dark and light

[From March somethingth, 2017]

It's been forever it seems since I last posted.

I can't write, and I'm worried that I've lost it - that I'll never be able to blog like I used to. Two years ago, I was often full of hope and optimism. Positive thoughts and words seem cheap - like glass
pawned off as diamond. I stand now in a 'fun' house hall of mirrors - my belief in a positive future: a bent and twisted reflection of shattered ideals.

As you may know, my brother Patrick passed away from a very rare form of brain cancer last fall - Thanksgiving week, actually. He was only 44. Though I've desperately wanted to, I haven't been able to muster up the fortitude to write a proper tribute to him yet. But it's coming...soon.

I know I don't corner the market on pain and grief, but I certainly don't handle it with grace. I'm slow at acceptance and quick to dissolve in my pain. I haven't been able to accept it. I don't want to accept it. I WON'T accept it!

Me & my little brothers: Karen, John, & Pat

c.1992

...cause maybe if I do, I'll start to forget him. I don't EVER want to forget him; and if I have to self-flagellate to remember, so be it.


I never before realized just how much I love my siblings. Missing my little brother has been like losing a limb or an eye. It's been the perfect psychiatric storm: lifelong mental illness rams into grief - swirling, thrashing, and raging in a sea of mid-life hormones. Always a full vessel til now, my heart's empty  - ripped to shreds and swept away in a gulf of tears.

And looking inward, this is a striking reminder of the road's end - the path on which we all steadily tread. Death - the great equalizer. Granted, most of us probably won't die as young as Pat, but we're headed there nonetheless. And now I'm 50...



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June 1, 2017

Since I wrote the above, I've been pulling myself up again...slooowly. Still mourning, still crying at least once a week, but moving forward. Time may heal all pain, but it will never fill the hole in my heart which I'll carry on my journey til I myself die. I'll never, ever forget him. Never stop talking to him, never stop sharing "Pat stories" with family and friends, and never stop looking for some sign in the clouds, on a street sign or bumper sticker, or in the random words of a stranger or colleague...some sign that he is in fact doing well and existing in Heaven or another alternate plain...some sign that one day I will...that I WILL get to see him again...some sign that he has not just evaporated into nothingness.

On the brighter side, in the darkest days of the holiday season, I landed the job of my dreams - at least for this next phase of my career. The focus of this job is providing peer support of and modeling wellness for those who are also mentally ill and/or addicted.

Wellness, in fact, is where I have always wanted to go with Pink Hi-Top Adventures in the long run. In fact, I'm working on a new blog page and format now.

In the meantime, I will continue to post here...until the ribbon cutting. ;)

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P.S. - Okay, and yes, there is someTHING else that has contributed to my depression as well. Salt in the wound, if you will, coinciding with my brother's final days on Earth...but that is for another blog. Not another post, another BLOG entirely.

P.P.S. - If anyone knows how to create a blog on one's own URL or if you know of any good computery-designy-types or online services that can help set up an original blog and website, please let me know. :)   pink.hi.tops@gmail.com