Where in the World is Queenbloggy?

working through this

Roughly 7 miles away from my home is where 12 people lost their lives in a horrible mass shooting. In a hospital roughly 6 miles away lays a young mother, in and out of consciousness and paralyzed, who still does not know that her 6 year old daughter was among the fatalities. Fatalities that include a 27 year old who was celebrating his birthday, a 32 year old mother, a recent college graduate, a recent high school graduate.

Last month at "Jazz in the Park", a concert series in the park 2 blocks from my house, a woman police officer, off duty, was shot and killed.

In Park Hill, the next neighborhood over, there is gang related activity reported on a monthly basis.

I will never understand this. Why do humans inflict this kind of terror upon each other? Why must innocent people..children..be killed?

I have to recognize this hard knot of grief for what it is, even though it is entirely difficult to name. As a mother protecting her daughter from the dangers in the world, as a public nurse working in a large metropolitan area, as a woman who is starting to feel a real sense of anxiety in crowded spaces, my world is being rocked with fear. And that's such an unhealthy little monster to to live with.

I don't want to go to the public pool and be worried about gang activity, but I am.
I don't want to be scared to go on a walk after dark, but I am.
I don't want to find scraggly looking men going through the dumpsters in the alley, but I do.

I love Colorado. I am happy here. But my happiness comes more from the mountains, in nature, where all things feel right with the world. Here, less than 2 miles from downtown, we are urban. And though I personally feel a tight community of friends around me (and that does, also, give me true happiness), I find myself questioning if choosing this urban lifestyle is worth it while raising a young child. My husband makes the argument for diversity. I don't like that argument. I'm not looking for diversity, I'm looking for peace of mind and safety.

I feel shaken to my core with this recent movie theater shooting. My feelings are confusing and difficult to navigate. I know that I feel deep sadness for all the families of the deceased, and for that woman that goes in and out of consciousness, still unaware that her daughter is dead? I honestly don't think I'd want to be woken up.

Is this morose? Sorry. This seems to be the world we live in.

I want to be IN the mountains.

Where in the World is Queenbloggy?

Exactly where I am.

I am entirely through with ever questioning my judgement about living elsewhere. In the past few years I have been afflicted with the ideas that somewhere else is better. Closer to family (well that's a hard one to discount), closer to the ocean, closer to places that resemble my own childhood.

There is a feeling of true euphoria when I get in to MY element: the mountains. It never dims. I feel like a child running through a playground with a wide mouthed grin. " LOOK!"

I think it takes a lot of personal know-how to figure out where you belong. I don't have the tight family unit with parents living in the same house I grew up in. No where near that. I have a family of travelers and wanderers, living on opposite sides of the country. I've lived on opposite sides of the country, on two different oceans, at different points of my adult life. And now I live in the middle. I'm ocean-less. I traded in my oceans for Rocky Mountains, and for me, that was the better trade.

I'm going to start a new series called Where in the World is Queenbloggy? Clue: It will likely be in Colorado. The Colorado summer is JAM PACKED for us; it is like this every year. Every year we save up money and energy for the glorious summer and autumn season where we are climbing 14,000 foot peaks, boogeying to bluegrass music, or simply chilling around a campfire with a microbrew.

I will not lie that sometimes life is extremely challenging, especially with the summer months being SO busy. But when I leave the hustle and bustle of the job and the city, I'm back to where I belong, back to the peacefullness of the mountains and back to the inner KNOWING that I'm exactly where I should be.

I will always pray that Ellie finds her bliss in the mountains, so that she could always be happy living close to her mama and papa, and so she will know the humbling gratitude that is just outside her door.

slanted light

When the Sun hits the Earth, 

slanted light,

the world is sacred.

Bathed in silky, honey gold,

dew drops glistening, 

the morning songs of birds,

it is here that my heart feels whole.

Before the children wake up, and 

the work duties begin. Before the 

cleaning and the doing and the getting 

to places on time, it is here, hovering

below the surface of the busy world

that magic is happening.

I long for this time,
when I don't need to look good
or be a certain way or try to please anyone.
Where all that I am is only perfect,
where I can be
the wild, loving creature that I am.

I forget this, sometimes, 

and in hurried fashion try to compose myself

for a day of responsibilities.

I miss the magic when my heavy heart

is too busy to stop 

and remember the healing that is

hovering below the surface.

Today as I felt my muscles move my bones 

along a path bathed in honey gold

I felt tears welling up inside, wanting 

to spill out. Grateful, for the reminder

that wholeness is here for the taking,

.here, when the Sun hits the Earth,

slanted light

and the world is sacred.

Death: when everything goes RIGHT

I lost another patient. He (maybe a guy, maybe a girl, but I'm disquising it for HIPAA) was only 50. Fifty and INCREDIBLY vibrant. We used to talk about his adventures, climbing large foreign mountains, his photography, his really great taste in decorating. I liked him, a lot. We had some very poignant existential conversations.

(One time I spied on him on facebook. I actually do that quite a bit on my patients. I learned about really truly amazing things this guy had accomplished. I was very impressed.)

Watching a tumor in the brain grow is difficult. A myriad of things could happen, it just depends on what part of the brain is affected. Things start happening that are not normal. With him it was difficulties saying what he meant: word salad. You knew he understood but he couldn't get the words out to acknowledge it. Sometimes conversations took a good amount of patience and a certain finesse in trying to make the conversation less frustrating.

Eventually, and in a rather slow fashion, there was paralysis, a growing need for assistance in all activities of daily living. Eventually barely even able to speak.

And then the normal trajectory occurred: bedbound status, inability to swallow, sleeping all the time and eventually a comatosed state.

But throughout this process was a family that was advocating for his best care. He had his "team" which was me (the nurse), a social worker, and chaplain who gathered together frequently to figure out what modifications needed to be made to support his current status (which was constantly changing). There were music vigils (an AMAZING perk at The Denver Hospice where I work) where a a harpist played and sang soft, soothing music while family gathered around him, holding hands and crying, not needing to use confusing words. He ended up having several music vigils. He had visits from a priest, and most importantly he was always surrounded by people that loved him.

He died peacefully on Wednesday night with his entire family at his bedside, ready to say goodbye, loving him dearly.

It was the perfect death.

I often feel sad in this job. I get attached to people or I have empathy for their family, making the death of my patient feel very heavy on my heart. It's impossible to avoid the sadness sometimes. Being so close to death can be so intense on a person's soul. But sometimes, and often on the rarer occasions, everything goes right. Sometimes the patient and all that surround him find peace. And in those occasions the sadness is not as prevalent as the gratitude: gratitude for the person, for my job, and for the experience of being there to help make it perfect.

We are all going to die, and as I watch people do it with grace, it makes my own mortality feel sacred.

I sometimes go back in forth in my belief systems on what happens when we die, sometimes claiming to be an atheist. But if I were to be true to myself, true to my what heart feels itself knowing, then I believe that spirits really do soar, far beyond the cold capabilities of a dying body.

When Karma comes to bite you in the bee-hind

So it seems we are again a family of four, again because last year at this time my niece Maya was staying with us. This time around it's my nephew Izak, a sweet and loveable 10 year old who has always tugged at my heartstrings. He's with us for two months, and despite some rather annoyingly redundant conversations about all the tricks his new cell phone can do, he's really quite a delightful kid. He's never been to Colorado before, never been away from home really, and so he is brave and wonderful on so many different fronts. Unfortunately the gap between him and Ellie is somewhat gargantuan in kid time: 7 years, but she still finds his presence exciting and pays no heed to the fact that he really isn't all that interested in pretending to eat fake food or saying her newest favorite phrase "wooshie gaga!" a million times during the day. He tolerates her and I can spy a very sincere and sly smile spread on his face when she gets his attention. He ain't foolin no one!

So do you want to hear about how I did something bad and then pretty much manifested that bad thing upon me IMMEDIATELY and how let this be a lesson to all of you that those karma points are real, yo!? So we decide to brave the fireworks, at a rather annoyingly large venue but one of the few actually HAVING fireworks, as, I don't know if you've heard but Colorado is sort of on fire right now. (so sad). Anyway we get in the line of cars, which we were leery to do anyway, see that it's a million miles long, slowly creep our way to a road that's blocked off, ask the parking attendant "how do we get out?" and he pretty much tells us that we can't. The road we got there on is now a double lane one way road. I repeated the question, "so how do we get out?", I mean he's standing in between us and a free and clear ROAD with a couple of little measly cones on it. He gives us a MAJOR attitude and he's really just being such a jerk that it ignites something in me. Who is he to say that we can not leave this MASSIVE CROWD of people?  So this is where the words fell from my mouth and started gathering together to figure out how to make this happen. "Look, we're having a medical emergency here!"(Don't judge me, I meant it as a harmless fib to get us out of the MADNESS). This of course is awesome to tell a lie right in front of impressionable children in the backseat of the car and one of my finer moments in parenting. The guy is a full blown jerk who very begrudgingly lets us through yelling as we make our way through the cones "HURRY UP!!" and soon he is a rearview thought and we are on the sweet road to freedom. We truly did INTEND to leave but last minute decide to access another, MORE awesome part of the park, because, well, suddenly we could.

This is the part where karma came and BIT ME ON THE ASS. As we are waiting for the fireworks to start there is a gloriously grassy hill that all kinds of little kids are rolling down. Ellie is ON IT. Excited beyond measure! Rolling down in awkward little bursts and having the time of her life. Even my nephew joins in on the carefree frolicing. And then, in a mere moment, Ellie stops mid roll, cries out in pain "OUCHIE!" and starts cradling her arm. I actually got it on video.





I look at it. It doesn't look broken. But the "ouchies" are relentless. The fact that she's cradling it makes me completely nervous. She won't straighten it out.

And that folks is why our 4th of July fireworks turned into a trip to the ER.

p.s. It wasn't broken.

Month in review: June 2012

Mike had a birthday!

Ellie spent much of the time with just her swim hat on.

Brewfest! Man was it HOT!

I had a birthday, too.

Backyard jam sesh, 3 year old included!

We got to meet POPPY!!

And I got to hang out with my lovely ladies.

This is called urban campfiring. 

And see this totally badass and AWESOME terrarrium? (please note the unicorn)

Handmade by this girl. I LOVE IT!

Kalie came to town!  (And we went to a lot of Jazz in the Park's)

Little birthday ride with my friends up to Vail pass.

Nitty Gritty Dirt Band with my new and very cool friend, Olivia!

We had some sad times, too. Sad times where we got to be with our family .

We had to say goodbye to Kelly. This was deeply sad.

But in that grief we got to connect with family we don't get to see very often. (Come visit us again soon!)

This is us at a wedding in Breckinridge.

This is the bride and groom, Derek and Becca. I told Ellie she was a princess.

This is what we did after the wedding.

Ellie got swim goggles and thinks they are the coolest thing ever!

I got a banjo and think it's the coolest thing ever!

Sitting on top of the world.

Ellie's first ever fireworks. The sky turned to magic!

This was a really intense month. Intense heat. Intense sadness and joy, Intense fear and intense peace. I don't know that I like to say that I live so "intensely", but man, I can sure say that life is full! 

And summer continues on!

Alive! (...and scared to death)

I had a work meeting this morning. As I've mentioned, things have been on the intense side with my patients. And then my sister in law died. My work rallied behind me in such a special way (I am so blessed to work with them) and really helped hold me up when I needed to take a break. So today, as I was talking with my social worker friend I found myself reliving the story of yesterday, a story of how I came THIS close to death, and as I was speaking the words I suddenly found myself to be very embarrassed; another dramatic story in my life. Why does there seem to be so many of these? I do not like drama, and yet, at least for the past month, it has been sticking to me like glue. It makes me question my own relationship to it, my own cause and effect. It made me want to skip over the story of yesterday entirely and move forward like it didn't exist. Perhaps I should really do this. But I'm not going to. I'll tell it, share, learn and move on.

The whole near death experience lasted for maybe 30-45 minutes. I was hiking a 14,000+ foot mountain with a friend. We got off the path. We got ourselves into a bind and  found ourselves scrambling for the ridge in a small, ravine that was, well nearly 14,000 feet in the air. This was not a good route. There was loose dirt and rocks around us and the rocks that were needed for a stronghold were crumbling beneath my fingers and feet.  Each step took about 5 minutes until I could find another good one that wouldn't cave beneath my feet. I became terrified. In that moment I suddenly became acutely aware of my own mortality. I wanted to cry as I remembered Ellie begging me to go back to bed from our snuggly hotel room in Breckinridge that very morning. I prayed to God. I prayed that I would make it out of that moment and that similarly, I wouldn't kill my friend with an assault of loose scree as he climbed beneath me. I tried my absolute best to withhold a full blown panic attack. I didn't want to die. What the hell was I doing in that situation?

Through some crazy maneuvering we got out of that ravine. I was more scared than my friend who insisted that we wouldn't have died, we would have nearly fallen and scrambled and probably skinned ourselves severely. Fun, too.

I am not proud of the experience that happened yesterday. I do not seek out those fear induced moments. I do not desire them either. But that's the thing about mountains. Mountains are to be reckoned with. You have to be prepared for a slew of "what if" experiences. When you are hiking that high up you are so exposed and you are the visitor. Mountains are fantastic and scary. I stood on top of that mountain and it felt like I was on top of the world; I was so unbelievably high. My body was so tired, emotionally and physically, and I was so grateful for the ground beneath my feet. I was alive!

There are simple lessons in this story: trust your instincts, wear a helmet when hiking so high and never underestimate mama nature.

And then there are life lessons. Sometimes life is hard. Sometimes you find yourself in squirrely situations. Sometimes all you can do is try, as hard as you can, to get out alive. To get out sane. To get out however way you want. Sometimes you don't have control. Sometimes you hope that there are angels helping you.  Sometimes it feels like bringing your body up a mountain, real or metaphorical, is the most difficult task in the world. But still, you do it. Because you can.

I will not stop hiking mountains. But for right now, I'm sticking to the "easier" 14,000 foot mountains. I love my family too much  to even fathom leaving them.

Castle Peak

On the way up.

working!

The ravine we had NO business being in.

My buddy and I at the top.

What a view!

My friend opted to go back down by glissading (aka sliding on your butt). I opted for the more challenging and MUCH more controlled old school mode of transport: my feet!

It takes hard work to stand on top of a mountain, but it feels so good. I think mountains are like goals: achieving them can bring you true joy.


(...and a whole lot of humble pie).

A very summery fashion friday

There's been some sad posts lately, because at this station in life, things got sad. But you stand up, dust yourself off, and walk through whatever emotion is hitting you. They're all temporary. Some more intense than others. Some needing a little more attention. 

But that's the thing about sadness. Without sadness, you simply would have no way to define happiness. 

And sadness, well it makes gratitude, so much sweeter. 

Happy weekend!

          

                   

                

Dress: Genuine Kids

Boots: Circo

Coat: Lavender Alley

Permission to be still

So here's the thing, my house? It's empty. My daughter is at school, my husband is at work, and I have discovered the most beautiful workplace concept that is bereavement leave. No PTO, just taking it off. 

This past week, as you can well imagine, was pretty insane. The memorial service was yesterday and I volunteered to write the eulogy, create the video slideshows, work with the chaplain,create and print the programs, among a few other more minscule obligations. I really didn't mind. I was honored to be able to help in some way. Kelly deserved it. Prior to the service we had a pre-planned party at my house (I turned 35 on Sunday), the subsequent clean up and breakdown, an outdoor concert WAY on the other side of town, mingled into that were the memorial tasks, the family get togethers as a slew of family members arrived from out of town, all of which sent me into the full blown panic mode of holy-shit-it's-tomorrow! 

Well tomorrow came and went. I'm home now. My husband left for work at his usual time. I brought my daughter to preschool and well, here I sit. Part of me feels like there's something that I should go do. I should exercise, I mean what a great opportunity to go for a run or a bike ride. Only, this couch feels so comfortable right now. And the house is so sweetly silent.

I don't do well with NOT doing things. I'm not a lazy person. But right now, on the heels of multiple deaths, planning a memorial service, a birthday party at OUR house, and seeing so many family members (that were a delight to see), not to mention the wedding that we are going to this weekend and my already pretty busy day of work lined up for me tomorrow, well, I just don't want to do anything. Am I terrible?

I've been so busy with so many tasks that sitting still feels...awkward. But I think there's a lot more to this silence, a lot more that I could use for my own good. My heart has had some pretty heavy weights on it. Maybe that's why I found myself with tears brimming to the surface when I dropped off Ellie at preschool.

Sometimes silence is exactly what is needed to do the personal work that you really need to do.

All I know is that today I am giving myself permission to just relax. And I'm sure (and can already attest to) that as the days of last week start to peel off there will be moments of tears. In silence, you have nothing to hide behind.





(ok, except your computer. I'm shutting mine down right....now!)

Eulogy for a sister

"In preparing for this eulogy, I received a lot of input from many different people. People I have never met. People who knew and loved Kelly. People that shared stories and experiences with her. I learned about the sweet Kelly that did so much for so many people. I learned about the “wild child” Kelly who, as I quote a friend of hers, “I will fondly remember my best bud KelBell, curls flowing, in a Go Go’s concert T-shirt, wearing Levi 501's (button fly only!) and pink and purple checked Vans… “. I listened to these stories, I have listened to the words that her husband Rick, her brothers, and her children have used when describing Kelly. And in all of this communication, there is one word that permeates, that seems to clearly embody the sweet light of Kelly Bryant.  

Kind.

I can attest to this kindness. Kelly was my sister in law and from that very first Thanksgiving as her baby brother’s new girlfriend, where I broke her garbage disposal and I’m pretty sure, a glass, she was nothing but open arms. She was inquisitive and when I talked with her she looked right in my eyes, with undivided attention. She exuded warmth and love. She would later announce during a family event that she wished her brother would marry me. I was so taken aback by her bold and sweet words, and in those words I felt so enfolded into that family, a part of the love, a part of the embrace that she gives everyone with that award winning smile.

Kelly was a matriarch; mother of four, sister to two little brothers, and she shined in that role. She was nurturing. She would call you to check in. She would send you updates on the kids. She would give thoughtful gifts at birthdays and milestones.

Kelly would do anything for you. She was strong. If you needed a friend you could call her and she would come to you. If you needed a place to stay her home was always open. She would go out of her way to help people in need. She truly cared about others and her warm smile always made you feel welcome.

My snapshot of Kelly was just that, a snapshot. It was a nearly 6 year relationship as a sister, a friend, a new member of the family.  I stand here fully aware that there was so much more than just my snapshot, but I can tell you that in what I saw, in MY snapshot, I saw a mother who would do anything for her children, a mother who would talk about her children with such fierce pride and love. I saw a sister who would call her brothers and always end the conversation with “I love you”. I saw a friend, a fun loving girl who thought nothing of heading to Denver sunday after sunday in the heat to hang out with her friends and family at Jazz in the Park.

I also saw a woman; a woman who loved her family beyond measure. A woman that was strong, that would fight for the people she loved. A woman that embodied the spirit of motherhood, of warmth, of love.

But there is one more adjective that I feel greatly describes the woman that I was so privileged to know. One adjective that could only begin to describe the experience of suffering from early onset frontotemporal dementia. That word is Brave. The past two years she has been a brave warrior. She has been scared. She has been confused. It has been an extremely hard time, a hard time for all that loved her, and a hard time for her. She was losing control and the woman we all knew and identified with was unraveling. It was enough to break your heart. And yet with Kelly, even at the end, when things got really bad, when she could no longer communicate with her words, she could ALWAYS communicate with her eyes. I’ve witnessed the light that shone on her face when her husband was with her, when her daughter was with her, it was beautiful. It was pure, true love.

I didn’t want to write this eulogy about the recent past. Though it did exist and brought us to be standing here today, the Kelly that is in our hearts, and in our memories, far exceeds her brain that was breaking and her body that has died. Kelly was laughter. She was life. She was, and she is, love.

I’m going to share with you a few adjectives that her friends and family have used to describe Kelly.

Sweet, gentle, Welcoming, kooky, loving, giving, caring, open, mothering, supportive, faithful, accepting,  fun-loving, silly, thoughtful, true, kind, compassionate, genuine, committed, selfless,  gracious, dependable, light hearted, playful, encouraging, warm, kind hearted, generous, smiley, adventurous, real, inviting, creative, awesome, and my personal favorite...completely lovely.

It doesn’t seem fair to be reading the eulogy of my 44 year old sister in law of whom I truly loved. But there are things in this world we can never understand. Kelly relied strongly on her faith in Jesus, more so than ever towards the end of her life, and in that faith she was able to be the brave warrior that she was. That she is.

Beautiful Kelly, thank you for the light that you brought unto this world. As you watch down upon us, as you shine in the sky at night and dance in the breeze that kisses our faces, know in the depth of your soul, that you did real good.

We will carry your love with us always. Your love, our love, ONE love.

Namaste."

Her fight is finally over.

Tonight my sister in law, Kelly, died.
Tonight four beautiful children lost their mom,
a kind husband lost his wife,
Tonight my husband lost his sister,
and the world lost her sweet, gentle light.

We have been losing Kelly for about two years, losing her to the demon of frontotemporal dementia. She was diagnosed at 43. It has been a long hard struggle for her, her husband, her children, her brothers, her dad. She went from highly functioning mother of 4 to, one and a half years later, living in a skilled nursing facility, unable to speak, unable to take care of her own activities of daily living.

It was a cruel way to live. Cruel for someone who deserved none of it.

It was likely a urinary tract infection that spread to her blood stream that ended her battle; sepsis. I watched the telltale signs of near death when I sat at her bedside today, beside myself that this was happening. HOW does a woman so young die from a UTI? It seemed unbelievable.

Tonight she died. We are heart broken, and yet our hearts have been breaking slowly for almost two years.

Life hardly seems fair sometimes. If you have your health, you have SO MUCH. I have seen three people under the age of 50 die in the past week. But this last one, sitting on the OTHER side of hospice, seemed the most unfair of all.

I know I speak for all that knew her, but we will miss you Kelly. What a beautiful soul you were. Are.
And now, sweet sweet Kelly, you are free.

You used to call my husband, your baby brother, all the time and end every conversation with "I love you."
Tonight the conversation ended, but the love,

that will never end.

You are loved. And we are all grateful for the light you shined upon this world.

Ellie, this is your Aunt Kelly holding you when you were just a tiny baby.

Thank you for all that you were.

First crush

We've been hanging out a lot lately with Henry and Milo.

They play together GREAT!

I mean...GREAT.

And it's not that Ellie doesn't like Milo or anything
....but Henry...oh Henry.

I've seen that look before.

Just remember, you're three, kid, and mommy is ALWAYS WATCHING!! (And almost ALWAYS has a camera!)

Henry took this picture of Ellie with his little camera. I mean I can see why he'd be smitten.

I remember the first time I ever showed public affection with a boy. Peter Ogilvie. I was in 8th grade. He had his arm around my waist at the lunch table. Mrs. Soucy came running up to us with, I swear, smoke coming out of her nose. "Oh no you DON'T" and flung his hand off my waist. 

I mean, like it wasn't awkward enough already.

Oh Ellie, I know we're not there yet. I know you are three and just think Henry is super cool. I'm okay with that. But please, pu-leeze, DON'T GROW UP TOO FAST!!

I have 10 more years until I have a teenager. I plan on milking them with over-zealous hugs, kisses in public, hand holding, waving from the front door. I'm the smitten one right now.

And really I expect to be for the rest of my life. But don't worry, I won't be sneaking into your house when you're an adult to rock you like a baby. 

(But I'll probably kind of want to. )