life – Page 2 – Jennifer Thomson

October 5, 2017October 5, 2017

Life: Beyond Comprehension

I’ll never forget the moment I found out my Dad had passed away.

I had selfishly decided to leave the hospital for the first time in 28 hours to have a shower – I wanted to wash the stale scent of mystery meat and excessively pureed vegetables from my skin. In the back of my mind and in my heart, I was hoping that he would find the strength to open his eyes and see me; if by some magical miracle that moment happened, I wanted to look almost my best. But after one of the fastest showers I’d ever taken, I was on my way back to the hospital when my Mom called to break the news (and my heart). I had barely pulled over to the side of the road and from behind the wheel, my road rage had gone from non-existent to full throttle. In a matter of seconds, I was suddenly screaming in tears for other drivers to get out of my way, for the traffic lights to hurry up and give me a green light, for the universe to turn back time and take me out of this nightmare.

Within the hour, that anger was suppressed in the presence of staggering heartbreak. I sat there staring at my Dad with a shattered heart and a fierce regret for leaving his side for a damn shower. I knew that even if I had been there, I would have never been able to execute a suitable goodbye, but I never got the chance to try – and I only had myself to blame. By the next morning and as the days slowly passed, the unaddressed anger lingered in my body. When friends would check-in to see how I was coping, I’d scowl at my phone while pretending I was pleased to hear from them. On my flight to Toronto just a few days later, I had to exert all my effort into not blowing up to my neighbouring passenger while she told me stories about the family she was on the way to visit. I withheld my anger in business meetings – because, I didn’t want to be the one to make others uncomfortable with my unfortunate series of events.

For the past 4 months, anger has been simmering inside me with nowhere to go. I’ve been wandering, working, and filling my time with anything to stay distracted; to avoid unleashing my emotions where people can see them. Because death – the idea of it, the subject of it, the reality of it and the concept of it happening to us and to people we love is fucking uncomfortable and no one wants to talk about it, especially not for months on end. So yeah, at work and when (on the rare occasion) I meet new friends in this city that doesn’t feel like home yet, we don’t talk about it. Why would we want to talk about losing the people we love, when we can simply talk about what we love (that we still have)? Why talk about devastating circumstances, when there’s a million other even-just-slightly-less devastating events we can discuss? Why should everyone else feel uncomfortable, just because I’m not sure how to wrap my brain around the way my life’s unfolded over the summer?

No, I’m not trying to guilt trip anyone for living their own life and focusing on life moments that make them happy instead of sad. I’m just voicing my frustrations (because it’s my blog and I do what I want).

It’s just a bit discouraging how afraid so many of us are when the topic of death is brought to the table. It’s this outstanding part of life that we all experience in some form or another; it breaks all of us apart from the inside – yet no one wants to acknowledge the pain and maybe work together to find our way through it. I understand that it’s depressing, but it’s an element of life that we can’t just ignore; I mean, we can for a while, but you can’t outrun it forever.

So, what do you do when death unfolds right in front of you and takes over?

I’ve been trying to find an answer for months; I don’t think there’s anything really concrete. Whether it’s something we’re waiting on or an event that happens when we weren’t even a little bit ready for it, I’ve realized that death has different effects on every person it encounters. Some of us feel sad. Or maybe you get mad like I do. Or perhaps, it just doesn’t bother you at all. Actually, I think that last one is a lie – unless you actually do have a decrepit rock for a heart. But some of us are better at just not letting our emotions get the best of us and just plugging along with minimal fucks to give about what we can’t control.

But I think what I really want to get across with my words here is that if you’re ever going through something so utterly painful as someone you love passing away, you’re allowed to feel however the fuck you want to feel. If your heart just keeps breaking no matter how many ways you’ve tried to tape it up, that’s understandable. If you’re a little down and out and just not feeling yourself, that makes sense too. If you’re maybe a tad anxious, a bit unsure, slightly uncomfortable without the presence of someone who was always there – it’s not surprising. And hey, if you’re pissed right off that there’s absolutely nothing you can do to make things feel better right down at the root of it all – I feel you.

Just as discouraging as our minimal discussion about death, is the fact that so many people don’t recognize anger as a healthy emotion. Maybe it’s not healthy to be consistently angry – so angry and unstable that we let it fuel our habits and turn into destructive monsters – but I think it’s necessary for us to be mad about things that happen and to recognize what makes us tick. If we’re bothered and really shaken up about something, we shouldn’t just throw that away. Except, all too often I think we just feel the need to find a way to calm down, let go, distract ourselves with positivity.

Anger is just as important as any other emotion and if it’s surging through your body, I highly recommend taking the time to feel it (feel it hard!). I mean, if your lover broke your heart or the universe lit a match to your carefully thought out plans or if someone stabbed you in the back – or if your parent died the moment you stepped away for a 20 minutes – then I think you’re more than deserving to be mad about it — on top of whatever other emotion(s) you feel, too. In fact, I’d be super curious as to how dark and empty your soul is if you felt close to nothing at all in any close to awful scenario that happened to you.

It’s important to remember that you’re entitled to however you feel, but also to be mindful that other people may not feel the same or understand what you’re feeling. I’ve constantly tried to make my pain relatable to others, but no matter how I try to explain it – they’ll never feel the pain the way I do. And as frustrating as that truth is, that’s just how it goes.

So no matter how jealous, bitter, pensive, sad, or just plain miserable I feel — I’m just learning to live with it. Unfortunately, that means other people sort of have to, too. I’m doing my best not to lose my cool or cry excessively, and I’m trying to similiar to the fun, energetic self I was 5 months ago (before everything changed) but sometimes it just happens all that stuff just happens because I’m just too tired to stop it. Sometimes, getting upset and feeling unhappy just needs to happen.

Grief seems to do whatever it wants to, and it seems as though the healthiest way to deal with it – is to just let it do it’s thing without feeling too bad about it.

If you haven’t faced it already, I’m sorry to say – but you will eventually. And when you do, I hope that you’re not too hard on yourself and give yourself permission to be incredibly imperfect in the process of navigating the pain, hurt, and uncontrollable way it affects your life – whatever that turns out to be. It may be bearable or it may feel impossible, and there’s really no way to prepare for it. The only thing I can tell you is that it probably won’t make sense.

But hey – neither did taking a shower, just to smell and look good at the hospital.

I guess that’s just how life unfolds sometimes. We just gotta’ keep doing what feels necessary in each moment that presents itself, and the do our best to take another step forward and figure out the rest from there.

November 17, 2016November 17, 2016

the Big D.

I don’t handle death well.

I have always felt uneasy with how to accept the fact that someone or something was just there, only to realize they’re suddenly gone. In my head, I can still feel their existence, but ultimately it’s now just a simple memory. It’s hard to accept that it’s real.

Once whatever it is leaves our life, everything shifts; life changes without their presence. And for us, it’s time to let go and move on.

But damnit, it’s hard.

Death. We often associate it with someone’s life ending – someone we loved, who was taken from us when we weren’t ready to let go. But when we finish certain chapters of our life, that’s essentially death too. When we move, when we start fresh, when we end relationships, quit jobs, and delete our emails, text messages, and clear our inbox of old conversations – it’s all a variation of death. And all of it, in it’s big and small circumstances, is never easy to grasp.

In the past (almost) 9 months of my life – transitioning from Vancouver to Calgary – I’ve been holding out on death.

Once I moved here and over time, friendships and familiar sights were starting to become distant memories. Strong connections that came with physical touch and in person experiences slowly started to fade into simple words via text or email, with the exception of special circumstances in a phone call or a FaceTime video – but even then, there’s no warmth to feel on your skin.

I no longer had a vast, seemingly endless pool of salt water to rely on when my soul needed soothing. I was smart enough to bring some with me in a small glass jar that sits on my bedside table, but even it’s lost it’s zest and has simply become a dirty jar of stale, murky water.

The more time I spent navigating my way through the city of Calgary and familiarizing myself with frequent and favourite stops here, the pieces that I loved about the city I grew up and spent most of my life in became simple figments of my imagination, memories, or pictures and thoughts.

Slowly, day by day and as the months went by, Vancouver – as I had known it for so long – was slowly dying. And rather then let it go, I held on tightly to absolutely anything I could that could keep even a little bit of it alive.

Because, who am I without my identity? I’m a girl who was raised in Vancouver and has solidified an entire tribe there; it’s where I hold a lot of my favourite memories. And although winter’s chill is slowly taking over Calgary as we near December, I insist on finding comfort in wearing my favourite local Vancouver brands and rocking the leggings and flip flops look while I shiver.

Physically, I’m here in Calgary and doing just enough to make it feel as close to ‘normal’ as I need. But realistically, I have been desperately holding onto everything that made me feel safe – people, memories, objects that remind me of comfort, familiarity, and a world where everything makes sense and I don’t feel lost or alone. I put a mental block on embracing where I live now in an effort to prevent the ‘death’ of “home” that I miss so hard.

Change – even though we know it’s inevitable and we accept it – is scary. Being afraid of change, fearing the unknown, and looking for protection is part of what makes us human.

But so is death.

Without trying to sound depressing, the truth is that everything will eventually die. Whether that be a relationship with someone we love or a place we call home, or both – there’s an end date to everything. As time goes on, we grow older and wiser and we learn new things that cause us to switch gears. The same happens with scenarios, environments, and situations that we put ourselves in. We change and where we are changes, and in the process life thrives and dies while the world keeps spinning.

Sometimes it takes an hour, a day, a month, a year. Sometimes it lasts for several years or almost 100 years. But eventually, there will come a time when we and what we know will stop.

I know, I know. It sounds so awful to say it out loud. I’ve talked about it too many times in the last few days, and it never gets better to hear the truth. Even accepting the reality of all doesn’t make it easier, and when it happens again (and again, and again) it probably will feel the same.

But what we sometimes forget, is that death and letting go offers an open space to discover something else. Not necessarily to replace what you shared with someone or what you experienced, but to just add to your list of wonderful moments; to give yourself new life and a fresh start and a warm reassurance that there’s always something more out there than what we already have right in front of us.

When someone dies, we appreciate the contribution they made in our life. We reflect, we absorb the good and learn from the bad, and we use their presence as inspiration to be a better version of ourselves. When an experience ends, we use that experience to fuel our future – we learn, we grow, we move forward.

Again, I make this sound so easy. But it’s not.

I know from so much experience.

I made this crazy decision to move to Calgary almost 9 months ago. I wanted the job, the new city, the adventure that came with it, and I still do – but I initially got caught up in the excitement and forgot about the scary parts. I forgot about all the changes – big and small – and the sense of loneliness. I forgot about getting lost, how much it costs to start new and meet new people and just enjoy a new city. I forgot all about the hard parts about moving to somewhere new, until they all came rolling into my life at once and I freaked out.

Sure, I dived right in… but I found myself a safety net just before I hit the deep end. I wasn’t ready to be absolutely vulnerable and totally uncomfortable in unknown territory. So, I clung for security and a constant reminder of home to fill the void in my heart.

But, nothing lasts forever – remember?

Eventually, my security blanket started to unravel until it couldn’t hold me up anymore. And one day (actually, just days before I wrote this all out), a small tear in the seams got in the way of one of the universe’s sharp edges and everything fell to it’s ultimate death.

Because that’s how life goes.

But with every end, there’s a new beginning. And even if you lose your way or lose your identity in the process, you’ll eventually find your way back or even find a new journey. And yes, I know you’re rolling your own eyes because I’m making this sound so simple…

It is, and it isn’t. I get it, because it’s where I am right now.

In Vancouver, I know who I am. I have my people, I know my way around, I fit in and it makes sense. In Calgary, almost everyone is a stranger and I have a hard time remembering what’s it’s like to ‘just be’ me. When I moved here, a part of me got left behind (I’m sure I left it somewhere near the ocean) and I just don’t feel myself.

It’s weird. It’s uncomfortable. I don’t like it, and I don’t really have anyone that absolutely I trust with my heart and soul to properly remind me of who I’m supposed to be.

BUT, maybe… just maybe, that’s the point.

I’m allowed to be sad, to miss home, to feel a little lost and lonely and homesick and scared. I’m allowed to fear the unknown of tomorrow in this city, and mourn the loss of that sense of self that Vancouver always provided. But I also have to accept that ‘death’ for what is and see this for what it really is.

Whether I needed a fresh start or not, this is a brand new opportunity. It’s a chance to learn from mistakes, to revise my plan of attack, and to create a better version of me. Not that there was anything wrong with who I was before this all fell to pieces (for the 100th time) BUT there’s always room for improvement.

With every ‘death’ we experience in life, there comes an opportunity for discovery. We can reflect on how that person, that experience, that thing impacted us and how we can use that tomorrow, next year, for the rest of our life. We never have to forget about who or what it was that left us that little void in our heart, but we can recognize that there’s now a little bit of extra space for someone better and something a little bit more wonderful.

Admittedly, even a shift of perspective doesn’t make death easier to manage, but that’s okay. Mourning the loss is part of the process, and eventually – with the right perception and attitude towards the whole thing – we can all move along.

I’m still not good at accepting death’s reality, but I’m getting better at remembering that although one form of existence has ended, I’m still here.

Which counts for something. So, I might as well keep making the most of it.

Right? Right.

February 20, 2013

Love, Myself.

I am the type of person who learns about life’s realities, by making fast choices and impulse decisions. I follow my gut instincts, follow my own heart, and do things according to my own schedule, wants, needs, and desires.

My life is a little insane, but I guess that’s what makes it worth living. It’s the pure madness of it all, that usually gives me something to write about (a characteristic which I have a love/hate relationship with).

This weekend didn’t veer far from my path of endless adventures. I drove for 3 hours with the ugly, fluorescent “Check Engine” light haunting me from my dashboard, I spent 20 minutes with a Tarot Card reader who forecasted the next 6 months of my life. My car then broke down pretty much in the middle of nowhere, I spent the night in a dingy hotel, and my car is potentially facing it’s death.

Sitting in my broken car waiting for a tow truck, and hoping that the semi-trucks speeding past me wouldn’t blow me off the road, I momentarily wished I could switch lives with someone. For a moment, I wondered what it would be like to experience an ‘ordinary’ life… where simple things happened and each day just came and went.

It sounded relaxing; the thought of living without unexpected worry seemed intriguing…
but I quickly caught myself. How boring would a simple, ‘ordinary’ life be? What would I ever write about? And what stories would I share with (other people’s) grandchildren when I’m stuck in a rocking chair at the age of 103?

Sure – my life is so incredibly far from perfect. Most times, it’s agonizing, frustrating, stressful and insane. But why not embrace it? I can’t change it, so I’ve gotta’ make the best of it.

I’m going to love my life – the beautiful, chaotic mess it is.