"Life Cut Short"

Now, 8 years after I wrote it, instead of thinking, “yes, and it will always feel this way” it’s more of a “yes, but life goes on, and is smattered with such beauty. It’s not ALL pain. It’s not ALL anything.” I’m grateful that life isn’t so black and white, and that some of the rawest of those feelings get easier with time. Time may not heal all wounds, but the more distance/time there is between you and an event, the more time you get to develop the coping skills it takes to get through it.

I questioned whether I should share this publicly, because it was such a raw, brutal time in my life. But I think it’s a good way to help others, who may be going through their ‘raw period’, feel a little less alone in their beginning stages of grief. And for that reason, I decided to post it.

Here it is, written on April 26th,2015, only 9 months after my first set of surgeries, before I knew the hardware didn’t fuse, became detached, and I’d need a total revision surgery later that year. When the reality of it all was just sinking in – Things would never be the same. I had just lost my dream job because I was in too much pain to function and was feeling especially dejected. I was only 30 years old.

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I’ve traveled, and lived, all over the country. I’ve traveled outside of the country. I’ve had so many rich experiences. I’ve learned so much about the world in which we live, and during that process, so much about myself. After all, everyone is a mirror.

I’ve been a continuous student of balance, relationships, love, heartbreak, beauty, grief, nature, resiliency, community, passion, strength, and human folly. My life has been far from perfect. But I’ve also experienced miracles.

I’ve danced in the rain in the hot Arizona streets. I’ve ridden a bicycle in an August hailstorm during monsoon season. I climbed Mt. Delphi in Greece, the day after climbing up to the Acropolis and looking down at all of Athens. I’ve hiked - and picked those famous wild blueberries from - the mountains of Acadia National Forrest in Maine. I’ve seen the pope speak in a Roman cathedral. I’ve canoed down the Delaware Water Gap. I’ve camped in the Mojave Desert. I’ve been a youth advocate, protesting discriminatory laws in Albany. I’ve seen the Sistine Chapel. I’ve been an activist for women’s reproductive rights. I’ve lived in the woods of the Wasatch Mountains for 3 weeks with 40,000 other people. I’ve jet skied in Florida. I bathed naked in the hot springs and rivers of Sedona. I’ve hunted with the Natives in Canada. I’ve done Tai Chi in front of a public library at 3am. I’ve seen the Roman Coliseum. I’ve studied at one of the best universities for social work in the country. I’ve climbed the Mayan Ruins in Belize. On one rainy day, I drank fresh picked Labrador Tea with some very politically outspoken Quebecois. I made a makeshift bridge out of birch and twine to cross a small river. I’ve helped feed the hungry and clothe the homeless. I once hitchhiked from Salt Lake City, UT to Jacksonville, FL, and met a lot of truck drivers – with amazing stories of their own- along the way. I’ve held Kachina dolls on Hopi land, while being told of the ancient prophecies.

I’ve seen a meteor shower during a new moon, while camping in the Grand Canyon. That night, while snuggled up with a lover by the fire, we shared our first kiss. The next morning, we sat and watched the sunrise out of the canyon with dozens of others. Everyone there was so completely still and silent. My heart was never so full.

I never expected that the life I once knew would come to a screeching halt at only 30 years old.

Who knew so much could change so quickly.

I just thought I had so much more time.

Life is so deeply beautiful, and so deeply sad.