Good friends are like stars. You don't always see them, but you know they are always there.

It's the time we tried to make chocolate covered bananas with regular chocolate syrup. Going to California with our class and experiencing the ocean together for the first time.It's her being in Baltimore for a week and a half in high school, seeing all the sights, and getting agitated because we were/are so similar to each other.

It's driving to California and her getting pulled over in the same place I did a year later, in my car. Driving off just to nearly stall the car as we are pulling away. It's road trips and first drinks. Getting lost in random places. Driving the wrong way on one way streets.

She's always been there for me. Even when actual communication is scarce, we have always being able to pick up the relationship as if no time has passed.

It's driving 6 hours to be a distraction while I was taking care of my dad. Going to Albuequerque just to go out. Going to a crazy music festival in the middle of the desert because we didn't believe that such a thing actually existed...it does

A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out.

~ Walter Winchell

It's flying back to Maryland a few days after I got home, after my dad died. Being patient with me as I processed the loss of a man I didn't like until three weeks before he died. It's laughing over the morbid thought of how my dad's ashes looked like cat litter. I know, really morbid

It's laughing over trying to teach her how to drive stick shift, giving up after many sudden stops and stalls, deciding I would drive. Aggrivating a middle eastern man at dunkin donuts, because we didn't know what we wanted to order, to the point that he says 'you place your order now.' It's going to NYC together as adults because the trip never happened in high school. Her being understanding as I did the disobedient act of spreading most of his ashes in the hudson, on the fairy, on the way to the statue of liberty.

For all the things I've done, I've had one person by my side since I was 9 years old. In the 6th grade we both left our elementary school. Our relationship must have been god ordained because we ended up at the same middle school without any planning. My dearest friend has been there through all these adventures...and soooo many more neither of us remember, or will admit in court. We have listened to each others secrets, trusted each other with our deepest self, been each others family when each of ours were not enough.

I think of MY Jessica and I'm so grateful we found each other on the playground in 3rd grade. Our memories are precious. We've helped shape each other into the adults we are today. I'm so excited to see how the rest of our lives unfold. I don't know that we are going to live in the same place again. I hope so, but it doesn't matter either, because miles do not separate us. I know we will be old women continuing to talk about our memories, and the many more that we will create, as we sit on a porch somewhere in rocking chairs, drinking margueritas because that's the only thing both of us likes. I love you Jess.

A good friend asks to have a drink...
A true friend takes one...

A good friend expects you to always be there for them...
A true friend expects to always be there for you...

A good friend wonders about your romantic history...
A true friend can blackmail you with it...

A good friend hates it when you call late at night...
A true friend asks why you took so long...

Where do I go from here?

I am at odds with myself. I’m ok. My job provides a stable, livable income, and wonderful benefits. I do things that are meaningful in the eyes of others. I draw and paint and read and write.

But, it’s not enough. 

The thing I’m having trouble articulating is, why is it not enough? I realize fully that this is not the end of my journey. I’m not going to be where I am right now forever. One day I will have an advanced degree and what I’m doing now will be an excellent foundation for where I want to go. I just feel stuck. Every moment drags on, each day feels as if it will never end.

There’s no difference between working and not working for me. 

Essentially I go from my paid position at a hospital to my unpaid position as a live-in advocate at a shelter. I’m on 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. 

Sure, I take weekends/days off to spend with my family. I’m able to get in a relationship with somebody, go on dates with them, and I ALWAYS have Wednesdays off. But, even when I have the weekends off, even when I have Wednesdays off, I’m still not able to shut myself off.

Wednesday is my recovery day, the day I have therapy and group support and monthly appointments with my doctors. The weekends, even if there’s NOTHING going on at the shelter, I’m still not able to just get away for the day without clearing it ahead of time.

I’m sure my wanderlust has to do 

with my constant transition from thing to thing to thing. From the time I was 16 until I was 24 I never lived in one house/state/appt/barracks for more than a year.  And then you look at my jobs. I have held a total of 25 jobs in my lifetime. Not including working in my parents shop before I was 16. That’s 25 jobs in the span of 11 years. The longest I have been at one place was when I was active duty air force. I was in the military for a total of 26 months and I spent a majority of the time trying to get another position/get out. Besides that, I’ve only been at a job more than a year twice: this job, and one I was in 5 years ago.

I don’t know how to reconcile my past with my ‘here and now’ and I know that it’s a necessity in order to thrive. I’m tired of just surviving. But, where does one start to dig in order to uncover the root of a behavior/action/attitude? What kind of shovel do you use? Do you start with a shovel? Or with something able to make more precise engravings, like a spoon?

When I grow up

Want is a fickle word. Especially when affixed to what one wants out of life. What we want and what we need are completely different.

For me, what I want out of life is fairly conservative. I've done too many twists and change of course to want anything extravagant. For me, I wanted to be a linguist, but I needed to be a civilian. I wanted to be a nurse, but needed to mature. I wanted to finish my degree in an appropriate time, but I needed to sort through issues in my life more. Even though the changes were a necessary evil, as more of these accrue, the grief over losing the want gets a little more engrained. 

But, I must also realize to not dream small, just in case they come true so here's my prayer: "Disturb me, Lord, when my dreams come true only because I dreamed too small. Disturb me, when I arrive safely only because I sailed too close to the shore. Disturb me, when the things I've gained cause me to lose my thirst for more of you. Disturb me, when I've acquired success only to lose my desire for excellence. Disturb me, when I give up too soon and settle too far short of the goals you have set for my life."

I aspire to make a difference during my journey. To impact others through my actions and words. I want my words to be powerful and remembered. I want to be healthy and strong. I want to run races and travel to unseen places. I want to keep an open mind and believe in new things.

I know, in due time, I will finish my degree. I will help people through my profession. I will write a book. I will get married and have a family. I will be strong and reliable to them. But, these are more like milestones in the journey and a lot of them will be achieved 
through the process of refining my attributes.

I must also remember that everyone's journey through life is different. The pace and timing of getting to and onward from milestones is never the same. One person cannot be compared to another.

One Year Later

One year after my dad’s death I am 365 days stronger. I am familiar with heart-breaking acts of compassion, acts of love, forgiveness, and grace. I know what it means to have a father and to have a male figure to hold my hand and just sit with me. I miss my dad. I miss the time we spent together. I’m glad I was able to do the things for him my other sibling’s would/could not do for him. Having to take care of his affairs made a young woman grow up rather quickly. We were mad at each other, for far too many years. But, if only for necessity, all was forgiven. For three weeks we shared hurts and joys and meals.

The month of August was tough on me last year. I flew out to New Mexico on August 1^st to see what was ‘really’ going on. My step-dad had been dying for years and it was my siblings and my understanding that this was another ploy for attention from his estranged children. The next day, while my dad was seeing his primary doctor, I went up to the oncology ward, and I found out, I knew our time was limited. From then until he found out on Friday I had a heavy heart. Our time to make up was no longer a day to be put forward. His time was now a finite commodity…the time to forgive was now.

His sentence was 4-6 months. And our journey to find each other started. During the day I gathered paperwork, made cremation arrangements, arranged for siblings and family to visit. I urged them that this was pressing, that it wasn’t a lie that he was going to die. At night I would stay up with him, get his insulin, take care his needs. We would watch TV together. He would tell me stories about Vietnam. We opened up to each other.

We talked about our anger. Unforgiveness that had been brewing for over 9 years. I talked to him about why I moved out. How my mother’s struggles were affecting me. What their relationship was doing to me. I was too young to do all that he asked of me. He had forgotten why I moved, but never forgot the hurt. I had been forgiving him for a long time for the comments, the hurt he caused in my own life. But, as soon as he denied, or a new disservice happened? I was having to forgive him all over again. During that time, I was able to just throw those things out the window. With only 4 months left I knew if I held on to the hurt we would both lose

Eventually, I flew back home and jumped back into work. I worked everyday to try and save money in order to take time off in a couple months and go back to New Mexico. I applied for a southwest card so I could get a free flight. I called him everyday.

After only 9 days my mom had called me sobbing: they were taking my dad to the hospital by ambulance. She gave the doctor my number so he could explain what was going on, my mom wasn’t able to convey all that was happening. And the doctor called. He explained that my dad wasn’t breathing on his own, that his blood pressure was dropping, that he was on medication in order to keep it up. That night I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. Instead I thought about my dad. I struggled with whether or not I was going to fly out. The next morning the doctor called and said he was on the maximum dose of three medications. They weren’t going to give him anymore; he might not make it through the night.

So I flew back to Albuquerque. In the bed, with all the medications and fluids they were pumping into him, in order to keep him alive, he had swelled up 50%. My dad was unrecognizable. I was strong, I didn’t cry. The only time I broke down was when I told him I would make sure we followed his will. My sisters flew in, and we gathered around his bedside.

The next day, August 28^th, I told the doctors to take him off the ventilator. My mom couldn’t tell them to take him off of life support, to let him die. By 12:30 he was gone. A few days later my dad was in a shoebox. For all the life he lived, his death left him in something that could be placed in a closet and forgotten. I brought my dad back with me when I flew home. My dad wished to be with his mom in Ohio. Security had to ask what was in my bag. On the plane I couldn’t handle another’s luggage on top of my box. My senses were acute. I was hurting and afraid.

Thanksgiving I used my free flight and I did take my dad’s ashes up to Ohio. My sister and I spread them where he desired. Well, the portion that my disobedient self did not spread in the Hudson.

My dad’s death hurt me. A lot. I was forced to do many things out of necessity. I also gained sisters I had lost. I gained strength. I gained insight. Part of the insight was how much I would have loved to be able to send my dad a father’s day card. Because of the unending anger I never did. Isn’t it sad, when a person is gone is when we wish to have the ability to be sentimental? To realize that he will never walk me down the aisle and he will not be able to hold my children. But we also had a wonderful three weeks.

Dad, on the anniversary of your death, I want to say thank you. Thank you for your forgiveness. Thank you for trusting me with your final wishes. I know how much you love me and I’m grateful. Most of all, thank you for teaching me such a true lesson on dying, on grief, and on growing up.