I am better because of her.

Grief works in funny ways. You can grieve for obvious things, like the loss of a loved one. Or you can grieve for the end of a relationship, the end of a chapter in your life, the end of whatever it may be. The end.

But every end is just the beginning of something new; at least that’s what Keri Dahmen would always tell me. 

Summer was our favorite. She had the most humble way of keeping me grounded by reminding me to always count my blessings, and to love...love hard.

And I have. 

I have loved and I have lost — and it is so important to hold on to these pieces of whomever it is which formed the strength of who you are, let go of the painful pieces that caused the suffering, and be mindful enough to recognize the difference. 

Almost six years ago now- I was getting ready to commit to the idea of moving to New York City, scared shitless but excited all the same. She told me her remarkable story about how, at the same young age of 18, she just packed her bags and moved her little country ass from El Paso, Texas all the way to New Jersey and never looked back. 

I always admired her for that. 

She told me God always had a plan....that I’ll always end up exactly where I’m meant to. 

It was three later, in a TGIFriday’s, when we stumbled across the Bible verse, which I’d later get tattooed on my wrist, John 13:7. 

“YOU MAY NOT REALIZE NOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING BUT LATER YOU WILL UNDERSTAND.”

I’ve been taking everything Keri was and all she’s shown me and I’m trying to apply it to myself and into this summer. It is hard sometimes, going through this year of firsts without my voice of reason with me, but I am oh so lucky to have loved and been loved by her. 

And that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve been holding on to.

But I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook memories and the Timehop app. 

Today was one of those days of solemn reflection.

One year ago today, I got a random phone call from her. I knew treatments had been going well - so I was alarmed at first. Then I hear her on the other end asking if I’d like to go with her to pick up her wig. 

She had just shaved all her luscious blonde hair a few months prior, after the three years of chemo had finally taken its toll, and was contacted about a program that supplies wigs to cancer patients.

She picked me up in her big blue minivan, blasting country music, and we headed to this cute little boutique in Millburn. We laughed and danced and made our summer plans during the entire drive. 

Her laugh was so contagious and I heard it reverberating off the walls of my bedroom as I opened my phone to this picture today. 

I’ll never forgot the smile on her face when she tried it on and saw herself, for the first time in months, with hair. 

It was so much deeper to us than just Keri wearing a wig — it symbolized her fight and her strength and everything she lost because of this illness. 

I had to excuse myself in that moment so she wouldn’t see me get emotional.

I often think of all the memories I have with her, specifically in this past year, and wish I knew. 

I wish I knew to hold her a little longer, a little tighter. 

I wish I could’ve taken all her pain away. 

Keri was such a beautiful soul. Her light was so bright— despite all the obstacles she dealt with. 

As this summer comes to a full swing, I am overcome with emotion as this was our time. All of our adventures with her beautiful boys and days spent laughing in the sun. 

The sting never really goes away, and every little thing reminds me of her smile…but I know she is okay. 

I know I will be okay. 

I never really prepared myself for a life without Keri, despite how well she tried to prepare me and everyone else around her. 

I look at those boys and the mark she left on everything she touched and I am just so grateful to her for giving me that.

I try to live my life as she taught me to the best of my abilities.

I am better because I have loved and been loved by Keri.

Dear Diary, I am not okay.

As a foreword, I must warn you that this blog post is very poorly executed and written in the midst of a mental breakdown. All the editing in the world could not save this piece from the emotional banter you’re about to witness.

Depression is funny.

Depression in the mind of a writer is funny.

I often try to come up with coping mechanisms, but somehow everything besides writing out my feelings seems impractical — though it is actually quite the opposite.

Writing is therapeutic, yet in actuality a terrible way to handle your emotions. Why? When your only sense of freedom from your fucked up mind is by throwing up cliches into a poem and then going back to pretending everything is okay, well…..you understand where I’m going with this.

I rely too much on my image. What I mean is: I am so good at wearing the mask.

I am bubbly, charismatic, optimistic, and always making sure everyone around me is okay. But who makes sure I’m okay?

I certainly don’t.

Sometimes I find myself too deep behind the facade that I practically convince myself that I am okay, despite what I’m really trying to hide.

Then I come home and sit here on my laptop and it all kind of bubbles over.

I told myself I was going to blog more on my site — to be more raw and authentic to my readers. So I guess writing out a “Dear Diary” formatted post is more vulnerable than finding poetic ways to describe self harm.

So:

Dear Diary,

I am not okay.

Who Knows What The Tide Will Bring

Within the past five minutes, I’ve managed to grab my laptop, open a blank document, close my laptop, put it away, and repeat this about 7 times- not to mention I haven’t slept in about 4 days so my head is a bit foggy. 

I’ve noticed when my mind gets weary, the best antidote is to write; however, I’ve been having trouble figuring out where to start. I can’t give you any stories inspired by my latest events since I haven’t been doing much these days besides promoting my book. I haven’t been inspired myself since the holidays. 

I guess this in-between phase where the winter season finally sets in and the temperatures drop, where we’re reminded of a certain emptiness. Something that the holidays and warmth of the summer’s sun have masked. 

Sometimes it’s hard to look forward to things when there really isn’t much ahead- or at least that’s what we tell ourselves when we let this vast abyss take over. Personally, within these past 4 days of sleep deprivation, this emptiness has dug itself so deep into my brain I’m almost positive it’s pitched a tent and plans to overstay its’ welcome. 

During the early hours of the morning, my mind wanders to the what ifs in my life. I try not to live with regrets, and for the most part, I don’t. Sure, there are some decisions I’d be better off without making or some paths I shouldn’t have crossed; but at the end of the day, those choices created the person sitting on the opposite side of your computer screen trying to make something of herself.

I will never understand how, or why the things in our life happen the way that they do, and I don’t think we’re supposed to, but I do know all those things happen just as they are meant to. We are placed in the situations we are in because God knows we can overcome them, and that they will only make us stronger. We are brought into people’s lives because we are meant to learn a lesson (or teach one).

Every soul we’ve crossed, every obstacle we’ve jumped, everything we’ve touched, or has touched us, has made us who we are in this very moment and for that, I am forever grateful- because without it we wouldn’t be the people we are.

This emptiness gets haunting sometimes, no doubt. And sometimes it’s hard to keep my head above water. Sometimes waves of emotion overwhelm me and some nights it feels like I’m drowning. The hardest part is to admit you’re lost.

And I am lost.

You just have to keep breathing, because tomorrow the sun will rise and who knows what the tide will bring. -William Broyles Jr.