. The human capacity for hope is astounding. We all desperately want to believe in something. <br />
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At work, we can be pretty quick to judge parents who are "unrealistic" about their chid's prognosis. But after going through this experience, I get it. It's not that they don't get it. I knew all the facts about Jon's prognosis. I heard it when the doctor said it was only a matter of time. But with every step forward, with every "good day" or improvement, my hope was renewed. I don't think our hearts let us accept defeat until it is absolutely inevitable. I couldn't truly accept it until his heart stopped beating. And it's not because I wasn't smart, or realistic... it's because I had to hold it together until there was nothing left to believe in. I could not have fallen apart before there was a true reason to. People who haven't gone through something like this will never understand what I mean by that. <br />
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And so I'm still here. I'm trying to figure out what that means. My heart still works, which is reassuring. But having gone through something like this, it makes it so frustrating to watch people just float through life...never rocking the boat, never taking risks, never challenging others or themselves. There is SO much life out there to be lived. And some of us, like Jon, never get a chance to live it. <br />
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I'm not who I was 5 months ago, that's for sure. But I know what love feels like. I know how to give my heart away, and how to cherish someone else's heart like it was my own. <br />
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No lesson in this life can be greater. And so the next person I give my heart to is luckier than he'll ever know.<br />
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<br />Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-91635138698878614572012-06-17T19:13:00.000-07:002012-06-17T19:13:13.106-07:00I'm Alive<br />
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<i>What sums it up is this: If I had dreamed up someone to be in my life, i'm pretty sure he'd be just like you. So when you look at me and see me smile and want to know what I'm thinking, now you'll have an idea. (3/2010)</i></div>
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I wrote the above in an email to Jon less than a month after we met. The night before, I had asked him why he liked me and he had given me a 15-minute profound list of reasons while he played with my hair. He was always good at words and the way he spoke made me lose my breath. He listed things about me that I didn't even recognize in myself. He didn't say the usual -- 'I think you're pretty and smart, etc.' He told me things like, my eyes had "their own light." I've never forgotten that night. I've never been so surprised by someone. I could literally feel myself fall in love with him. Not necessarily because of the things he was saying, but the simple fact of how he saw me. The simple fact of who he was. I've never felt more vulnerable than at the moment I knew my heart was completely in his hands.</div>
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I looked through an old email I'd sent after we got bad news for the first time. I went on and on about how I believed he would be okay and that we would be okay. I listed the reasons why and summed it up by saying there's no way God would be cruel enough to take him away from me. I said the universe wouldn't do that because then I wouldn't believe in anything anymore. It's painful to read those words now. And strange in a way, because I DO still believe . . . in everything. </div>
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I think our hearts only let us feel a little grief at a time. If we felt the true weight of it all, we'd collapse. And so we become numb in between. There's a tremendous sadness in that numbness. And I've only recently started to come out of that. I obviously felt the pain, the loss, the despair from the first moment. But those were the only emotions I really had room for in between trying to function in the world. Lately, I've realized I can feel other things, too. I can laugh and genuinely feel happy. I can feel pride, I can feel goodness in people, I can smile at happy memories, and most recently, I've come to the realization that I might even be able to feel love again. </div>
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The true depth of the realization that Jon is never coming back is still something that is unfathomable. It is something I re-feel again and again. But I think my heart (and brain) is gradually beginning to understand. And I've started to become myself again... and recognize my own worth in this world, without Jon and not defined by the trauma I've been through. I am someone separate and apart from Jon (though he will always be a part of me). . . separate and apart from this loss and all the preceding difficulties. I'm still everything that Jon loved about me. I still exist, and to put it in the simplest terms, I'm still alive. </div>
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And that's both tremendously difficult and incredibly inspiring. </div>
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Jon is gone from this life. And I believe some day, some way, somehow, I will see him again. Maybe he's my soulmate in every sense -- perhaps we've been together in multiple lifetimes. Whatever your beliefs are (and I'm not sure about my own), I know we remain connected. But, he is no longer "living". And I have a chance to. And I know he wouldn't want me to waste a second of it. As far as I'm concerned, there are no rules, there is no normal. I want to do what makes me happy. I want to make other people happy. The rest will work itself out. </div>
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<i><br /></i></div>Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-3153461243261940072012-06-03T20:28:00.003-07:002012-06-03T20:28:38.372-07:00More Good Stuff<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“In that book which is my memory,</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">On the first page of the chapter that is the day when I first met you,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Appear the words, ‘Here begins a new life’.” </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">― </span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5031312.Dante_Alighieri" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">Dante Alighieri</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/739042" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">Vita Nuova</a></i><br />
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The same is true for the day I lost Jon. <br />
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Tomorrow starts a new adventure for me. This trip to London and Paris came along at the perfect time. My coworker (and friend) Erin was nice enough to invite me to tag along on her long-planned vacation. She is the nurse who actually formally introduced Jon and I. For that (and many other reasons) I will always love her. <br />
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I'm so incredibly excited. I've wanted to travel to Europe for a long time. And since it was pretty last minute I had to switch what felt like a million shifts at work -- but somehow it all worked out. Maybe I'm meant to be on this trip for some reason.<br />
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June is obviously a difficult month, and I know traveling to another country will not necessarily make it less difficult, but it will be an incredible change of scenery. More than that, it serves as a reminder that there is more beauty in my world, and that more adventures lie ahead. <br />
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In a sense, I hate going on with my life. Some days it feels impossible. Every morning when I open my eyes I have to reaffirm that Jon is really gone. I do know for sure that he wants me to live... I know he'd be SO excited for me to be going on this trip, and he's probably smiling at Erin right now, so thankful she presented the opportunity. God knows I wouldn't have done the work myself. :)<br />
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I am slightly apprehensive. Every change is difficult. Every new move I make seems like a challenge, and as much as this is a vacation, it is another thing I'm doing without Jon, in this new reality that he does not exist in. Hard to explain, but I feel like some of you will understand. <br />
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I will take him with me in my heart, but that goes without saying. I know that on the way home I will still be wishing for him to be there waiting for me. <br />
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Whenever the two of us would get too focused on negative stuff, Jon and I would often say, "Nothing but happy memories from now on." Or "more good stuff." It was our way of redirecting one another (and sometimes both of us) away from harping on the bad, and recognize what we were grateful for and all the good that surrounded us. Sounds cheesy, I know. Here's to the first of (hopefully) many adventures, with Jon's love with me every step.<br />
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Au revoir. Cheers to more good stuff! <3<br />
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<i><b><span style="font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Il n'est rien de réel que le rêve et l'amour. (</span><span style="font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Nothing is real but dreams and love)</span></b></i><br />
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<br />Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-88039832627467396742012-05-31T20:32:00.003-07:002012-05-31T20:32:50.044-07:00If Life Were Fair<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If life were fair, tonight would be completely different. I'd be excitedly preparing for my wedding tomorrow, and probably stressing over something ridiculous like bouquets or napkins. Knowing Jon and I, we wouldn't spend the night apart. We'd probably stay up talking, anxiously awaiting the next day. Joking about our crazy relatives, silly friends, and saying we can't wait for the honeymoon. We'd talk about the future we had laid out before us. We'd practice saying my new full name. We'd go to sleep spooning, smiling, and knowing that the wedding, big or small, really came down to us. We'd know that the whole world would melt away as we said our vows. <div>
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If life were fair, SO much would be different. We never asked for it to be <i>completely fair</i>. I mean, we accepted Jon's illness. We thought that was enough. It makes me angry to think about all we went through and still didn't get the ending we wanted -- which was no ending at all. </div>
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But here I am. Walking around every single day with the enormous weight of the truth -- life is truly not fair. Jon is NOT here. And we will never get what we wanted. </div>
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I can sit here and lament all that was taken away from me, all that could have been, all the happiness we WOULD have had together. I can be angry that I met Jon and knew true love only for it to be stolen from me. And I do get mad. I do cry, often at weird times. But the place I always come back to is appreciation. It may sound weird, but I was loved by an angel. </div>
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People always like to exaggerate the goodness of people after they die. "Oh so and so was just the best." But the funny thing is, with Jon, it's actually true. He was THAT amazing. He was THAT special. And we loved each other THAT much. I don't really know <i>how </i>he existed. I've never encountered someone with so much talent in so many different areas, with such sweetness, wit and intelligence, not to mention a beautiful face and a smile that could light up any room. He had a confident ease about him. He calmed people down with his presence. You had no choice but to laugh at his jokes. Even when we argued, I could not help but love him. The passion between us was undeniable. I was impressed by him, simply in awe. And he loved <i>me</i>. </div>
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This path that I'm on will never be what I imagined. But I do know I will try to fill it with as much happiness as I can. I know that someone like Jon existed. I know that a love like ours was real. I will never be ok with anything less than everything. I would rather never love someone again than settle for anything less. </div>
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6.1.12 will always represent a dream. The day we planned for and talked about. It was the first step toward the rest of our lives together. It will always remind me of what might have been. Maybe we wanted it so bad to prove that we'd make it...that we <i>could</i> have a future. That we were winning. <br />
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I have no question in my mind that Jon was my other half. A big party wouldn't have changed a thing. He wears a wedding band that represents our commitment to one another...that we belonged to each other. <br />
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In one of our earlier emails, Jon and I talked about bad things happening to good people. He said he was very aware that that happened and so he never felt singled out by the fact that he got sick. He said it made him not want to believe in God though, which of course made him feel like we were sort of alone in the universe. We discussed which was worse -- to imagine a God who allowed these things to happen or worse, <i>made</i> these things happen, or to believe we are completely on our own. We never really reached a conclusion. <br />
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Losing Jon has certainly rattled my already skeptical faith. But I do believe SOMETHING brought him into my life. And for that, I am forever grateful. <br />
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Love was our religion. It was always hard for me to "feel" God's love, like they taught in all my years of Catholic school. I never grasped the idea that God was always with us, though I wanted to. It's ironic but it's <i>so easy </i>for me to feel Jon around me. I can feel his love. I believe in it wholeheartedly. It is the one thing I have unwavering faith in. <br />
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The tattoo I just got on the side of my wrist is the word "Love" in Jon's handwriting (traced from a letter he wrote me a long time ago). It means many different things to me. It obviously serves as a reminder of Jon's love for me, the love between us, but it also is reminder of our belief that love was the answer to almost every question. It also reminds me to love. I took such a risk loving Jon. It was worth it. The word etched into my skin will remind me to never hold back out of fear.<br />
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Jon and I discussed having children often. He was afraid of leaving me alone with babies (we were always pretty realistic about the possibility). But we decided, they were better off having him as their father even if he wasn't around for long, than most kids are with dads who are around their entire lives. I told him that I was proud because I'd be able to tell our daughter (or son) someday that true love really exists. I'd be able to tell them firsthand. <br />
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I don't know where this path is headed or who will be beside me. But I do know for sure that I will still be able to, without question, impart the knowledge of true love to my child someday. Being loved the way Jon loved me will shape every move I make. It has somehow made me a calmer, stronger person. I am a better version of myself because of having Jon in my life. <br />
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I wish with all my heart I could wake up and the last 4 months would just be a terrible nightmare. To have such beauty, such possibility in front of you and then to have it grabbed out from under you, is perhaps one of the most soul crushing experiences I'd imagine one could face. But our love serves as a protective shield around me, softening the blows of such tragedy. <br />
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Tomorrow will be difficult. So will the next day. But somehow, the good still outweighs the bad. <br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">"I LOVE you with a love beyond love. And with every single part of me, I love you completely." -- JHS</span><br />
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<br /></div>Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-44692683600165134992012-05-21T22:51:00.001-07:002012-05-21T23:06:26.249-07:006112<br />
"There is an ache in my heart for the imagined beauty of a life I haven't had, from which I have been locked out, and it never goes away."<br />
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This quote really struck me. It's been almost 4 months without Jon. I've been wondering why it seems lately it's almost been harder for me than in the weeks immediately following Jon's death. I think there are a lot of factors, the major one being this: I was supposed to be getting married in 10 days. </div>
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Jon and I used to joke around about teleporting. We would often be at the hospital after a long day of treatment, and we'd look at each other and one of us would say, "Ugh, I wish we could just teleport home." I feel like I've teleported in a sense. This life that I'm living, feels like another dimension away from where I was. That's not to say I don't have happiness in my life -- I do. The ache that comes with missing Jon has just become a pain I am growing accustomed to. It's ironic in a way. Jon dealt with so much pain because of his disease, and we talked about him having to "live with it" and "deal" with it for the rest of his life. We had stopped searching for a cure, and were coming to terms with "living with it." Jon never wavered. He accepted the aches and pains he felt in exchange for being alive. I was always in such awe of him. How could he be that strong? He rarely complained. Pain was just a part of life for him. And now I know that I will feel the pain of missing him for the rest of my life -- it's just a part of life for me. If he could deal with so much, with so much strength and integrity... and if he loved me as much as he did... the least I can do is find my own strength. </div>
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The reality of all that has happened still seems so unfair. June 1, 2012. I talked about the date so often. We mailed Save the Dates, we picked out the members of our bridal party, I had my wedding dress. The band, photographer, and venue were all picked. Deposits were in. Priest and Rabbi were on board. We decided that 6.1.12 would be our code for everything. When we had a house someday, we decided 6112 would be the garage code. When Jon was confused in the Emergency Room one awful night and could barely answer questions, the doctors were unconvinced that he recognized anyone. With tears in my eyes I asked him, "Jon, what's our garage code going to be?". After a 10 second blank stare, he whispered "6112". He knew me. He always knew us. From that moment on I promised to never listen to anyone's opinion again... I knew Jonathan better than anyone. I could feel in my heart that he always recognized me, that he always carried "us" in his heart, regardless of how confused he might've seemed. He may not have known where he was in that moment, but he knew he had me. And he knew our garage code. </div>
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We had our life all planned out. Wedding in June. Start trying to have kids in the winter. Finish graduate school next May. Move to Westchester or somewhere else with grass. Love Love Love. The rest we'd figure out. </div>
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Now, the canvas is blank. I don't have ANY idea what my future looks like. The image of "normal" has changed so much. Though I can't tell you what decisions I will make, I have decided to live according to the following principle: Do what makes you happy. I don't care what I <i>should </i>be doing, or what the most practical thing is, or what people think, or what is <i>normal</i>. I care about making myself happy... and making the people I care most about happy. Not to be cliche yet again, but life is TOO short. We put things off, put dreams on hold, act according to the norm, and life keeps moving, it never stops to wait for us. If you're lucky, your 5-year-plan works out the way you imagined. But sometimes, things happen. We lose people we love. People who should have gotten to do amazing things and had the ability to change the world are taken from us. </div>
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I personally believe Jon has had a hand in a lot of things that have happened in the last few months, in my life and in the lives of the people closest to him. I like to believe he will continue to play a part in helping guide my future. Regardless of what your spiritual beliefs are, or whether you think that just sounds crazy, you should know that no matter what, Jon will play a role in my future, if only for the fact of how he shaped the person I am. My heart is big. I know I will love again. I can sit here and say I won't, but that's just not who I am. I don't have any idea what that love will feel like or look like ... but knowing I have the capacity to keep loving -- things, animals, people, life -- is comforting. But I shouldn't be surprised. Jon wouldn't have left me alone in despair. He knew I would be okay... more than okay. I just have to remind myself of that from time to time. </div>
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I would love Jon all over again. Knowing what I know now, feeling the hurt I feel, I would not change a thing. In fact, I'd tell him I loved him even <i>sooner</i> than I originally did, (although he may have gone running in the opposite direction at that point lol) because the fact of the matter is, I knew. Why do we wait? Why do we analyze everything so much? LOVE should be, (and based on experience, IS) the simplest thing in the world. You either love someone, or you don't. And you're either <i>willing</i> to love someone, or you aren't -- but even if you aren't willing, you still love them. LOVE is a fact. </div>
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I wouldn't wish tragedy on anyone. I hope none of you ever have to know the pain of living with your heart broken because of the absence of another person. But I do hope people will start to live like they've been forever-changed. I hope something sets off a spark inside of you that makes you live better. It took me loving and losing Jon to realize so many things about life. And maybe I sound cliche, or overly emotional, or dramatic. I don't expect everyone to understand. I also can't sit here and say I understand the key to living. I'm a mess sometimes. I definitely do not have it all together, not in any way, shape, or form. But the foundation is there. I know the foundation of everything is love. </div>
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I've gained so much from knowing Jonathan, and from being loved by him. He revealed so many truths about me. I've learned things about myself, including strength I never knew I had. He taught me to be more patient (still working on that one). He helped me realize that when I'm yelling I don't make any sense. He helped me to see that sometimes when I'm being bratty or unreasonable, I'm really just sad or worried about something completely unrelated. He taught me about loyalty and trust in a way I never knew before. It is typical that we take out most of our anger/frustration on those closest to us... we push those people away as hard as we can. Jon never left my side, no matter how hard I pushed. And in doing so, he taught me to trust the world. He showed me that unconditional love exists. He taught me how to make a really good omelette. He taught me how to share. He showed me that it was possible to love EVERYTHING about someone -- including things you hate. He brought out a smile in me that I'm not sure I will ever have for anyone else. He taught me to stay calm. (Working on that one, too.) He brought a sister into my life. He gave me a love and appreciation for music that I never had before. He made me like basketball, which makes my boy patients think I'm way cooler than I actually am. He made me love myself, just a little bit more. He made it so that I will NEVER settle. </div>
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I don't think it needs to be said, but obviously if I could have ANYTHING, it would be Jonathan, next to me, healthy. I would trade in 100% of the so-called knowledge I've gained about life. I would give up all the strength I've built. I'd give up everything. But that's not how life works. And I can hear Jon's voice in my head, egging me on, encouraging me to keep going and to truly live. </div>
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6.1.12 is just one of many days that won't be lived the way I originally imagined. Yes, obviously a wedding is a big deal, but 6.2.12 is just as hard. As is 6.3, 4, 5 and so on. The next hundred million days are hard...because they will never be what they "should have" been. Jon and I used to say we'd love each other until the"year 4001." If I've learned anything it's the following 2 things: 1) No amount of time would have ever been enough or made it any easier to be without him. 2) I will love Jonathan way longer than the year 4001. </div>
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So things don't always turn out the way we plan. That doesn't mean there won't be more important dates in my life. Or beauty, or love. It just means Jonathan's memory and all that he is will go with me. In my heart. In my DNA. I am forever-changed. </div>
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<br /></div>Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-70900524223888096652012-05-15T14:27:00.002-07:002012-05-15T14:27:35.619-07:00When It RainsFor the most part, I think my blog posts tend to end on a positive note. My thoughts tend to resolve that way as well. People always tell me they are impressed by my strength and my fortitude throughout this entire ordeal. They tell me I'm so "positive". And maybe I am. But in order to reach that positive place, I first have to sift through all the negative. In order to remember the happy, I have to wade through the abyss of sadness. This happens over and over again, pretty much on a daily basis. It's a process that I don't really share with many people. So when they ask me how I'm doing, and I say "the best I can", it's the complete truth. The good memories with Jon completely outweigh the bad, but the hard stuff was harder than I can ever really put into words. <br />
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Maybe the hardest part for me is that a lot of the difficult stuff Jon and I faced, was faced by the two of us alone. And so without him here, it often feels like there is no one left who really gets it. Don't get me wrong -- we had help. His parents, my mom, his best friend, Dan, his other friends, Katie, the list continues...but at the end of the day, it was the two of us. And when he was confused, it was really just me. And so sometimes it feels like I am left to carry those difficult memories on my own. I know there are plenty of people willing to share the weight, but it's really not something anyone can truly understand.<br />
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I have shared a lot in terms of the bigger events that occurred. Jon's death, for example. And as detailed of a description as I gave, the truth is, no one was there except me. I know I did everything I could have for Jon, and that includes NOT doing anything during the last hour of his death. I respected his wishes, and every decision we made, or I made, was done with pure love. But that doesn't make it easier to know I literally watched him die... every moment in that process -- although as peaceful as I could have asked for -- will stay with me for the rest of my life. Having to call his mother. Having to call his doctor. Having to call his best friend. Trying to dress him after he died so he wouldn't be in boxers when his family arrived. Arguing with the paramedics who, hours after he died, questioned my intentions because we didn't have a DNR in the apartment. Picking out the shirt he would wear in the casket. Hiding in the bathroom while the funeral director carried his body out because I couldn't bear to watch that. <br />
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But there are so many other things people don't know about. Our daily routine became so far from normal, but I tried to convince myself (and other people) that it was just a bump in the road -- that Jon would recover, and things would return to the way they'd been. <br />
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When Jon began having numbness/weakness in his left leg, we figured it was a side effect from the chemo. Watching my tall, strong boyfriend's leg completely give out was horrifying. But I was able to help him get back up, and so we went about our lives, adjusting as usual, to whatever new obstacle we were faced with. We walked more slowly. He would lean on me a little. And then it became a lot. The last few months, I either walked beside him, most of his weight leaning on me, or behind him with my hands on his waist, guding him and making sure he didn't lose his balance. Again, I told myself, and Jon that he would get stronger. We decided on physical therapy, nutrition supplements, anything we could think of ... never talking about the possibility that this may not get better. My back was killing me. I told him to put as much weight on me as he needed to, and he was pretty thin at that point, but it was difficult for me. When I was still working and then dealing with that, my back was pretty much shot. But I never let him think he couldn't rely on me. I would have done anything to make him feel safe -- to make sure he wouldn't fall. Once, he lost his balance and despite my best attempts, both of us hit the ground outside our apartment building. My arm was throbbing, but I got myself up, somehow got him to his feet, and we continued. It is amazing the strength love gives you -- both physically and emotionally. <br />
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The first time Jon had a seizure, it was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. I had just gotten home from class. Jon had been at the clinic with his mom all day getting chemo, and she had just left the apartment. Jon was in the bathroom, and I suddenly heard a crash. I ran to the bathroom, but the door wouldn't open. I called his name, but all I heard was him moaning. I assumed he had fallen and hit his head or somehow gotten seriously hurt. I could see him through the crack of the door, on the floor, his leg blocking me from opening the door. I started yelling, "Jon, I know you're hurt but you have to move your leg, I have to get in. Please, just move your leg so I can get to you." Somehow he did, and as I rushed in and tried to help him up, I could tell something was seriously wrong. He couldn't answer my questions. His body was trembling. I was unable to get him to his feet and he was breathing strangely. The first thought in my head was "seizure," but I didn't really know what to think. I grabbed my phone and called 911. Then called his doctor. Then his mom. Then sat there with his head in my lap, crying and screaming, "please be ok, please be ok, please be ok..." over and over again. I quickly got up to grab a bag to throw some stuff into (as I assumed we'd be staying in the hospital). Jon started to become more alert, and was eventually able to sit up. By the time the paramedics got there, he was able to answer questions, but appeared confused. And then everything changed from there.<br />
<br />
That was one of the worst nights of my life. It was probably the first time I ever truly feared I might lose Jon. I remember so many bittersweet and horrible memories after that point. Jon not being able to stand up without wrapping his arms around my neck and having me pull him up. IV fluids at home, a crazy medication regimen, attempting to control his pain, anti-seizure medications that only worked for a few days before we'd have to increase the dose. Jon not eating anything except easy mac and egg drop soup. Jon not being able to answer questions. Trying to get him from the apartment to the hospital for clinic visits. Him fainting and having a seizure outside of the hospital, and in the lobby of our apartment building, and in our apartment on New Years Eve. The stupid inexperienced doctor who told me Jon had a brain bleed and tried to call neurosurgery. Jon being confused and agitated while trying to get a CT scan. The unsympathetic tech who tried to tell me I couldn't go in with him. The nurses in the ER telling me I would be "blessed" because of everything I did for Jon. And yet I still believed things would get better.<br />
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I don't think I let myself fully see Jon's deterioration while it was happening. Now, looking at pictures it's so clear to me how sick he really became. And I'm amazed we had as much time as we had. I know it was nothing short of a miracle that he came back to me for a month after being so confused. But I will never forget the faraway look in his eye when he didn't know what was going on. I will never forget him trying so hard to sing, but being completely off tempo and forgetting his own lyrics. I will never forget the look of pain on his face when the headaches were at their worst. I will never forget the sadness in his eyes when we talked about saying goodbye. I also will never forget the love in his eyes that was present throughout it all. Or the sweet smile he gave me after I got my haircut a few weeks before he died. <br />
<br />
My planner from 2011/2012 is filled with chemo dates, scans and doctors appointments. When we started one medicine, when we changed to another, each seizure, each blood transfusion... And in addition to that, when the rent was due, when the cable and electric bills were due, food shopping, picking up prescriptions and getting the laundry done, not to mention attending class when I could. I was a busy girl, and somehow, I did it. Now it seems like the simplest things are so challenging. I guess I need a break. <br />
<br />
And after I reflect on all of this, I am able to remember the good things. I hope one day, the good things will be at the forefront of my memory, rather than buried beneath so much hardship. In the beginning of our relationship, Jon and I talked about the day when all this cancer stuff would be nothing but a bad memory. We swore we would then work so hard to replace every bad memory with something good. Well, I have more than enough amazing memories with Jon to do that. And I know Jon would want me to continue making happy memories, and cherishing every happy moment. <br />
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"The human heart is made from the only substance in the universe that can be made stronger, after it's been broken." <3Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-83202046214605856322012-05-12T19:19:00.000-07:002012-05-12T19:19:00.615-07:00Find what you live forI've always believed in signs. Very few things are coincidences to me; most occurrences have meanings. When I lost Jon, I was convinced our bond, our connection would continue. I thought I'd feel him around me every single day... that he'd find ways to send me messages or dreams to help guide me along this horrific process. I've shared with you a few moments I have experienced in which I really <i>felt </i>Jon's presence, but what I may not have communicated is that overall, I've been sort of disappointed. It started the moment I knew he was gone. It was such a profound feeling of loss. Of emptiness. And the undeniable truth that he was no longer there. <br />
<br />
People always told me that they thought Jon and I were extremely connected. We even had a few strangers come up to us and say we just looked like we belonged together. (One being a random xray tech). And they weren't talking about physically. It was just a fact.<br />
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I haven't had any dreams since about two weeks after he died. I feel Jon within me -- in the ways that he changed me, and the person I am. I feel him when I'm laughing at something I know he'd crack up at. I feel him when I'm excited because the Knicks just won. I feel him when I know a little bit more of what to say to a patient I'm taking care of, simply because I have watched someone go through it firsthand. I <i>feel </i>him because he is a part of me. But as far as spiritual encounters, so far I haven't experienced much. I was in the shower earlier this evening and set my iPod to shuffle (which I never do).<br />
<br />
Out of 796 songs, the first one that came on had no real meaning to me. When it was just about finished, I thought to myself, "Jon, please send me a 'Jon song'." Three seconds later, the next song to play was "City Lights" by Jon and his band Almost 6'6". Out of 796 songs, 19 of them are Jon's band. Coincidence, perhaps. But regardless, it was exactly what I needed to be reminded that Jon is present. That he <i>hears</i> me. That was incredibly comforting, and also heartbreaking. He can't be that far away, can he?<br />
<br />
Take a look inside yourself<br />
cuz deep down ya know there's no one else<br />
decide who u wanna be<br />
cuz no ones ever gonna let you be<br />
<br />
This new reality. This new "normal"... it's not easy to get used to. It still shakes me to the core and catches me off guard sometimes that Jon is not coming back. Though I know it every second of every day, sometimes the simple thought of it is enough to bring on a sudden flow of tears. I'm starting to realize this isn't going to get easier. It's just a part of me. It's a part of everyone who loved him. And we are all just trying our best. <br />
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I know what I had. And I appreciate it more than I can explain. I don't think most people get to experience love like that. So I wonder if I'll ever be loved like that again. I don't say that to be dramatic or to look for pity, I just don't know what the odds are. Then again, I never was one for statistics. <br />
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No one will ever be Jon. And that's okay. I don't want another Jon. If I could have Jon, himself, then obviously there's no question. But I'm a different person. I look at life differently. I look at myself differently. I hope there is is someone out there who will love me even half as much as Jon did. <br />
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I know that going through what I went through doesn't necessarily give me license to say whatever I want, but sometimes it's so frustrating to be surrounded by people who don't appreciate what they have. I am severely bothered by people who settle, by people who don't see their own potential. I am so utterly impressed by people who take chances. I am disappointed in people who act like they have all the time in the world. Jon and I always knew there was a possibility of tragedy in our story -- and so maybe that's part of why we tried to appreciate our love a little bit more. We had our moments, for sure, where we acted petty or childish and took one another for granted. And looking back, I wish I could have treasured every moment just a little bit more. It will never be enough. And I will never get those moments back. But what I know for sure is, he knew he was loved. And so did I. And that kept us going through so many difficult moments. In our silliness, we called it a "love forcefield", and as funny as that may sound, it was. <br />
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There was never a time Jon was standing in front of me where he couldn't see the love in my eyes. We were generous with our kind words, with our "I love you's", with our hand squeezes and knowing looks. And when we fought, we fought hard...and always ended up back on the same team in the end. I'm so very proud of us. And I wish, with all of my heart people would take our story and change the way they live their lives. <br />
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You don't get handed love every day. Connections don't form easily. I think coincidences are far less common than we lead ourselves to believe. Take a moment to realize what's around you -- what gifts you've been handed. Focus less on doing the "right thing", or what people might think, and listen to your heart. There's a reason it beats fast sometimes . . . you can't use your mind to rationalize your way out of those feelings. Tell people how you feel -- out loud. Don't hold grudges. Hug tightly. Think less, feel more. Yell. Cry. Laugh. Hold onto the people who keep you sane. Recognize it when you find the person who makes you whole.<br />
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Yes, Jon and I knew our time was threatened. But isn't everyone's?<br />
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"Find what you live for . . . "<br />
<br />Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-71181365819059360122012-04-28T19:11:00.000-07:002012-04-28T19:11:01.400-07:00Jonathan the FearlessTomorrow morning is the Hope & Heroe's Walk for pediatric cancer. Although always a cause near and dear to my heart, this year is obviously incredibly different. As captain of Team Jonathan the Fearless, I will lead close to 40 people in light blue t-shirts on a walk in Jonathan's memory. I was pretty excited when I started organizing this walk. It felt like such an amazing way to honor Jonathan and the struggle he faced. In addition, the foundation raises money for the clinic where Jon was treated, as well as many patients and families I have grown to know and love over the years. It was never really about the money for me, but the generous donations we have received could truly change lives for children with cancer. For me, it was more about the "team". The people closest to Jon -- the ones who loved him most -- joining together to remember him. Jon was so worried he would be forgotten. If he is looking down on us tomorrow, he will surely see how silly that notion is. <br />
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The truth is, I carry Jon with me everywhere I go. I don't need a t-shirt with his name on it or a big organized walk. Every step I take, every action, every movement toward a future for myself, I do with Jon in mind. I know that the family and friends closest to Jon understand what I mean and live their lives in a similar fashion.<br />
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As tomorrow morning draws closer, I find myself feeling angry and sad. I wish things were different. I mean, I wish that every second of every day. I wish Jon and I could walk together. I wish we could walk in remembrance of the struggle he faced, the battle he had won. He <i>deserves</i> to be here. He <i>should</i> be here. I can't seem to let go of the anger I feel for the fact that he's not. I constantly feel the world moving forward, myself included. It doesn't stop moving. It's a strange thing, actually. But most moments echo with the thought that Jon should be here for this. For everything. Accepting over and over again that he won't be, is the hardest part for me. <br />
<br />
I appreciate the support that surrounds me. The love that surrounds Jonathan and his memory. I've said it before, but Jon brought some of the best people I've ever come across into my life & I feel lucky in that aspect. I know there will be tons of people I can count on tomorrow -- to lean on, to hug, to laugh with. We're all hurt. We're all angry. We're all sad. But we're all better people for having known Jon. <br />
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If we can keep moving forward... if we can carry that piece of ourselves that Jon brought out in us, the part he made better... then he will truly never be forgotten. <3<br />
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<br />Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-11838238170836210112012-04-20T19:54:00.001-07:002012-04-20T19:54:22.392-07:00That GirlI often wonder what Jon would be saying if he could see me. I like to think he can see me and that he's with me. I'm just not really sure how it all works. Sometimes it makes me sad when I look around and realize just how different things are... just how much my life and everything about it has changed. Simply put, how much I've changed. Sometimes it feels like I'm watching myself. There are moments when I feel like if I were still the person I was a year or two ago, I might be acting very differently. Typed words come easily, but actually talking and opening up seems so difficult. And if you know me at all, you know that I'm a very open person. I guess since losing Jon, it feels like a difficult task to open up my heart, to say words aloud. When I do, I'm often overwhelmed by how many emotions flow. Maybe it's easier to just stay closed up a bit. I feel like I have trust issues... I don't really see why. I mean, Jon himself never betrayed my trust. If anything, he exceeded any expectations I ever had about relationships. But I can't help but feel a little betrayed. By life. By the way things turned out. Maybe on some level, even by Jon. He promised he would never leave me. I know that promise was forced out of him after much pressure, and it was made with both of us knowing it was un-promisable, but it still feels like betrayal nonetheless. It is unbelievably hard for me to let people in who were not around before... people who don't <i>know</i> that part of my life... that part of me. I feel like what I've been through has shaped me so much as a person. So profoundly in fact, that I don't think anyone can understand who I am without knowing who I was. <br />
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I do feel Jon around me, just not in the ways people might expect. As much as I could never have been prepared for losing Jon, he did make some fundamental truths known to me before he died. He made it absolutely clear that I was loved, that he was proud of me, grateful for me, and that above ALL else, he wanted me to be happy. I feel lucky to know such basic yet significant things, without a shadow of a doubt. How many people can say that? All of the emotions I feel on a daily basis, all the sadness, the questions, the anger -- I NEVER doubt how Jon felt about me and what he'd want for me in this life. In fact, sometimes I can almost hear his voice in my head. We were so connected, I like to think I know what his reaction would be to most things. And although he is gone, I still feel so protective of him. When something happens that I KNOW would piss him off, I have to stop myself from fighting in his place. <br />
<br />
Mostly I feel him around me when I'm happy. I can't shake the feeling that if he is watching me, he is most happy when I am really laughing -- the kind of laugh that makes your stomach hurt. There is a moment mid-laugh when I can almost feel his eyes on me, and see his face with a huge smile -- smiling because I'm smiling. When someone is being sweet to me, or a good friend, I can feel Jon's satisfaction. He would want me to be all of the things I was with him -- happy, loved, protected.<br />
<br />
Watching Almost 6'6" perform is another instance when I can literally <i>feel</i> Jon's smile... the pride he would feel in watching them keep doing their thing. There is nothing he would want more. And I can't help but feel that he loves having his two favorite things -- music and love -- intertwined. <br />
<br />
I don't always feel positive. The anger sets in when I think about all that Jon COULD have done if given the chance. It makes me sad that he won't write anymore songs, that he won't get to perform again. I KNOW he should be up on that stage. He SHOULD be next to me right now. Those things will never change. Knowing and feeling so many positive things, as I do, still doesn't make it suck any less, or make it any more fair. Knowing how much he loved me doesn't make it any easier that he won't get to be around to love me any longer... at least not in the way he wanted to. <br />
<br />
But I look at all the amazing gifts he gave me. Some of them people, most are virtues, and a knowledge of true love. <br />
<br />
I'm not sure if "normal" exists anymore -- or if it ever will again. I think it's just a new kind of normal. A new reality. And I am grateful for so many little things -- for true friendships & belly laughs. I am thankful for those moments when I can feel Jon smiling at me -- those are the moments I know I am beginning to live again, and being the girl he fell in love with. I always want to be <i>that</i> girl.<br />
<br />
I can hear his voice saying "Get out of your head, Lace." Stop over thinking & just live. Cherish every moment. Laugh loudly. Hug tightly. Cry when you need to. Love big. And every other cliche that exists. ;)<br />
<br />
I never understood how I got so lucky to have someone like Jon pick me. So I will live my life trying to measure up to the image he had of me. If he thought I was that special, there must be some truth to it. I like to think so. <3<br />
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<br />Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-36366135528733552372012-04-12T20:01:00.004-07:002012-04-12T20:35:24.638-07:00Packing Up Memories<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj03CaSbsJUJxBMi7b3D3qDwztQcgF-5mqD6C0nRILKvV22U9RexEetZXEwvrF2_yuyqAE1QFLthaUjZ9hiYQEsUasu259kxUbQ6fWC-lSvT4-Y6b-3WCUkic5bPOG_fzhOru0LC883doM/s1600/photo.JPG" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj03CaSbsJUJxBMi7b3D3qDwztQcgF-5mqD6C0nRILKvV22U9RexEetZXEwvrF2_yuyqAE1QFLthaUjZ9hiYQEsUasu259kxUbQ6fWC-lSvT4-Y6b-3WCUkic5bPOG_fzhOru0LC883doM/s320/photo.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730718096344825074" /></a><br /><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">I'm excited about moving. I know it's the right decision for me -- it felt right when I walked into my soon-to-be new place. I know I can only move so far forward in my life if I stay in the same place. But that's also what makes it so hard. This apartment is the last thing that's remained pretty much exactly the same since I lost Jon. It's the last part of our life together that I can actually hold onto. I look around my life and EVERYTHING is SO different... in more ways than I can ever explain. But I come back here and I can almost pretend my world hasn't been turned upside down. </span></span><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">I know Jon would want me to get out of here. He loved this place so much. It was our special, most favorite place. It represented us starting a life together. It represented the first step in the life we <i>could</i> have together. But it was about the two of us, and I know the last thing he'd want is for me to be sitting here, by myself, looking around at pictures, feeling sad about what used to be. Besides, he knows I will never forget Snuggle City. He knows no matter where I am, I carry him with me. It's just a fact. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">The apartment I'm moving to is in the exact area where I originally wanted to move when Jon and I first decided on the city. It's also apartment 4D -- which is the same as our beloved first apartment. It may sound silly, but it feels like a sign. Or at least reassurance. And honestly, that's all I need right now. I'm a smart girl. I know when I'm making the right choice. I know I need a "fresh start", but that doesn't mean I don't hate when people say that. I think I've had a tremendous amount of clarity throughout this entire ordeal, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. Jon always knew what I needed. I can't help but think he still does. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">So tomorrow I officially sign my new lease and the packing begins! Bittersweet to say the least. This girl I've become -- the one forever changed by loving, being loved by, and losing Jon -- will just take have to take it one step at a time. Ok, a lot of steps -- up a 4th floor walkup -- but one step at a time, nonetheless. ;) </div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">"The more you love a memory, the stronger it is."</div><div><div align="left" style="background-color: rgb(231, 244, 216); "><p><span><br /></span></p></div></div>Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182488600639271288.post-47108597824122238622012-04-07T18:47:00.002-07:002012-04-07T19:04:25.663-07:00Katie<span style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; ">On my quest to write about what's important to me, I can't help but think of Jon's sister, Katie. My moods change from day to day, hour to hour, and it doesn't always work, but I often think about how lucky I've been. To have had Jon in my life... our love story, our friendship, and all the amazing things he taught me along the way. He taught me how to laugh harder than I ever did before. He taught me the importance of honesty, friendship, courage, humor...music...words. I could go on forever. But in addition to all of these things, he gave me something I never had before -- a sister. Or as Katie and I say, </span><i style="font-size: 100%; ">seester. </i><div style="font-size: 100%; "><i><br /></i></div><div style="font-size: 100%; ">When I first met Jon and we were emailing back and forth, talking about nothing and everything, I remember being intimidated when he told me he had a sister. I knew for a fact that if she didn't like me, it would NEVER work out between us. <span style="font-size: 100%; ">Thinking about it now, it makes me laugh. </span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size: 100%; ">Jon always said that Katie was the one person who didn't treat him differently after he got sick. He was so grateful to her for that. This excerpt is from the email he sent me:</span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><i>"I am really close with my sister, though, she's one of my best friends. You probably would never guess it without me telling you, but she's about 4'10". It's pretty funny when we stand next to each other for pictures. She's not really into sports but she started taking ballet when she was like 5 and did it all through high school... and she loves shopping, obviously. Do stereotypical girl things include chick flicks? Because, having a younger sister, I've pretty much seen them all. I swear she made me watch them. I don't like them at all. Haha."</i></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; ">The first time I met Katie, we hit it off because we realized we both loved pickles, and the same toppings on our burgers. So simple. It was clear why Jon loved her so much. Besides being fun and feisty, she would do anything for the people she loved. As time went on, we became real friends. I could even rant to her about whatever dumb boy thing Jon was doing at the time. She never judged, just listened. </div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 100%; ">I can't imagine a life without Katie in it. She has saved me in more ways than one over the course of the last two months. She and I stuck together during the funeral, burst into tears at the same moments (or one of us started it and the other would follow). We laughed together, told funny stories, broke down together... I've calmed her down, and she's done the same for me. Despite how young she is, she knows how to handle my hurting heart with so much grace. I know that part of the reason she cares about me is because of how much Jon loved me, and I him. But I also know she sees hope for me... a future...happiness even. I could not ask for a better friend, or seester. <span style="font-size: 100%; ">And whatever happens in my life, wherever either of us ends up, I know that I truly have a sister I can count on. And that's a gift. Just another thing Jonathan gave me. </span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-size: 100%; ">Love you, Katie. </span></div>Laci http://www.blogger.com/profile/00282746996146769784noreply@blogger.com0