The night after

The father and husband were found dead next door by his wife, police sat across the street for a few hours like they were watching for someone. Matt’s girlfriend Chelsea approaches them with her puppy and has a brief conversation before they depart.The wife hadn’t and still hasn’t been back but a few different cars have shown up,perhaps some essential belongings.

On a walk this afternoon, my husband runs into Matt who gives him a hug and talks to greater length about what happened, divulging that the man’s death was an apparent suicide after a particularly bad fight between with the wife who was then intending to leave the partnership. Dread sinks in me thinking about the pounding on the walls I had heard the night before the responders showed up and I may never know but I really fuckin hope he didn’t lay violent hands on that woman and child.

In the days since. The giant sunflowers that once grew in front of their home now wither into blackness and his BMW with a cross hanging on the mirror has sits untouched in the garage next to us.
I hope the mother and baby are in a space that offers them comfort and support that might give them recovery, respite, or whatever they need to make the best out of the path ahead.

My days as a house mom

I wake up at 6 a.m. to have my coffee before the morning hustle begins. I made everyone’s lunches the night before, the kid loves when I use cookie cutters to turn her sandwiches into fun shapes like hearts, the husband has recently changed up his sandwich habit for whatever hello fresh meal I have made up.

At 6:30 I wake the kid up to make sure she’s dressed, packed and ready to go for our walk to the kindergarten. She has enough time to enjoy an episode of one of her shows during breakfast before drop-off commences.

After that it’s just me and the cats, as the husband takes our one car to work in the early hours of the morning, I’m homebound until I walk to get the child from school again.I spend that time getting our little space cleaned and organized better than I’ve been able too multitasking with the family around before, when I’m not making our space tidy I’m attempting to complete half finished art works to list for sale.
Last week I mailed off two smaller commissions I recieved for something normally outside my realm, a Proverbs quote, but I’m not going to turn down good business. Now I have the need of getting pieces framed out and listed then advertised.

I don’t have anyone screaming bitch at me,bills. Having all my time and energy sucked up by two jobs, I’m not panicking because I’m getting off work late to pick up my kid, no car accidents, or overly friendly advances from coworkers and clients, no demands for productivity besides the ones I make for myself. I might not bring in a ton of money doing what I am as of yet but I’m still just getting the ball rolling so to speak and my husband makes enough that there’s not added pressure just to cover the bills and we’re all insured. I have a lot to be grateful for with that.

After I pick up the kid from school we play outside with the neighbor kids for a few minutes before getting down with whatever homework her teacher sent her home with. We got her nicely prepared during her home education that she’s already recieved a nice pile of certificates of accomplishments from her teacher for what she knows. We’ve also got her learning some Russian and Spanish basics at home so she can be in a good space to be a polyglot later. Mind you that doesn’t mean I don’t have to negotiate through my fair share of temper tantrums and only behaviors.

I might not be bringing in the finance consistently yet

Love story

A while back, an older couple told me how they got together. They had gone to the same high school, and while the man had a crush on the woman then, he wasn’t anywhere near her radar. They reunited many years later at, well, a reunion. They had both been married; the woman had gone through an acrimonious divorce while the man had lost his wife to cancer. They started dating soon after and eventually got married. And while this wonderfully romantic tale of love winning above all no matter how old you are was being spun, I couldn’t help but see the slightest tinge of ‘I loved her 50 years ago, I wish she realized that before I was her last best option’ in the man’ face. Not even half his age, but with more than my share of potential romances that didn’t appreciate me until long after it mattered, I understood this type of love story was probably the best I could ever hope for myself.


Hope is such a gift to me. I wish I didn’t hope. I wish I didn’t have it even in the face of the disturbing things going on in my life. I fear hope at times. It grabs me by my soul and gives me dreams of things I long for. It torments and twists my soul in an excruciating manner as in a game of cat and mouse. I am the one it tortures and I am the one it kills. I wish I would stop hoping. I wish I would stop dreaming. I wish I would stop wanting. I hope so much. I dream so much. I want so much. But 1 or none ever in my reach. Even in the midst of my hope I am plagued by reason and beaten down by doubt. Reason for how will things change when I can’t change how things are or can’t change how someone treats me when intent on destroying me for unjustifiable emotions on their part. Doubt for how will things get better were I am even in the face of me trying to be strong. My dream created my prayer, the utterance of my prayers manifested my dream, my dream after so many years came true and my choice of that dream led me here because I had hope and still have hope. But what good is hope when I am plagued by reason and beaten down by doubt. Hope is a hurtful emotion. A hurtful emotion indeed to me. How many times have I hoped only to have myself or some other person dash it. I fail myself in my hope. Others kill me for my hope. I don’t think there ever was a time when I truly enjoyed the fulfillment of my hope to it’s fullest. Suffer I do for hope. Suffer I do for the light inside me. Difficult it is to bear the presence of those bitter in their own lives, bitter to such an extent the only way they see is to hurt me, to dash my hope. How can I give up my gift. How can I give up hope. For to give up on hope is to give up on my humanity. How can I give up my light. A light which seemingly attracts darkness. A light which seemingly turns on itself. Destroying itself. Eating itself alive. How can I be without the other. Hope, hope is a gift. My gift. And seemingly my end.


Today was a fucking awful day.

I’m getting married later this week. To the man I love, who has been my partner for over 9 years. And I just kept anticipating this week. Like building it up in my head. So excited, like this week was gonna be the best week of the year or something. I don’t know why I do this. It’s like I ruined it before it even started. We had a fight today, that started over something so asinine. So insignificant.

And then, of course, he just held onto the anger all day, which eventually left me feeling like I just had to tiptoe around him. That of course led to another fight. After which, I was told to run our pre-planned errands for the day by myself. Offered to pick up dinner for us. He declined. Came home and he was still irritated. Quiet. Just not really talking to me. Then he left to go for a ride on his motorcycle. Then he came back home and, in trying to ask him how we could better resolve/handle the situation in the future, I managed to make him more upset.

So now I’m just sitting awake in bed, writing this letter, because I feel so stupid for building this day up in my head. And we’re getting married this week. On Friday. And it’s only Monday and I’m already over this week.

I fucking hated today. Fuck this day.

On top of it all, my mom is toxic, my sister isn’t talking to me, and I just feel pretty alone. I hate this day. And I hate the way I feel right now.

A memorial

Jordan’s memorial was held behind the The Trading Post out by Red Rocks. They prepared a lovely space white chairs that sat about half of the attendees. Rainclouds loomed overhead with a few threatening drops as a promise of what was to come. Softly Somewhere Over the Rainbow played as her family and friends gathered. Sean greeted us briefly after arrival but was swiftly moved on to other grievers offering condolences.
We found a little deck to sit on and were offered up a pamphlet by Jordan’s aunt, on the cover her beautiful face beamed out and inside a paper butterfly with violets pressed falls out. A eulogy followed by various poems fill the pages , those I read to my child as music pours down the rocks from the above amphitheater and casting a larger than life ambience.

We listened to a few family speakers who worked closely with her and praised her adventure seeking spirit and emphasize the nature of her crash as a freak accident, then her dad was up and he shares a few personal stories , one where as they listen to Twisted Sister’s We’re not going to take it, Jordan asks “what are we not going to take?” And he responds “It, we’re not going to take It.” As he finishes his story the downpour of rain begins and he mentions how she would love weather like this before they concluded with an intermission as everyone attempts to crowd under the balcony. We take that time to leave as we did what we came to do and there was no need to put the kid through the downpour.
From the pamplet:
Love Never Fades.
It Never goes away.
Though my body is not here.
My love for you is strong.
It grows bigger and stronger.
Each memory keeping me alive.
In the area of your heart.
Love never fades.
It will never go away.
Silently, I walk beside you.
Watching our tree grow.
Every day, Every moment,
I am there,
Like a tree,
I will be with you.