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My Personal Armageddon

For the seven of you out there who have been following this blog, I’m sure you’ve noted our absence the last two months. Here comes the explanation; whether its for you or myself remains to be seen.

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This is my son, Trey, or Leo as he has wished to be called in recent times. On October 2, 2014, at 1:09 am Trey was struck by a car and killed on impact. He was just 22. The beautiful photo above was taken by Tim just a few weeks before Trey’s death. He had joined us at our retreat in North Carolina after we returned from our cross country trip.

I’ll forever be grateful for that time with him. Somehow he had grown into a man when my head was turned. I’m so glad we had that peaceful, tranquil time. We hiked and discovered waterfalls and just sat around. That time was a gift.

This time is a curse. I’m heartbroken and angry at the injustice. Everything reminds me of him. A crushed Monster can. White tennis shoes. Yellow trucks. Passing a library reminds me of how he never quit pronouncing it Li- Berry. Watching our favorite TV shows reminds me that he will never know how it ends. He will never swim in the ocean, or hike the Appalachian Trail, or take his little brother to Vegas for his 21st birthday. All his dreams, and mine for him, died alongside him on a foggy road, alone in the dark.

This is my Armageddon. My world has been destroyed. I hope that writing about him, and the journey I’m now on will prove cathartic, but that too remains to be seen. For now I’m going to cuddle with Zydeco, who was our dog. I leave you with the last picture taken of Trey, and myself, on the day of his death.

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*Author’s Note:  I originally wrote this on December 2, 2014, promptly had a panic attack and deleted. Now its February 22, 2015, and I feel much stronger and ready to share this with the world.

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Inspiration in a Storm

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Due to the trauma of losing my son, followed by months on medication and the natural passage of time, I’ve been having a very difficult (dare I say impossible) time getting back to writing. My first counselor suggested making writing three times a week a goal. Ha! I wrote one piece on my son, had a panic attack and deleted the whole thing. Turns out all those times I wrote “goal oriented” on applications and resumes was a big fat lie. I’m more nap oriented.

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A funny thing happened this week though. My best friend, Angela, shared this photo.

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It reminded me of her natural talent behind the lens and how we had always dreamed of traveling and writing someday.

Then I went to my Mom’s and along with Trey’s adopted sister, Cayce, made this awesome memorial tree for Trey.

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A few days later Tim was painting a dining room table. Solid white per my request, which had turned a soft robins egg blue. Inspiration struck! I took over the painting job while Tim was out and did this:

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It seemed I was surrounded by art and inspiration and creativity. On Wednesday, I started sessions with a new counselor. She said I should take my time and either the writing would come back or maybe I would discover a new creative outlet. Yay!!! Permission from a stranger won out over pressure from myself.

I found myself and Marvie laughing over my travel tales; running out of gas in the Mojave, getting pulled by a SWAT member in Atlanta, the dogs locking us out of the car. So here I sit two days later writing. Maybe I’ll write again tomorrow. Maybe I won’t. I’m okay either way. Its enough to know that the storm may never end but there are moments of calm in the middle.

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