Frozen Raspberries and Freezer Burnt Ice Cream.

Goals according to the world more often than not do not match up with Grief and it's journey.

It's a funny thing when you write a blog and label yourself as an open book, there are still things that you think are off limits, but the wind of time often turns pages without our realizing.  These words are by far the most vulnerable I have shared on this blog, insight into the deepest part of my heart that has always felt completely crazy and even with years of counseling, yet unresolved.

It's the story of the remnants of an ice cream pie.  It's lived in 6 freezers, one belonging to my best friend who faithfully housed it for two years without hesitation, for that I will be forever grateful.  It's 19yrs old this month.  It was made by my mom.  Lovingly she made it for me the day before she died, she fucking died the day after she made it.  It was to celebrate my 22nd birthday.  Her hands actually touched it.  Her DNA is on it.  This is the dark part of my grief, making me cringe at the thought, and if paused upon too long, ugly sob.  I can't.  I can't let go.  I have a soft goal of someday finding reconciliation in releasing it - but to be totally honest what does that look like?  A blob melting away.  There is nothing beautiful in that.  It's not a bird being set free, or spreading ashes letting them lightly fall where their owner's soul was most content.  It's a runny, sticky mess.  And heart-wrenching.  The shit of a fatal accident, sudden death.  There's no beloved quilt, or video - oh what I would give to hear her voice again.  Just a symbol of her every day devotion to silly old college student me who mostly took that for granted.  I didn't know it would be her last act of love.  In that freezer burned mass is her light and her love, I can't let it go.

So WHY am I sharing this?  Good gosh that is a good frickin question.  I've managed to keep this quiet for 19yrs.  It came in my heart a bit ago.  And my response in my best sassy 5th grader tone was "I'm Good."  But it came again.  And cue the 5th grade sass once again "seriously?!"  all too well knowing it wasn't going to be ignored, and knowing it was time.  

Taking a deep breathe I reminded myself that ignoring Grief does not make it go away, it will not, and will only consume until it's acknowledged.  While honoring grief, giving it space to unfold and be felt and move through me, takes away it's enormity in that moment, and brings life to what was otherwise lifeless.  I have come to trust this process, it doesn't make the pain and longing less, but it does make it easier to step in knowing I will not be overcome by the waves and will most certainly emerge with a deeper sense of myself and my mom.  So begrudgingly I lobbed some prayers up... "I am surely NOT strong enough to expose this to myself or to the world, but God, YOU ARE.  and for the recored I'm not at all on board with this, but I trust you."

As I hesitantly began to pray and meditate on the remnants of my birthday cake, something I never thought possible began to happen, cracks of light broke through into my dark lifeless time capsule. 

I realized that my ice cream pie is also in the heart of our home, the kitchen.  The place I feel most connected to my mom.  Instead of feeling burdened and crazy when my freezer is over-filled and not shutting, I bitch at her and smile to myself as this is the closest I will get to a mother-daughter relationship.  It's cruel humor and sweet reconciliation simultaneously.  

And then in a moment, the significance of frozen raspberries in my freezer unfolded.  They had been on sample at my local grocer and tasted so incredibly nostalgic of the summer spent getting up at the crack of dawn to pick berries with my mom, my first job when we moved to WA, I bought them.  In the quiet of late morning, after the kids had gone to school, pondering what this changing of my heart meant, a huge sob welled up inside me, then that little voice beckoned "be brave, do it, it's not crazy."  With shaky hands I moved the berries next to my pie in the freezer, allowing myself to rest in the knowledge that God has my back and it was time to process this.

And here I am, leaning into this piece of my grief, and surprisingly it is revealing to me a peculiar strength I was completely caught off guard by.  I am gobsmacked every time, how life is always incredibly entwined with itself.  You see, my heart is not handling the current tipping point of parenthood well.  I told Nick last night after a dance moment in Trader Joe's with my child running for cover, that I now embarrass and am not always wanted.  Ouch.  And all at once I am the child who left her family after ice cream pie to go celebrate her 22nd birthday with her friends.  That is a deep guilt I have held on to for 19years packaged tightly in shame.  Seeing this child that is me, as my own child, I begin to understand, and the shame is stripped away.  How could I?  Because I was just a kid, my mom was my foundation, she would be there in the morning just as my child knows this as I dance through TJ's.  I'm a constant, as my mom was a constant up to that point.  (yes, life has shown me otherwise but this is not the "lesson" I want to pass on to my kids.  Rather - it's living and loving into each and every day, not living in fear as if it's your last.)   The significance of this for me is that once the shame is removed, healing can begin.  It's not impenetrable as I had always thought.   And there is the gift of understanding my mom better knowing how she must have felt - happy to send her child off to celebrate and sad to see her go.  I'm all at once more grace-filled with that child inside me and my own children, and closer to my mom.  As I type this my breathe catches.  

This piece is far from reconciled but I've never felt the courage to face it until now.     

Ironically, as I get towards the end of this post I hesitate to share the awakening moments in this process, I did not know where this post was headed when I began writing it many drafts ago.  There have been so many moments in these 19yrs that have been filled with what felt like ugly, crazy, cancerous feelings.  And that was ok, raw, real.  And still is ok.  And is necessary - whether to purge some of the pain or simply to survive through it.  I am sure there will be more.  Each time it's less intense - excruciating is replaced with a dull aching but it still hurts in a way I can never explain to someone who hasn't lost.  To those reading this and thick into grieving please hear that, and know that you are not alone, and that grief happens in it's own time for everyone.  I will type it again, 8 years of professional counseling, a very strong support system that has scraped me off the ground more times than I care to count, and simply time, 19 years learning to trust and listen to that quiet courageous voice.   

Courage in grief shows up in many ways, in the beginning simply getting out of bed, eating a meal regularly, desperately trying to stop the bleeding from injuries unique to every person's grief - for me it was hearing "Happy Birthday" without falling apart,  it all takes amazing amounts of courage, and eventually that quiet steady voice will lead you through the seemingly insurmountable stuff promising healing on the other end.  I have absolutely lived and firmly believe all of this.  

There is no how-to here, but in this sacred space of grief work I have learned the following is what I need, and damnit if I am going to be an open book with this pain process, my hope and prayer is that perhaps this will help another person who is reading this...

GRACE.  To feel, to heal, to take space and to throw in the towel when it's too much, to go to bed early, for goodness sakes leave the dirty dishes.  To snuggle and watch a movie with my kids just because I can't parent in that moment.  To have ice cream for dinner.  To be OK with not being ok.  I am NOT dropping the ball,  I am healing.  It's ok, it's ok, it's ok.  

CARE.  Extra rest when wrestling with big emotions, extra water to replenish the tears.  Fresh-ground peanut butter and really good bread, this sounds silly as I type it but that combo is easy to make and comforts me on all levels, taking care that I am nourishing my body.  Finally the regular physical, emotional and mental release I get from working out.  I have most definitely cried in my workout class more than once.  

SPACE.  it's crawling back into bed after the kids have gone to school to let the quiet clear my mind before I start my day but also blasting that specific playlist bc my heart needs to scream...Andra Day, Lauren Dangle, Lizzo, Taylor, Macklemore, Crowder.  It's what would otherwise be routine activities that my mom meets me in...gardening, mopping the floor, and scrubbing the kitchen sink.  It's both focused journaling and getting lost in the creative process.  Sacred space shows up in all of these places.

SAFETY.  This one means a few things to me.  Accepting my fragility, it's ok to not be thick skinned, to need boundaries in place for relationships, for social media, and for interacting in the world.  Acknowledging that this is temporary helps me to listen to and honor my needs.  It's telling Nick if I just can't, and if needed, seeking counseling.

For me, the transformation process that leads to reconciliation in grief happens in new eyes to see and new ears to hear, and a part of my brokenness mended...I no longer feel like I need to "get rid of" my pie.  Needing to keep this leftover does not mean I'm unhinged, the gut-check that deep down I already knew.   Goals according to the world more often than not do not match up with the grief journey.  While intended for good, and for progress, it just made me feel like I was always failing.  

“Our silence about grief serves no one. We can't heal if we can't grieve; we can't forgive if we can't grieve. We run from grief because loss scares us, yet our hearts reach toward grief because the broken parts want to mend.”
~Brene Brown, Rising Strong.

I had thought the reason for sharing this process would be to let other people know they are not alone, in publishing these words I feel like I'm going to throw up, which I expected, but I oddly also feel free, and actually gave myself permission to acknowledge the significance of my own present journey,


so thank you so much for reading.
Kirsty

The Paper Shreds of Life. Grief And The Holidays

 

Can we first acknowledge the acid-washed denim love affair going on here, and I'm obsessed with that hanging fern in the background.  I don't recall that plant.  Also what's with the rest of my family not smiling?  Honestly.   

The paper shreds of life.

I get where hoarding comes from.  For me, it’s the shred of sentimental value in an item that makes it so hard for me to part with it.  They are treasures. And there are stories behind them.  Good thing I have a basement.  And a very patient husband.    

I own a frame shop, I see tremendous value in framing sentimental items, not because they are worth a lot of money, but because they are worth a lot of smiles.

And I’ve gotten to frame some of my favorite things.

But the paper shreds don’t belong in a frame.  They belong where they were meant to be, padding the Christmas decorations.  Doing their job.  Every year when the tubs are opened they are a welcomed surprise, a nod from my mom, because they are too, what’s the word...insignificant, basic, small, I hate all these descriptions...to think about the rest of the year.  Then they show up.  And it all depends, sometimes I cry.  Not this year, this year I shared with Riese and Peyton why I pick up every shred that falls to the ground and dutifully put them back in the tub... “my mom ACTUALLY touched these.  My mom who was very much a clean freak thought paper shreds that get every where were a good idea."  The boys laugh and I smile thinking of her.  And for a moment I’m sort of shocked she’s gone.  It’s been 17 years.  That’s the thing with grief.   

"They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up.  And you come through.  It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly - that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with a limp."  Anne Lamott

And my boys now join in the game of saving the paper shreds.  A new Christmas Tradition.  And there are two camps in my mind:  1. Wishing with all my heart that my boys had traditions like making cookies with Grandma.  Pissed.  And sad.  2. Grateful that she still carries on in my life, and I can share her with my boys.  

It's absolutely both.  Dancing with a limp.

We work so hard to hide that limp, but the broken parts, the cracks, allow the light to shine through.  It's part of who we are, and lets people, and ourselves, know we are not alone.  It might not be wrapped in a big red bow but it's authentic.  

I definitely could have kept quiet about the shreds, I thought about it.  There's a risk in telling my children, it seems safer, but also lonelier, to just keep picking them up in solitude, hoping no one discards them, at the risk my boys won't have ears to hear my precious, and what often feels very crazy, story.  Paper shreds.  My youngest tends to divert and distract when he's feeling emotions he's unsure of, often cracking a joke at the part when my heart is wide open.

Regardless, it's a risk worth taking.  

Deep breathe.  Maybe two, or three.  And do it.  

My prayer this season is twofold, that we can all dare to be vulnerable, and trust that the light somehow ALWAYS brings healing.  And that we can be gentle with others, increasing our kindness, especially in those moments when it's the hardest to muster, because we may never know the limp that another person may be compensating for.  

I am here, a bit exposed.  If you need support and encouragement, email me kirsty@luciakjewelry.com.  Please don't hesitate.  

Thank you for reading,

Kirsty

It Just Wasn't That Big Of A Deal, Then I Ugly Cried.

How often as moms, as women, as people, we tell ourselves it just isn't that big of a deal?

but, it's ok if it is.


Most of the time it isn't, a big deal.  and for most people.

Until Those Darn Extenuating Circumstances.

Because we are all fighting internal struggles in some way at some point.  And we need to be kind to that self that is in the midst of the storm.

For me, it's a gobsmack that only happens on special occasions.  A figurative "you idiot, how did you not see this coming?!" smack on the side of my own head and that huge wave of missing my mom that takes me down.  That is grief.  New experiences in life that she isn't a part of.  I can't even tell you what they are, because I don't know until they happen.  It's usually not that big of a deal, and I'm fine.  I mean I know no different so I shouldn't even know what I am missing right?  But something deep inside me does.

That wave of grief.  And then it's an UGLY CRY.  My husband will tell you there's lots of snot involved.

I have gone to years of counseling for this.  It doesn't stop the crying, or the ache, but it has taught me I won't drown in it.  PSA - Counseling, do it.

I can't be the only one who UGLY CRIES?  When I tell this to my husband, he laughs a little.  Maybe it's not as common as I think.  For me, crying is such a natural part of me that I forget it's not for everyone.  Of course that UGLY CRY isn't every day.  Thank Goodness.

But it happened today.


KINDNESS.

Without getting into the details, because that is not the point of what I am hoping to share, I was genuinely affected by the kindness I was shown today - there are people who need this so much more than I do.  Yet I received it.  The woman who stopped and offered me tissue.  The receptionist who called me back, after my very poor reaction towards her message, and offered to help.  Friends willing to rearrange their schedule to join me.  My mother in law willing to enter into my circumstances.

And I was extremely grateful and inspired by the human spirit and the world.

In a time that we see A LOT of fighting and focus on our disagreements, there is also so much beauty in this world.  And hope.

And kindness.

So the point that I want to share, is to encourage you all to enter in with others.  We are called to be in community.  but don't think about it, because you might talk yourself out of it, listen to your gut.  It's a vulnerable place, to give, and to receive.  In order to receive you have to allow people into your sacred space, but that is where the fruit truly is.  This week holds both #bemorekindday followed by suicide prevention day, we all can step up our game.


"Empathy has no script.  There is no right or wrong way to do it.  It's simply listening, holding space, withholding judgement, emotionally connecting, and communicating that incredibly healing message of "you're not alone.""  Brene Brown.


So after I gathered my tissue and myself, I went home and found the prettiest dress in my closet, because it reminds me of my grandma, and new lipstick and awesome earrings, you better believe it.  These are all personal pick me ups.  And as I was driving to get my boys from a friends house, I was struck by the beauty of the marina on this day, I couldn't help but park and pause for a few mins.  Courtesy of my Iphone timer and a garbage can prop, I took a few photos. 

thank you for reading.

best
Kirsty

An Essay On Yesterday. Grief 17 Years Later

Well I actually started writing the blog post two weeks ago but I sort of lost my steam to share.  I told my husband what was on my mind and heart, to which he responded, yes definitely, you need to share this.

So here we go.

The thing about loss 17 years later is that it doesn't surface as much.  I can easily go weeks even months without a tear.  The strange thing about grief is that I then feel guilty to not be feeling it.  It's an attachment to the lost, to my mom.  Such a silly fiercely real thing.  And it took a very long time and years of counseling to realize that just because I don't always feel the pain of her loss, does not mean I am not loyal to her and my memories.

But it's still inside.  Sometimes it's as little as the flutter of a butterfly passing by.  Other times it's like getting hit with a monster wave that I didn't see coming.  Shocked to be knocked off your feet you can gasp for breath and stay rigid, getting knocked on your ass - or you can swim with the wave allowing it to awaken all your senses.  This is a new thought process for me, years in the making, and I still need a reminder.  Fight or flight is a powerful human extinct, meant to literally save our lives, so again I still need reminding to hold that little girl's hand and let her know she is safe, the wave will not overtake her.  And then I remind my heart that it will not stop beating.

And the gift of awakening my senses is the flood of new memories, those I had forgotten.  Sweet sweet gifts of remembering.  With that tears, but these tears are part of my story.  And feeling her near is what I long for more than most anything at times.

It also turns this day, what would be her 60th birthday, when the tendency is to crawl into bed under all the covers and wait till the storm passes, into a day of empowerment.  I am stronger than I think I am, and grief will always be a part of me, but it doesn't win.  And pain is not the only way to stay connected to my mom.  This is not the end of the story.  The hole in my heart is real and valid but the darkness shall not overcome.

So trusting in my strength and the power of God's reconciliation, today I gave myself the space to deeply feel, with all my senses, in the hope of feeling how I've become like my mom in ways I haven't even realized.

Like a conversation we never got to have.

Starting with my almond milk latte.  Not sure she would appreciate paying $3 plus dollars for a cup of coffee but could I talk her into trying almond milk?  I like to think so.

I just love this photo because I look so much like her but I can't pinpoint exactly why.  I already chuckle over my love of Mom jeans, I can't get enough, she was rocking this look two decades ago.   She is totally saying "I told you so."  Dare I say I even just ordered taper legs.  and those tee shirts, she tucked ALL the way in.  Commitment.  Right there with ya mom.

But a new realization, wearing my tennis shoes all day long.  As I type this I am sitting in my tennis, in my home.  As a mom I just get more stuff done, and they are comfy.  She was on to something.  The last one's I remember her wearing were all white.

Crying at the first day of school every year, and lots of days in between.  I got this from her.

Cleaning my kitchen floors is therapeutic.  I get it, I should it more often.

Belting out my favorite songs in my best singing voice, which is terrible, and inherited from my  mom, kids cringing.  Brings a smile to my face and heart.

That big mom purse.  She used to sport a big leather backpack, like santa's bag, everything we could imagine we needed inside, yet she was the only one who could find it.  I mean really.  This is a trait we absolutely share.  A leather backpack has been on my wish list for a while now.  Gosh I almost hate it when she's still right.

And my kids making me braver than I ever thought I could be.

This was today's treasure.

I happened to have a date planned with my oldest son.  In the spirit of truly living this day, I decided to remind him of what today meant to me.  The vulnerability is that my heart is 100 percent exposed and children get to have the response they want to have (which is both refreshing and maddening as a parent.)  Being vulnerable without expectation is so hard.  Ultimately I want him to know my mom so badly but this is NOT a burden I want him to bear, and I want him to have the freedom to feel what he wants.

I let him know what the day was, we decided together to celebrate my mom's birthday over cupcakes.  In public.   And the rest unfolded in a gift I will always cherish.  And maybe Riese will never know.  And then I wondered what moments like that happened for my mom, that as a kid I never realized.

They happen to have candles for sale, when asked by the server who we were celebrating, Riese said,  "it's my Grandma Chris's birthday."  So matter of fact like we do this every year she just happens to be in Hawaii because it's her 60th and yet so momentous to me that I will never ever forget that moment.  Then we sat and lit the candle, and sang happy birthday.  Something I've never had the courage to do since she died.  So simple, and brought into the light.  And she was there with us in that moment.  In my son, and in me.

It's both liberating and terrifying to publish this, thank you for letting me share.

best,
Kirsty

That Huckleberry Patch.

There are those experiences that touch all your senses.  Unexpected gifts you will take with you always.  After losing my mom, there are simply moments that hold so much power it's unexplainable.  And they come most unexpectedly.  As I sit to write this I find I need space to find my words, grateful everyone is asleep and the house is quiet.  Anyone else love that time of night?

Montana settles the deepest part of me.  Bringing my husband and boys back to where I'm rooted is very important because it's a place you don't really get until you experience it.  One part of this is huckleberry picking.

My first job was cleaning huckleberries at The Huckleberry Patch in Hungry Horse MT.  Before that, every summer my family and I would pick huckleberries to sell, local restaurants willing to pay what felt like top dollar for these deep purple jewels.  Once an epic patch is found, it is the talk of the town and family folklore.  If prompted my grandma will tell you of when she shared a patch with a bear, because she was not about to budge from her patch.  I remember the chill of frosty mornings, steep mountainsides and the anguish of spilled buckets (why do we never put lids on them), purple stained fingers and the giant boombox my mom would bring, blasting music to scare off any bears within a 20 mile radius.

Now, picking these wild berries is always on my checklist when we visit, hoping I timed our trip exactly with the right amount of summer precipitation and hot weather - just so we can eat them.  I'm sure they are a superfood, and they don't come easy.

We drive up a bumpy windy, long skinny road and park.  This time Nick is going to "pick" with the boys and they go to find a creek.  I head up the mountain with my Aunt.  It's about finding huckleberries, and then I remember my mom.  Surrounded by huckleberry bushes she is there with me, and the memories and senses float back to me.  I close my eyes and almost almost hear her.  Almost.

Then I hear my littlest wanting to find me.  I yell half-heartedly through the trees.  But he's determined and he finds me.  Again I'm all business.

But so is he.  And he wants to pick every single berry, no berry left behind, so determined and focused.  Allowing himself every 4th berry to "pop" in his mouth.  And when it's time to go he's "not quite ready."  And there like a wave - I see my mom in my son.

And in that moment my son can know his grandma.

And we can share a new memory of my mom.

I managed to bring back a prized gallon of berries thanks to my Montana family.

So now as we eat huckleberry pancakes, we talk about how P is just like his grandma Chris in a way only she knew until this summer.

The simple incredible gift of a journey that brought us to that mountain patch.

xo,
Kirsty

see more of my moments on instagram, thekirstyfiles

they were my mom's.

I don't have a lot of items that belonged to my mom from her younger years.  between her ocd need for a clean house and the few times we moved, her motto was definitely out with the old and in with the new-to-us.

my grandma and my aunt, her mom and sister, are great for stories of my mom's childhood.  but "the younger years" of her being a wife, and a mom of two young children, that I couldn't relate to as a college student so never bothered to ask, knowledge of that time, is what I long to ask her now.  so much about that daily life of hers, the silly mom questions that only she would really know the answer, or at least the answers I so wish to hear, are missed.  so I cling to the few items I have.

her wedding ring.  I wear it most days, I have her hands, and sometimes I look down and I see her hands.  I know that memory.

a pair of old levi cut-offs, pretty dang close to daisy dukes, so they don't get a lot of wear.  obviously post baby weight was not her issue.

a fun vintage seventies looking scarf, that I wear far too often to style my unwashed hair.

a pair of broken earrings.

these earrings hang in a clear bag on my inspiration board in my work area.  my mom has been gone for 11 years tomorrow, and long before Lkj came to be, I have been designing and creating jewelry.  yet these earrings still remain unwearable.  I have tried a couple of times to finish them, but nothing seems right, not how I want them to be.  they intimidate me.  and the possibility of losing one while wearing them is unbearable, yet I wear her wedding ring daily.  grief is strange like that.

still, they hang on my board as a sign of Hope, that I will get there, and possibly even wear them one day.  and a sign of her Strength and Legacy that is inside of me, and they are a part of me, of my story.  so for now, I just look at them and wonder about the woman, wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, who once wore them.

and I ache for her.

thanks for letting me share,
kirsty