A starfish Scott and I rescued
Scott found him on the beach in Crescent City
We found a tide pool
I gently placed him back in the cool saltwater
I am almost sure he made it. He started looking better right away
I can\’t do grief alone.
I can\’t suffer alone.
I can\’t miss Scott alone.
I can\’t lose hope.
I need help and support.
My family has been a big support to me. Scott\’s family has called me and sent me messages of love. My baby sister has been an Angel guiding me through with little interference, just a steady guide.
My friends have sent me beautiful letters and texts and called me.
This blog, I can\’t even begin to describe how important this blog is to me. The writing is the thread that keeps me going. My friends, who I aspire to be in my life and art of writing Jon Katz and Maria Wulf are always here if I need them to ask a question or when I\’m unsure of where my writing is going.
My readers, you, are so amazing. Your letters are so beautiful sharing your life with me and sending me words of support. Your donations support this blog and my life as a writer. Just knowing you are here witnessing my life and reading along with me on my journey is a gift to me.
When I was younger, I thought I could do everything myself. I didn\’t ask for help or support. I just powered through life with migraine headaches, anxiety brewing almost constantly in my stomach, leaving no time for me to be silent, be in nature, and allow myself to open to love, expanding, and deepening to my purpose and my life.
The first therapist I went to in my early twenties, I lied too. I made up stories and than I laughed at what he was trying to do to help me. I played along, like I was playing a role, not caring about myself, having no respect for him. I was a sick puppy. I lacked empathy, except I always had a compassion for animals. People I didn\’t like and I didn\’t understand, so I had no empathy for them. I lived in my head, my ego, and I tried to control every aspect of my life. It was a painful life. I was very much alone, isolated, and angry a lot of the time.
In my mid twenties, I met the therapist that changed my life. Howie. In my first session, he scared me to death. Howie is a Vietnam Vet. He survived three rounds of combat. The fourth time, he was headed back over by himself as a Mercenery. On his way back to Vietnam, landing in the Hawaiian Islands, he had a spiritual awakening. He didn\’t return to Vietnam. Instead, he came back to the states to heal people, specifically in the beginning people with addictions.
In my first session, Howie told me straight out \”I don\’t put up with bullshit or lying in here\”.
I believed him. And so our work began. It was not easy, it was the toughest work I\’ve ever done. Howie helped me learn how to set boundaries, how to communicate with people, how to take care of myself, how to protect myself. How to be empowered. I made lots of mistakes going to Howie over the years, bad jobs, not so good relationships with men, and everything else life throws at you. Howie helped me navigate through.
When I met Scott, I was so proud of him, being a good man and the right man for me that I wanted Howie to meet him. Scott wanted to meet Howie too. This time, we didn\’t have to meet in his office. Scott and I took Howie to breakfast before we left for the Grand Canyon.
We sat with Howie for hours talking of travel, Vietnam, therapy, life. Especially travel. Scott and Howie shared a love of travel. Howie said he was envious of our adventure to travel the world.
Howie could care less about money or status, in fact, if you didn\’t have the money to pay for therapy or you only had $5 in your pocket, Howie would say keep it, don\’t worry about the money. Somehow, Howie raised a family and has a good life. He could give a shit about being rich or successful.
He understood Scott. Howie understands what is important in this life.
Howie doesn\’t know Scott died. When I get to Sonoma County, where Howie lives, I am calling him. This time, I am meeting him in his office.
It\’s time for me to go back to therapy.