Modern Family

When I met Mike he was footloose and fancy-free—an unattached, single man in his late thirties with no children, a rarity in Utah. With my shared custody arrangement for my daughter, I often have four day/five night stretches free from the daily tasks and responsibility of mothering.  For several months we enjoyed days on end of fun, frivolous time together, just the two of us enjoying each other’s company, doing what we wanted when we wanted.  In many ways it seemed like we were in a charmed, protected little bubble. Little did I know how dramatically things would change.   

Most people who know me also know that Mike now has a foster son, Isaac.  Newspaper articles published earlier this year tell the story about how he came to be in Mike’s care.  To read them, click on these links. Expected Step, Fighting to Become an American Citizen. 

Going from being childless to being responsible for a 17-year old boy is a huge change.  Fortunately, Mike is very laid back and pretty much takes everything in stride. Isaac is similar, which is probably due to his upbringing, and the fact that he had to learn to roll with the punches early in life. Things have definitely changed from the early days of our relationship, with more than a few bumps in the road due to the many challenges that come with making the abrupt shift from being childless to having a teenager.  I have to admit that at times I’ve been less than supportive, and have been discouraged by the many hurdles due to Isaac’s lack of citizenship. Not having legal status hampers his ability to legally work, making him dependent in ways most American teenagers his age aren’t.  Along with the challenges though, there have been many fun times and new experiences shared. Isaac is a hard worker, and a compassionate, caring person, who rarely, if ever, complains. He’s also just plain fun to be around. I’ve been able to re-experience many things that have become commonplace to me as Isaac discovers them for the first time.

Dinner the other night is a great example.  It was a pretty ordinary meal of chicken salad with blue cheese dressing (No offense to the cook for calling it ordinary.  Like everything Mike makes, it was beautifully presented and very tasty).  Even though it was an unremarkable meal for us, it marked another first for Isaac.  He’d never had blue cheese dressing before!  Mike teased him about blue cheese being what sophisticated people eat. Not that Isaac cared; he just thought it tasted good. The rest of the dinner was spent talking and laughing about the many new experiences Isaac’s had, some good, some not so good, like the Wasabi peas Mike goaded him into trying.  Those definitely fall into the “Dislike” category, and I think Isaac still holds a bit of a grudge for being tricked into trying them. 

Here’s a short list of just some of the new things we’ve experienced together this past year

• Sushi – the verdict is still out on this.  Isaac ate more than one roll, but he didn’t rave about the meal. 
• S’mores – I had no idea that Isaac hadn’t had them before, which explains his lack of enthusiasm when we talked excitedly about making them around the fire pit one night early this summer.
• Driver’s license – this was more a formality than anything else.  Like most teenage boys, he’s very comfortable driving a car. 
•  Quinceañera – this was kind of a first for all three of us.  Isaac performed traditional Mexican dances at the celebration, and Mike and I attended our first Quinceañera.  
• Stadium concert – The bar may have been unintentionally set a little high by taking Isaac to see U2 for his first stadium concert experience.
• Cooking for a date – Mike taught Isaac his go to “cooking to an impress a lady meal” of Chicken Alfredo with Bananas Foster for dessert.
• Corn in a cup, sliced mango with chili powder and Sopes with cooked pigskin – Isaac treated us to traditional Mexican snacks one evening.  Mike and I were good sports and took one bite of the Sopes with cooked pigskin, but refused to eat more.   
• BLT’s – again I was perplexed at his lack of enthusiasm for this summer favorite using fresh garden tomatoes.  After having a bite, Isaac asked what was on the sandwich.  He’d never had a BLT before!

Isaac performing at the Quinceañera

Me, Mike and Isaac at U2 Concert

Homework Time

Isaac's First Sushi Meal

This list is off the top of my head.  I’m sure there are many others that I’m forgetting.  There have also been some unpleasant firsts.  Isaac had to say goodbye to his dad, sending him back to Mexico with the knowledge that he may never see him again.  He also spent just over a month living in a Juvenile Justice Services shelter while waiting for Mike to be approved as his temporary foster parent.  For the past year he’s experienced so much upheaval and change. His resilience and good nature through it all has been amazing to watch.

For the first time I’ve experienced subtle, unspoken racism.  It’s funny how people are so supportive when they hear about Isaac, but when confronted with interacting with him in their familiar, middle-class, Caucasian-filled environment most pretend that he doesn’t exist.  Maybe they’re uncomfortable because they don’t know what to say? I could go on about racial stereotypes, but that’s a topic for another post.  On the positive side, I’ve watched a friendship develop between my daughter and Isaac, something that’s been very fun to watch.  They tease and support each other much like siblings do. Sometimes, Isaac takes Gillian to the Mexican market for a snack of fresh mango with chili powder. Many evenings they’ll both be at my kitchen table doing homework with the puppies snoring beneath their feet. I love those nights! I also love the nights all four of us eat dinner together, teasing, laughing, and making fun of the cultural differences and misunderstandings that frequently happen with us. Sometimes Isaac tries to teach me a Spanish word, but he usually ends up shaking his head at the futility of it. 


On our first date, Mike promised that if I spent much time with him I’d be pushed out of my comfort zones.  He wasn’t kidding!  I never could have foreseen the many challenges and uncomfortable situations I’ve faced over the last 17 months.  Sometimes I want to go back to that time when it seemed I was in a safe, protected bubble, but I know that isn’t possible.  Life happens, not always the way we think it will.  I’m trying to roll with the punches and enjoy all the new experiences I’m having, but mostly I’m trying to focus on gratitude.  Gratitude for Mike, for Isaac, for my daughter, and for the connection we all share. 


Not long ago I walked into the kitchen to find the three of them with their faces buried in their phones.  I started to say “Is this modern day family time?  You’re together but ignoring each other because of your electronic devices?”  I stopped myself before I said family.  Then it occurred to me. We are a family. Maybe not in a traditional sense, but we do what I think families should do.  We care for each other, we help and support one another, we share the good times and the bad, and we offer shelter from the storm, both literally and figuratively.  We try to instill knowledge and values in our children, hopefully giving them the skills they need to live life successfully as adults. I never imagined this is what getting out of my comfort zone would look like, but I’m glad I took the challenge.     

Mike and I - April 2011

Puppy Love

My boyfriend introduced me to the new love in my life.  I didn't expect to fall head over heels in love that day.  It had been a busy week and I was focused on running errands and getting back to school supplies bought for my daughter.  The three of us, Mike, Gillian and I, headed to Target that evening.  I was all business, as usual, focused on the task at hand, and checking items off my list.  Before too long, Mike and Gillian grew bored and disappeared to the toy aisle to find some fun.  I kept shopping, but they didn't come back like they usually do.  After about ten minutes had passed, I called Gillian to find out where they'd disappeared to.  She told me they were outside.  I asked what they were doing.  "Oh, nothing.  But don't come out here."  What?  Of course I was curious and pestered her with questions.  "Why?  What are you doing? What's outside that's so interesting?"  I walked outside as I was talking to her, looking around, but I couldn't see them. "I'm out front.  I don't see you."  Now I was getting exasperated. I had things to do! "Mom, you can't see us? We're down by the curb, look to your left." I turned in the direction of the sporting goods store and PetSmart and that's when I saw them. They were sitting on the grass playing with a litter of eight Yellow Labrador puppies.  

I walked towards them, determined not to be drawn in by all the puppy cuteness. My determination didn't last long. It only took a few seconds before I was down on the grass with a puppy in my arms. Immediately I knew I'd be taking one home, but still I tried in vain to reason my way out of such a crazy, impulsive purchase. People don't just go to Target for school supplies and come home with a puppy for Pete's sake! Besides, I already had a puppy at home, a nine-month old Shih Tzu-Schnauzer mix named Lucy. Gillian looked at me, beaming. Mike, wisely, kept pretty quiet. I started listing out loud the many reasons getting a Lab puppy didn't make sense. Finally, I said,  "You know I can't make a rationale decision about a Yellow Lab. Why did you even let me see these? I can't just buy a puppy on impulse. Let's go to dinner and talk about it."  

Me with baby Lucy 

The really funny thing is, until nine months before I wouldn't have imagined having one dog, let alone two.  Not that I dislike dogs, I just haven't wanted the responsibility of owning one. That all changed in January when Mike's dad brought home a 6-week old puppy with the intention of giving it to his grandmother for companionship. She didn't want a puppy.  Mike debated keeping the puppy, but his erratic work schedule just wasn't conducive to pet ownership. I decided to keep her, and Gillian and I welcomed 6-week old Lucy into our family. Nearly everyone who knows me thought I'd lost my mind.  You see, I'm just not a "dog person" and suddenly I was completely enamored with Lucy. I couldn't even explain it myself.  

Mike and Lucy Lou

Oddly enough, before Lucy, the dog I'd become most attached to was my sister's dog Phoenix.  He was a big, hyper, somewhat neurotic Yellow Lab with a tail that wagged so ferociously that it could knock over small children. Although he was endearing, his hyperactivity and his lethal tail really annoyed most people, causing them to keep their distance. For years, I too mostly tolerated him. That changed when I began going to stay more frequently with Julie at her place. Phoenix would sleep next to her bed. When I visited, we'd share her bed. This always put Phoenix in a state because he didn't know who to protect. He'd spend the night pacing back and forth, ultimately taking turns sleeping on both sides of the bed, guarding both of us. Eventually, I even welcomed Phoenix into my home, because I didn't think it fair that he'd have to stay in a kennel when Julie came to visit. Julie used to laugh at me because whenever we'd go out, leaving Phoenix behind, I always told him goodbye and said we'd be back soon. Slowly, he'd managed to work his way into my heart.  

Easter morning at mom's with Julie, Phoenix, Buster, Hannah and Mason

When Julie died, I was tormented for weeks thinking about her last hours. It broke my heart knowing she'd died alone. Then one day it dawned on me. She wasn't alone. Phoenix was there with her. I'll never know what he did in her last moments, or for the many hours after when he was locked inside her apartment. I'm sure he was very distraught. But it does give me some comfort knowing he was there with her. I wish I could describe the emotions the first time the family saw Phoenix after her death. It was then that I knew beyond a doubt that dogs absolutely sense human emotion and suffering. Phoenix came to each of us individually and nuzzled us. When he got to my sister Amy, probably the most heartbroken and suffering right then, he quietly climbed up into her lap, looked into her eyes and nuzzled and licked her, burrowing his head into her neck. It was like he absolutely understood her despair and was comforting her any way he could.  

Phoenix now lives with Jason, Julie's former boyfriend and dear friend. For many of my visits to Colorado after her death, I stayed at Jason's. Phoenix would abandon his usual spot next to Jason's bed and sleep in the guest room on the floor next to my side. Having him there with me on those nights brought me unbelievable comfort.  

Taking Sophie home

After our dinner, and my weak attempt at pretending to weigh the pros and cons of getting a Yellow Lab, we headed back to the Target parking lot.  By then I'd admitted this was mostly an emotional, illogical decision, which was okay.  Everything in life doesn't need to happen because it makes perfect sense.  Sometimes the best things happen by throwing caution to the wind and listening to your heart.  That's what I did that day.  I scooped up my fat, squishy, velvety soft, brown-eyed puppy and opened up my heart.  

Not too long ago, I was playing with Sophie, completely caught up in our little moment when Mike  said "You know she's going to be the great love of your life, right? Embrace it.  Enjoy it."  I am.

Me and Sophie

Gillian with Lucy and Sophie

Lucy and Sophie 

Sophie

Babies Don't Keep

Cleaning and scrubbing can wait 'till tomorrow

For babies grow up, we learn to our sorrow.

So quiet down cobwebs and dust go to sleep

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

When I was young, a hand embroidered picture with this saying on it hung on the wall in our house.  As a child it meant very little to me.  As a teenager, for some unknown reason my cousin and I liked to recite it to each other and laugh hilariously.  It wasn't until I became a mother myself that it became meaningful and somewhat poignant to me.  Babies do grow up much too fast!  Yesterday my one and only turned 13.  Here are some pictures showing highlights from her day.

New warm, fuzzy socks and a robe.

Sushi at Tona for dinner. Yum!  It was Isaac's (my boyfriend's foster son) first time having sushi. 

Gillian struggling with her chopsticks. 

Mike and I

After dinner we went to FatCats to play arcade games and ride bumper cars.

Decisions, decisions...

Gillian's favorite prize? The Big Ripper Whoopee Cushion!

Gillian requested a tie-dye cake with a peace sign.   

Voila! I thought I was done until Mike pointed out to me that this was a Mercedes symbol, not a peace sign.

Much better. 

The birthday girl.

The tie-dye inside.  It looked much cooler than this picture shows. 

 Gillian celebrated at her dad's house with some of her closest friends.  They didn't have to be asked twice to pose for the camera.  

Inheritance

After my sister died I inherited many of her things, including several household items.  Having things that once were hers incorporated into my home makes me happy. I especially love using her KitchenAid mixer, measuring cups and spoons, and green milk glass salt & pepper shakers. The salt & pepper shakers were something I often jokingly threatened to carry off in my purse because I loved them so much. Using them now never fails to bring a smile to my face as I remember the many times she made me eggs and toast for breakfast.

At first I was conflicted about taking my sister’s things and making them mine. I was more than a little hesitant about having reminders of her around me. Would they stir up sad memories and remind me of my loss? I couldn’t imagine having anything in my life as a result of her death that I’d be grateful for. Certainly I never expected that from her death I’d gain a new circle of cherished friends. 

Because Julie and I hadn’t lived together since I was 13 and she was 7, I knew very few of her friends. Except for a short time in her early twenties when she lived in Salt Lake City, Utah, we always lived in neighboring states.      

Sheridan & Julie - December 2009

About five months before she died, Julie visited me in Utah for the Christmas holidays. During that visit we spent an evening out with a longtime friend of hers, Sheridan. The two of them had worked together when Julie lived in Salt Lake, and had also been roommates for a while. They’d been friends for over a decade, and Sheridan lives only about 25 miles from me, but somehow I’d never met her until that Christmas visit. The moment I met her I understood why she’d always been one of Julie’s treasured friends. In May, Julie was in Utah for another visit, and we again met up with Sheridan. I still vividly recall our goodbyes on a sidewalk in downtown Salt Lake that evening. There were smiles, hugs, and promises to see each other again soon. 

Barely two weeks later, I was frantically trying to find a way to reach Sheridan by phone to tell her that Julie had died. It was a holiday weekend, and it took a day or two before she received my message. Even though I didn’t know her well, she had been such a good friend to Julie for so long I felt it was important that she was personally informed by someone in our family about Julie’s death. 

The next week was a blur. Even now, many details of the awful tasks I took care of that week are fuzzy to me. The day of her viewing and funeral was surreal. So many friends of hers introduced themselves to me that day. I knew very few of them.  After the service, I remember wondering to myself “What now?"  The entire week before had been consumed with the many details and tasks that come with preparing for a funeral. Now the goodbyes had been said, and I felt very much at loose ends.   

Julie & friends - East High School Prom 1994

That evening most of our family and many of Julie’s friends got together to eat, share memories, laugh and relax. That night was the first time that week that I felt like I might be able to survive such a horrific loss. Being surrounded by my extended family and many of Julie’s childhood friends was unbelievably comforting to me. Shortly before I left that night, I ended up at a table with a group of Julie’s friends from Pueblo. They all knew each other well, and were laughing and reminiscing about high school antics. They were strangers to me, but they quietly and wordlessly welcomed me into their circle. Earlier that day they had been “Julie’s friends” to me. By the time I left that night, I considered them my friends. 

Over the next few months we maintained contact via Facebook, mostly through public postings and comments on each other’s pages, but also through private messages. Of course, we bonded over our shared loss and love of Julie, but we also began to connect on other levels. Julie had many fantastic people in her life, and it was easy to see why she was friends with these women. Sharon, Leana, Keri, Joni, and many others are amazing women, people anyone would be lucky to have as friends.   

In September, four months after Julie’s death, a large group of Julie’s family and friends participated in the Race Against Suicide, a suicide prevention fundraiser in Colorado.  Leana and Sharon organized Team 808 for Jules, keeping everyone informed about details and designing shirts for the team. 808 is a reference to a silly moment in a car when Julie was in high school and noticed the time 808 on a digital clock looks like BOB. Bob was her all-purpose name for her future dream man. Seeing 808 on a clock was like sharing a private, inside joke--a reminder that her Bob was out there somewhere. 

Team 808

Sharon, Leana, Amy, Me, Sheridan

That race weekend further cemented the connection between all of us. Sheridan, who hadn’t been able to be at Julie’s funeral, flew to Colorado with me and joined us for the race. In fact, she showed us all up that day, taking first in her age division. We laughed, joked and talked with each other like we’d been friends for years. There were some tears, but the laughter and fun outweighed any sadness that weekend.   

A year after Julie’s death, we were all together again for a memorial service and the burial of Julie’s ashes. Once again, I was supported, comforted and loved by the same group of amazing women during an unbelievably emotional time.  Many of us ran the Bolder Boulder 10k that weekend, an annual race held every Memorial Day in Boulder, Colorado. It’s fitting that we connect and honor Julie through running races, since that was one of Julie’s main passions in life.    

My sister brought so much joy into my life. Losing her brought me unfathomable grief and pain. I didn’t think there could possibly be anything positive that would come from losing her. Gratitude just isn’t a word I thought I’d ever include in the list of many feelings her death caused me to experience. Yet, here I am, full of gratitude for the final gift she gave me--her friends, my friends, our friends. 

Recovery, Goodbyes and New Beginnings

There we sat, three women in a crowded, noisy bar surrounded by out-of-town convention attendees letting off steam, and people loudly belting out karaoke tunes.  We probably looked like any other group of women out for a ladies night--talking, laughing, gossiping and catching up.  In reality, just a few hours before, I’d listened to one of the women, just 37 years old, read a heart-wrenching goodbye letter to her husband at his memorial service.  I barely knew the second woman, having only met her earlier that evening.   

The three of us have much in common, having been raised in typical, middle-class suburban families, attending neighborhood schools, never really wanting for material things or struggling just to get by.  The two of them had both been on their high school drill team, pretty, popular, well-liked girls.  In fact, they’d grown up in the same neighborhood my daughter now lives in with her dad, just several hundred yards away from my former home. 

I’d met A just two weeks before, a few days after her husband’s death from a heroin overdose.  He and my boyfriend, Mike, were longtime friends.  The three of them had all gone to the same middle and high schools.  Although I didn’t know her husband well, I’d spent time with him on more than one occasion.  He was an intelligent, delightful, funny, charismatic person--the type who made everyone feel like they were an instant friend.  I was looking forward to getting to know him better.  We’d spent a few Friday nights sitting side-by-side, chatting at the bar where Mike bartends on Friday nights, with Mike joining our conversations when he wasn’t busy.   Although he’d been candid and open with me about his many struggles over the last several years, sadly, I had no idea he was also fighting a heroin addiction. 

Since his death I’ve spent time thinking about the private, personal demons so many people fight.  It makes me sad to know that someone I knew was struggling.  Despite some of our recent honest, heartfelt conversations about his struggles, he didn’t reach out to me, or to anyone, to let them know he was falling and needed help.  Or perhaps, in his own way he did, and everyone missed the signals.  It’s so hard to know sometimes.  People we love deeply, and think we know well, die, alone, giving up the fight, whether intentionally or not.  Those of us left behind are left to wonder what more we could have done, and hoping somehow, somewhere in their hearts they knew they were loved by us, and wishing they’d asked us for help.

It’s also made me reflect about how seemingly small, inconsequential choices we all make can unknowingly set us on an unintended path in life.  First one choice, then another, leads in a direction, ending somewhere we never imagined.  The other night in the bar, we talked about that very thing.  Each of us came from remarkably similar backgrounds, were smart, savvy, college educated and had many options.  But here we were, all of us living lives we didn’t imagine when as girls we’d dreamt of what adulthood would be like.  We talked about things we had in common, but mostly we listened to A tell her story.  She’d made many small choices that ultimately led to her own heroin addiction, which she’s currently fighting valiantly, having been clean for over a year. 

I listened to her in amazement, the entire time wondering at which point exactly had her choices set her on a path so different than mine.  Life as she knew it is over.  She’d hit rock bottom over a year ago, and was still struggling to make sense of where she was, and where to take her life from here when her husband died.  Now the challenges in front of her are even that much more staggering.  Honestly, I was dumbfounded.  I had no idea what to say.  How on earth could I even begin to offer advice or wisdom?  I have absolutely no frame of reference for what she’s experienced.  Then I realized I didn’t need to offer advice or wisdom.  The best things I could offer her were respect, hope, and support. 

At the end of the day, despite the huge divide separating our current realities, we really aren’t that different.  She’s human, and humans make mistakes.  The great thing about it is she owns her mistakes, and is doing everything in her power not to make them again.  That’s deserving of my respect.  I’d met A expecting only to offer sympathy, but ended up with the opportunity to offer so much more.  As she said in her final letter to her husband, she’ll do everything in her power to make sure his death wasn’t in vain, and to beat her addiction for both of them.  I’ll proudly stand by her side, offering my support in whatever way I can.  

Six Motorcycles, Yellowstone, Six Men and Me

About two months ago, Mike bought a Harley-Davidson motorcycle.  When he asked me what I thought about him buying it, I think he expected to hear a list of reasons why it didn’t make sense.  Little did he know, I love riding motorcycles.  Not only would it be fun, the price was right and the savings on gas made sense.  We’ve had fun taking short rides close to home but were anxious to take it out on a longer road trip. 


Mike proposed the idea of riding to Yellowstone National Park for a weekend with a few guys from Foley’s MMA Training Center, the gym he teaches at.  I was all in, and looking forward to a relaxing weekend with friends.  I soon found out I’d be the only female in the group of seven going on the trip.  I was less than thrilled to discover this, especially since I barely knew two of the men, and two more were complete strangers to me.  After some reassurances and cajoling by Mike, I reluctantly agreed to go on what I thought was going to be a testosterone fueled guy’s weekend.  Still, I complained that I’d be bored and out of place, especially since the conversation was sure to center around motorcycles and MMA fighting.  Not exactly subjects I have much knowledge of or interest in. Plus, we were going to be tent camping in bear country, which made me super anxious!  My attitude in the days leading up to the trip was one of reluctant acceptance.  I was definitely going to be out of my comfort zone.


We all met up at Foley’s the morning we left.  The variety of motorcycles everyone would be driving was as unique as their personalities.  Mike’s decked out Road King was definitely going to be the most comfortable.  Everyone teased him about his huge old man cruiser.  He dubbed his bike the “old man starter kit”. Everyone was excited to hit the road.  We all loaded up, and with a huge roar of engines, we were off.  It’s hard not be excited by the sound of a bunch of motorcycle engines loudly revving up and heading down the road.  At least for me it is.  I couldn’t help but smile and enjoy the moment.  

Ready to hit the road.

The morning was beautiful, and we all cruised along at a good speed stopping for gas every 80 miles or so.  After only one wrong turn and about 20 miles of back tracking we made it to Jackson Hole, Wyoming.  We did the usual touristy things there, snapping pictures in front of the arch made of antlers, and stopped for food and cold beers at the famous Million Dollar Cowboy Bar.  After that it was back on the bikes and into Yellowstone.  

Jackson Hole

We checked into a campsite and quickly got camp set up.  When we checked in we were told that three Grizzly Bears were living about 400 yards down the road and to follow every precaution to avoid attracting them.  Yikes!  That didn’t exactly set my mind at ease.  After a good dinner prepared by our camp chef extraordinaire, Mike, we spent a nice evening laughing and talking around a fire.  So far, there hadn’t been a single conversation about fighting, and the bike talk had been minimal.  In fact, that night we had a rather in-depth discussion about religion and beliefs about life after death.  I was relieved at the ease with which we all got along and how easy-going and fun the group was.  

After an uneventful night devoid of any bear visits, we were up for breakfast, then packed up and hit the road.  We spent some time sightseeing in the park that morning, including time at Old Faithful.  The plan was to leave the park via West Yellowstone and ride over Bear Tooth Pass, then back into the park to camp for the night.  We ended up taking a different route that took us through Cody, Wyoming.  We rode over Chief Joseph Highway, which was beautiful.   We still hoped to make it up Bear Tooth and back, but it was getting late and storm clouds were rolling in.  Everyone had warm clothes, but not all of us had full-length rain gear.  


We decided to take a chance and took off in a light rain.  Within minutes we were in a torrential downpour!  I was soaked to the bone and very cold.  We continued on until we finally reached a service station where we could change into dry, warmer clothes.  After some coffee, and putting on dry clothes and extra layers, things were more comfortable.  At 10,947 feet elevation, Bear Tooth Pass is the highest elevation road in the Northern Rockies.  Needless to say, it was cold and windy at the peak.  After a slow, cautious trip down, we rolled into Red Lodge, Montana cold, damp, hungry and tired.   During dinner we decided to get a motel and stay there that night.


The next day we were all rested, warm, refreshed and ready to tackle Bear Tooth Pass again, this time taking time to stop and enjoy the scenery along the way.  The ride was incredibly beautiful.  The view of glacial lakes and big, open blue sky is truly breathtaking.  It’s one of those places that reminds me what a tiny speck I am in this vast universe.  About halfway up the pass, I realized it was August 29th--15 months since the day my sister died.  I was determined not to let the thought ruin the ride and my enjoyment of the scenery.  But the more I took in the beauty and the feeling of absolute freedom and happiness I had, the sadder I became about her loss. Finally, I gave in to the tears as I once again mourned that she couldn’t see her way out of the darkness in her mind, choosing death over life.  If only I could have been there to remind her of the many reasons there were to live, including heart-stopping moments like this one, in a place that felt like I was on top of the world. 


As my tears dried, we started our descent, ending up in Cooke City, Montana where we stopped for lunch.  From there we headed back into Yellowstone.  Up to that point, the only wildlife we’d seen were some squirrels and hawks.  All of us were anxious to see some more exciting wildlife.  It wasn’t long before we saw moose, buffalo, and elk.  Alas, we didn’t see any bears.  While I don’t like the thought of sleeping in a tent with the possibility of a bear attack, viewing one from a safe distance would be cool.  

Near the top of Bear Tooth Pass

The rest of the day was spent going through the park, stopping at various points of interest along the way.  Then we started the long ride home.  Ultimately, the day turned out to be very long, with at least twelve hours of it spent on the bike.  I was exhausted, cranky and longing for my bed and sleep.  I finally fell asleep hunched over on Mike’s back, making the drive awkward and nerve-racking for him, because he had to keep shifting me so I wouldn’t fall off.  Finally, after 1,000 miles in three days, at nearly 1 a.m. we made it home.  


Despite the long, less than fun end to the trip, I had an amazingly good time.  Not only did I not have to endure talk about fighting and motorcycles, I was hilariously entertained, and got to know   people I might otherwise wouldn’t have known.  Yes, buying the motorcycle was a good choice, as I was once again reminded of all the unexpected joy and great experiences that come when I step out of my comfort zone.     

Last day, ready to head home.

Milestones

Back to school time always make me nostalgic, probably because it reminds me how quickly time goes by. Last year, and again this year, seeing kids head back to school also reminded me of the great void Julie’s death left in our family. Today was the first day of 4^th grade for my niece Hannah. Next week my daughter starts junior high. For her nieces and nephews, the first day back to school after summer break always meant a call from Aunt Julie. She wanted to hear every detail about their day and took genuine pleasure in hearing about their experiences. It was just one of the many ways she stayed connected to them, always remembering and acknowledging milestones in their lives.

Julie with her nieces and nephews.

Julie was much more than just an aunt to Parker, Regan, Bridger, Gillian, Mason, Hannah and Atticus. She had a special, unique relationship with each one of them. She was able to tap into the unique characteristics of each of their personalities. She forged a bond with them as individuals, not just as her brother’s and sister’s children. She welcomed each of them into her life completely. I have vivid memories of her cuddling each of them as newborns, and playing on the floor with them when they were babies. One of my most cherished memories is standing by her side, holding hands and shedding tears of joy as we watched our sister give birth to Hannah.

My own daughter shares many similarities with Julie. So many, in fact, that Julie referred to Gillian as her Mini Me. Just like her aunt when she was young, Gillian sports curly hair and glasses. Their temperaments are also similar. A happy, giddy mood can change to dark moodiness in an instant. While I once found this charming, now I fearfully watch Gillian for signs of the manic depression that overtook Julie when she was still in high school. After Julie’s death, a therapist recommended that I take special care to point out to Gillian that she isn’t destined to be like her aunt. Where once her identification with Julie was positive, now I must make a point of making sure she understands she’s very much her own person, not just a mini version of her aunt.  

Losing my sister was, and continues to be the most difficult thing I’ve ever dealt with. One of the things I struggle with the most is my anger at her. Someday I hope to forgive her for all that she took away from everyone that loved her, but I’m not there yet. The pain she caused my daughter and all of her nieces and nephews is the one thing that holds me back from complete forgiveness, acceptance and understanding. Because of her, all of the children in our family were robbed of a certain level of innocence. Telling them that their beloved Aunt Julie was dead meant also having to explain suicide—what it means and why people do it.  How does a parent explain to a young child what clinical depression means, and that the feelings of utter hopelessness it brings can compel a person to take their own life? I can only imagine how confusing it is to them as they only ever saw the happy, carefree, joyful side of Julie. 

I chose not to see the brief note my sister wrote in her darkest hour, saying her final goodbyes to those she loved. I do know that in it she mentioned each of her nieces and nephews by name, calling them the loves of her life. This is what still brings me to tears, breaks my heart, and also fills me with anger. Only a very ill, depressed mind could say goodbye to little children, not knowing the level of pain and grief she’d be inflicting on them. This, more than anything else, illustrates to me exactly how desperate, alone and confused she must have felt. Otherwise, she never would have chosen to bequeath a legacy of suicide to the loves of her life. 

Now, in addition to many other life lessons my siblings and I will teach our children as they grow, we will also teach them about depression, mental illness, and how the bi-polar disease Julie fought can sometimes lead to suicide. We won’t need to teach them how devastating suicide is to those left behind. They already know.   

Gillian & Regan at Julie's memorial 

Life goes on, but it has been forever altered. Our children are already becoming teenagers and soon they’ll be young adults. There will be many milestones and causes for celebration throughout all of their lives. Julie will be remembered and missed at every one of them.