I just felt like saying happy birthday.
Peace-ness
I walked into the living room today to an exasperated little boy.
With big eyes rolling upwards, Jordan told me, "I want Maddi to give me peace-ness and quietness."
Maddi defended herself and said, "Jordan didn't bade me!"
"Obeyed," I corrected.
Ah! The mere thought of "peace-ness" is a treat.
Life is filled with everything contrary.
Today a friend sent me a CD in the mail with a note that said, "When you listen to the song, I think you might feel like Shawn wrote that song for you and somebody else just happened to record it."
Just reading the words brought me a sense of peace-ness.
BE HERE NOW by Mason Jennings
Be here now, no other place to be
Or just sit there dreaming of how life would be
If we were somewhere better
Somewhere far away from all all worries
Well here we are
You are the love of my life
Be here now, no other place to be
All the doubts that linger, just set them free
And let good things happen
And let the future come into each moment
Like a rising sun
You are the love of my life
Yeah, you know you are
Sun comes up and we start again
It's all new today
All we have to say
Is be here now
Be here now, no other place to be
This whole world keeps changing, come change with me
Everything that's happened
All that's yet to come
Is here inside this moment
It's the only one
You are the love of my life
Yeah, you know you are
Sun comes up and we start again
It's all new today
All we have to say
Is be here now
WCCO
A couple weeks ago WCCO did an interview with my family promoting the book I am writing. One of the questions they asked me was, "What do you think Shawn would say about you writing a book?"
Of course, what gets edited for the news is not always the full response. In the interview I say something like, "he'd be glad." A dear friend wrote to me after the interview televised and said, "Jen, I think Shawn would be more than glad."
She is right. My answer is quite longer. What would Shawn think or say? I can only specutate. But it may be something like this:
"Jen, I am glad you wrote this book. I want the best for you. I want you to be content. Happiness isn't a guarantee in life and life isn't about being happy. Life is about resolve. Life is about engagement. Life is about connecting with others. Life is about love. These are the things I want for you. I want you to be content. I want you to move. Do something with your life. Play with our kids. Sing at church. Write a book. Do something. Don't let the end of my life be the end of your life. I am sorry you had to endure loss. You didn't choose your struggle, but you do choose how you will respond to your struggle. I am glad that you are living strong. Yes, I am glad."
Birthday
Today is Shawn's birthday. He would have been 35 years old today.
In my heart I will have a celebration. I will remember everything he was, everything he meant to us and everything he accomplished in his short life. And I will offer a heart of gratitude for the many ways he blessed us.
We are sending a big batch of balloons up to heaven today.
Traveling Without Him
I liked my day to day life with Shawn. Whether grocery shopping or going to a movie or eating beans and rice in Ecuador. Traveling without him brings back so many memories of traveling with him. It also reminds me that we said we would one day live overseas together again. Maybe when we retired. I miss those daydreams. Not matter what country I am in.
Project Blue Light
"Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.” - Unknown
PROJECT BLUE LIGHT
Concerns of Police Survivors, Inc. (COPS), a national grief support organization comprised of over 15,000 surviving families of law enforcement officers killed in the line of duty, is asking concerned citizens and law enforcement agencies nationwide to again support Project Blue Light.
During the holiday season you are asked to put blue lights in your holiday decorations and your windows and tie blue ribbons on car antennas to show support for law enforcement officers who have given their lives in the line of duty for the citizens they have served. Additionally, this will be a show of support for those who continue to work the streets 24 hours a day, every day of the year.
Several years ago, Mrs. Dolly Craig, the surviving mother-in-law of Daniel Gleason, a Philadelphia (PA) police officer killed in the line of duty in 1986, sent her Christmas message to the COPS National office. Her daughter Pam, the surviving widow of Officer Gleason, had been killed in a car accident in August, 1989, before the holiday season. Dolly wrote, “This holiday I’m putting two blue lights in my living room window. One is for Dan and the other is for Pam, who believed so much in the COPS organization.”
Dolly Craig is now deceased as well, but her idea of Project Blue Light burns bright in the hearts of the families in the COPS organization.
Energy Boost
I found an old note with a jotted list. It must have been from a night I was feeling particularly overwhelmed. It was titled: Evening Routine Motions:
- Bath
- Brushing Teeth
- Books
- Bathroom check (potty!)
- Blessing
- Bear Hugs and Kisses
- Bedtime
- Breath!
Scribbled with questions the end of the list read:
I made it through. What is my reward? Where is he? Shouldn’t he come in at some point to offer some type of diversion? Break up the day? Separate day from night? To come home and say “good job, I’ll take over”. Oh, God! Don’t’ let me start a new day again without him.
T-shirts
I washed a bag of Shawn’s t-shirts last night that have sat by the side of my bed for two years. They were the last shirts he ever wore the week before he died. In the beginning days, I refused to wash them wanting his scent to linger for as long as possible. As time passed I couldn’t find the will to want to wash them. They served some form of preservation. Not that dirty shirts could ever replace Shawn. But, the mind does funny things with loss.
This week I reevaluated the situation. After two years his scent has disappeared replaced by a collection and smell of dust.
As I threw the clothes into the washer an unusual sensation came over me as if for a half of a second I forgot he was dead. The action of washing his laundry connected me to the time period where I lived as his wife; filling me with illusion that he may indeed need to wear these shirts this week. My mind convinced me it was a good thing I was finally getting around to washing them.
Right about the point where I began to think he would be appreciative of my kind gesture to take care of him, the developing fantasy vanished and I knew immediately the truth was still the truth. He can never come home. Not to our home. He is in a different home that I have never seen yet earn to reside in eternally one day. No matter what I wash or what I ignore he can’t come back.
This is what makes a statement out of a bag of t-shirts. Without even trying the shirts acknowledge the grieving process through healing. A series of motions which do not conform to a certain pattern or timeline. Only steps. In various directions. Trying to find what we call home.
Colliding
“Courageous - that’s how you see me; successful - that’s how you believe in me; happy - that’s what you expect of me; but...emptiness – that is what is inside of me.” –Unknown
I can’t explain it. For two years I have been searching for the words to put my world back in order only to find many of my days still end up unraveled. Two years without him…going on three. And I want to work harder to find a way back to him.
How can one continue on when their heart screams for the opposite of what they have? How can one be content in loss? How does life piece back together? I am so restless since he died. Nothing satisfies.
“Our greatest pretenses are built up not to hide the evil and the ugly in us, but our emptiness. The hardest thing to hide is something that is not there.” –Eric Hoffer
I wonder if I am hiding. I wonder if I am running.
“Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.” – Unknown
Grieving involves many walls. There are those that go up and those that come down – within such confusion the walls often crash causing greater catastrophe. Emptiness is one of the results of walls colliding on the inside.
Time Softens
I have completed two years without him. I am entering the third year. People say time heals all wounds. I am still trying to figure out time and how it is relative to healing. Maybe when people say time heals what they really mean is time softens. And the truth is it is God who heals and places in our lives a time for everything. This being true different people heal at different speeds with different time lines. And only God knows the right time.
Either way time doesn’t seem to fill my gaping heart. Even during the best parts of today – singing at church with dear friends, eating a piece of homemade pumpkin cake, visiting with family outside on a fall night – I miss him.
Donation versus Duration
God wants to use you to make a difference in his world. He wants to work through you. What matters is not the duration of your life, but the donation of it. Not how long you lived, but how you lived. –The Purpose Driven Life
I have a calendar with quotes from the book, The Purpose Driven Life. The quote above was the daily thought for September 12th. I found it fitting as this was the anniversary date of Shawn’s funeral and the same date this year that Lino Lakes dedicated a memorial to Shawn with the inscription, “Don’t wait for tomorrow. Be Here Now.”
I can honestly say Shawn donated much of his life to the service of others. I am proud that his life focused more on giving than on taking. I am humbled that his life mirrored the ideas of donation versus duration. And I am inspired that it wasn’t how long he lived, but how he lived that people are remembering.
My Best Brand New Day
September 6th - the two year mark of Shawn's death - turned out to be a beautiful day of honor and remembrance. I was completely overwhelmed by many special friends who delivered or sent flowers to my home. Before going to bed that night I counted 15 bouquets of flowers filling my house. Roses and daisies of every color imaginable. It was as delightful as a flower shop. In a sense, I felt Shawn was taking care of me.
This is the power of friendship - caring for someone else in order that they feel the greatest type of love. The truest friends in your life have the power to transform you. They can take the darkest day and change it. They can say we want your worst nightmare to be washed into your best brand new day.
This is what happened to me on Thursday. I felt the power of friendship. I felt surrounded by my truest friends. I felt the greatest type of love. I felt transformed. I felt my darkest day changing. I felt my worst nightmare being handled tenderly with care and understanding. I felt my best day that I have yet to feel since Shawn died. I felt something brand new.
Memories and Dreams
There is a unique woman I met since Shawn died. We know each other only through our writings. Yet, her faithful notes through email often lift me when the day is filled with gloom. She was inspired last December when I wrote about Lemon Grass Tea and sent me her own journal entry from that time period this week. I read my voice in hers. In the hollow space between the words I see myself and wonder how she can read my mind. I want to borrow her expressions as they are both powerful and strong.
It is the eve of Shawn’s death. Tomorrow marks two years. Her writing is timely. She explains my heart.
"We were created to share life in relationship, where, ideally, all of the little pieces fit together. I have many friends... each knows a little piece of my life intimately... but I have found that I cannot share all things with any one of them. There are secrets kept from each... it leaves something larger to be longed for... a finished and shared knowing of who and what I am. I want someone here... in time and space... someone I can touch and hold and be part of. I have been alone for such a long time... even though this possibility is closer than ever, it is just that - a possibility. I am left to haggle and negotiate with God, who alone knows all of the secrets, longings, needs and desires of my heart. I more often turn to HIM in my desperation and pain. Tonight I think of you, lost in the memory of something very real... and me, lost in dreams of what I most desperately wish would be." -m.
Sculpture
Why is now the best time to express love? Because you don’t know how long you will have the opportunity. Circumstances change. People die. Children grow up. You have no guarantee of tomorrow. If you want to express love, you had better do it now. –The Purpose Driven Life
I received a proclamation from the City of Lino Lakes stating that every September 12th in their town is declared Shawn Silvera Day. This year to honor my husband the city is dedicating a rock sculpture created by artist Peter Maraliis in the new town center greens area.
The sculptor has taken five large boulders and designed them to represent the loss of Shawn’s life with one of the boulders intricately split down the center. Meant to be touched, he has polished another boulder into a bench for people to use as a place of reflection. His vision is that people of all ages will take the symbolism from the artwork to mean something singly significant to them. It is his hope that the memorial will move people to remember the beauty of what was lost while making something beautiful with their own precious lives. Engraved in the stone are words special to both Shawn and I: “Don’t Wait For Tomorrow! Be Here Now.”
I am deeply honored by the insight and kindness of both the sculptor and City Council of Lino Lakes to pay tribute to Shawn in such a life-breathing way. It is a detailed expression of love, reaching out to the larger community. It reminds each of us to share ourselves now. I don't believe we can ever be reminded enough.
A Happy Marriage
Standing beside you, I took an oath to make your life simpler by complicating mine and what I always thought would happen did: I was lifted up in joy. -David Ignatow
I think when we first get married we have love all wrong. We believe life will be easier with this magical new person. And we believe "being in love" will solve everything. Then one day we wake up and realize love is work and many times we think we are the one in the relationship working hardest. What once was meant to make our life simpler has become a chore and we aren't sure if we like the deal we signed up for.
I found in my life with Shawn a paradox - the more I served him the more my life was served. The more I gave to him - the more I received. When I stopped thinking primarily about myself, I started to find more peace surrounding me. That is where joy comes from; in what we give rather than take. And now that he is gone I can truthfully say I know what makes a happy marriage.
Anticipation
By in love she meant the acuteness of the heart at the sudden sight of a particular person or the way over a couple of years of interested friendship one is suddenly stunned by the lungs' longing for more and more breath in the presence of that friend." -Grace Paley
I remember one weekend I came home after scrapbooking with Shawn's mom, sister, aunt and cousins. A girl weekend. He met me at the door and said, "I couldn't wait for you to get back. I feel like I am back in highschool. I can't believe after all this time I still get butterflies in my stomach waiting to see you."
I loved that our relationship kept getting better. Not stagnant. Not ordinary. Not ignored.
Anticipation keeps love alive. I love remembering times of anticipation.
Car Rides
"If you do not give right attention to the one you love, it is a kind of killing. When you are in the car together, if you are lost in your thoughts, assuming you already know everything about her, she will slowly die." -Thich Nhat Hanh
One of my favorite times spent with Shawn was driving in the car. I loved to talk and he kindly listened. And on the rare occasion that I would stop talking he would ask me what I was thinking about and why I was so quiet. I would joke with him, "I think we have talked about everything there is to talk about. There is nothing more to analyze." At this nonsense he would jokingly argue, "Never. We will never run out of things to say." And then we would find something new to discuss.
I loved finding out new things about him. I still do. When someone tells me a story about Shawn I have never heard before it feels like I discover a new piece of him and it only deepens what I already love. He is one of my favorite topics. And as when he was alive, I will never tire of learning more about who he was, what he believed or how he shared his life. I am convinced that the best kind of love encircles friendship. The more we want to know about someone - the more we find ourself in love.
Junk Mail
I received a letter in the mail today addressed to Mr. Shawn Silvera. The font on the envelope was scrolled in a computer type penmanship pretending to be personal, yet without success appeared to be an advertisement. Regardless, I am always curious of who is sending mail to my deceased husband.
I was right. It was a telemarketing ploy. The letter persuasively began, "Shawn, you CAN have it all...more money than you've ever dreamed of, and the time and freedom to enjoy it!" With dismay I wanted to write back to the company and say no he can't - frustrated that they could make such a presumption. Of course, they didn't know Shawn is dead. Still it upset me all the same. I don't like mail like this. I would rather someone send him a letter saying "we miss you and can't wait for your return or at least a time when we will see you again."
The benefits of this home-based business were alluring. Who wouldn't want a guarantee for more money and more time? Who wouldn't be swept up in the dream of not only having these earthly treasures but also enjoying them? Saddened, I set the letter aside and tried to ignore its empty promises. In reflection, I believe our world not only distracts people it deceives people. We live a lie that says we will live on this earth forever and part of the lie works to convince us that we will only be happy in that fake forever with a surplus of time and money.
I wish for people to know the truth. I wish for them to see that time is limited and because of its boundaries it is beyond precious. I wish for people to see that money does not buy anything eternal. It can't buy love, it can't buy happiness and it will never be able to buy life. I wish for people to live now. This doesn't mean to live in neglect or without responsibility. However, I do wish for them to live with fewer worries, fewer agendas and fewer desires that neither money nor time can fill.
Father's Day Balloons
We sent balloons up to dad yesterday with tender messages. Maddi's note scribbled, "I love you. From ME!" Jordan's letter said, "Poor, dad. I want you to come down. Come back to me." After releasing the balloons, Jordan wondered why he couldn't keep one. I noted this idea to myself for next time - buy balloons for daddy and for daddy's kids.
This morning we drove to our first day of Vacation Bible School. We picked up our little playmate, Kaylin. Jordan asked, "Kaylin, where is your daddy?" She answered, "At home. He had Father's Day." Jordan continued the conversation, "My daddy had Father's Day, too. We gave him balloons. And my grandpa had Father's Day, too. We gave him books."
Like a balloon, swirling in the wind towards heaven -searching for a way, my heart circles around and around wishing we could be together. Jordan cried himself to sleep last night begging me, "I want my daddy." I have no answers. I am running out of responses. How do you fill up a little heart? How do you fill a mommy's heart? Shawn's photo hangs in the hallway. I stare with desperate eyes pleading, "What am I supposed to do?" It's hard to have Father's Day without a dad.
Fly high, balloons. Fly higher than we can. Fly with our messages of constant love.
Disappointed
I dreamt about Shawn. He appeared too real. I could see him up close. Even the pores on his face were visible. He was eating a grilled hamburger and had ketchup on his cheek. I wiped it off. I was his wife. He didn’t recognize me. I woke up sweating and breathing hard. It hurts to start the day disappointed.
Plant a Garden
I planted an herb garden for the front of my house. This week I ate my very first salad from what I had grown. It tasted fresh and healthy and extremely satisfying knowing I had a part in the harvest. I think anytime we extend ourselves into a healthy activity that promotes energy and well being we are rewarded with rejuvenation, and possibly a touch of healing.
Chosen Joy
Even in sorrow, there is something in the world for the heart to say thanks. –J.Silvera
This week holds many significances. In the last five days I have observed my Wedding Anniversary, celebrated Mother’s Day, and been invited to attend three separate memorial events honoring the memory of fallen officers in the state of Minnesota. At the national level, I ordered flower wreaths to be placed by Shawn’s name at the Peace Officer’s Memorial Wall in Washington in remembrance of National Peace Officer’s Day. My heart is filled with sadness and finding it very challenging to experience peace in the midst of severe loss.
Milestones
I am too tired to write and too empty to not. One of the few things that makes me feel better is to write, so I am forcing myself to find something to help me feel better. The weekend was full of what I once considered milestones whereas now these dates seem to mark the miles of loss and hurt. Saturday was my wedding anniversary. Sunday was Mother's Day. Tuesday is National Peace Officers' Memorial Day. Funny how these dates all seem to coincide. I wish they didn't. My heart is too heavy to write much more. But, I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep until I at least tried.
Many Conversations
I miss my conversations with Shawn. At this point, any topic would be inviting. I remember him teaching me about his new found interest in photography and although I didn’t understand all the technicalities he described, I was completely intrigued with his passion. It is hard not to pay attention to someone when they are talking about a subject they love. His enthusiasm was contagious.
I would love to talk to him again about cooking, his computers, writing, growing an herb garden, traveling, camping, our faith, our dream to record a CD with original music, his psychology class, my new eating habits, or a thought provoking movie. And I would especially love to concentrate on the theme of parenting and raising children with strong character and integrity.
Shawn was a good conversationalist. He was interesting to listen to, but even more of an attribute on his part, he was a very good listener. I loved analyzing life with him. In three short days we would have been married seven years. Every anniversary we took time to enjoy a longer conversation, one without the constraint of time or tiredness. I miss that. I miss talking to him. I miss hearing his voice. I miss being listened to. I miss him.
The Phenomenon Mile
Driving home tonight after running errands, I passed the accident site. I wonder how many times I have passed it since Shawn died. I always blow a kiss when I drive by and each time I experience an array of emotion.
Often I find myself whispering, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Shawn. I’m so sorry this happened to you. I’m so very sorry you had to endure this trauma…that you had to go through this…I’m sorry this is how your life ended…” My voice trails with my head shaking in numb discord followed by another layer of disbelief. I call it the phenomenon mile; the distance where I reenter life completely halted, forever turned around and am stuck stone still until I drive far enough away.
A Story to Share
A familiar face in a big crowd can bring a rush of memories back to surface without warning or waver. -J. Silvera
His face was out of context when I spotted him in the second pew back on the far left side of the church Sunday night while singing for Mass. Mr. Bigg, 11th grade Geography teacher, very tall and easy-going; I think I got an A in his class. I don’t remember a lot of my teacher’s names or the subjects they taught. But, I do remember Geography junior year and a boy named Shawn who sat in front of me. Sometimes it seemed as if his desk were turned permanently backwards for as much time he spent turning around to talk to me, tell a joke or ask a question. This was the first time I personally experienced the energetic, friendly, humorous and confident Shawn Silvera.
It overwhelmed me to remember the day we met knowing all too clearly the day we were separated. I tried to concentrate on singing while balancing the flashbacks going on inside of me.
Driving home from church I passed the Pizza Hut where we ate nearly every Friday night after Shawn’s football games. With a glance inside, I recognized the low red glow around our favorite table. I wanted to order a Dr. Pepper and Garlic Cheesy Bread just to recall time without heaviness. My head was deep in thought remembering how we were introduced. In many ways, meeting Shawn felt like opening up a very good story - reading it for the first time and never wanting to put it down.
The story still intrigues me. Two young people fall in love. They build a life. They build a very good life. Life is tragically taken. Love remains to heal the brokenness. The story retells itself. Out of loss, hope is born. What feels like the end of life becomes the beginning.
The truth - we all have an intriguing story. We all have a story to share.
Notes
When I receive notes or letters from people surrounding me, both my dearest friends and perfect strangers, I am filled up. On days that I question my meaning, my purpose or my very existence, one simple thought sent from someone who would never know what is going on inside of me, can change my day instantly from bad to good. The energy of their thoughtfulness transfers to my heart and I can again see the importance of living strong. If hope were visible, it is often in these moment shared with others that I see hope.
I discovered the message below on the Officer Down Memorial Page and found it powerful. It is written to Shawn, but I have taken it for my own. It encompasses meaning, purpose and the significance of life. When I doubt, I will read this one hundred times:
Dear Shawn,
I write this with tears in my eyes. Although we never met, I shook of fear when I learned of your death. I proudly wore the uniform of a Reserve Deputy so I could assist at and then attend your funeral. As I stood in the pouring rain among my other brothers and sisters who wore the uniform, I was certainly crying as God also wept with us. I saluted proudly, but sadly as your body was driven to your church, and you were brought in for your final worship among strangers, friends, loved ones, clergy and God. It was an honor to have been a part of paying final respects to someone who gave his life for all of us, and watch over you as you were laid to your final resting place. Make no mistake however. If I could go back to Sept. 6, 2005 and stop this tragedy from happening, I would do it without hesitation.
I hope you also know that on the day of your funeral, a business card was passed out to all attendees. On the one side, it reads "Shawn Silvera met God Personally September 6, 2005". The other side reads the most important phrase I have ever read, and I live by it, even more now then ever in your honor, "Shawn died doing his duty. Do your duty daily". Thank you, Shawn. Your sacrifice has made me a stronger person. You did not die in vein. Please watch over and protect us. God bless you and all of us who put on the uniform every day.
Sgt. Michael Kunze
Dreams in Rows
I have dreamt about Shawn four nights in a row. The dreams seem to come in segments. He won’t appear for what feels like months and then unexpectedly, yet always pleasantly, he reenters my nighttime vision for a few days at a time.
In these dream state visits, he seems intensely real and I can vividly see himas if he were still alive. I am usually craving more time with him and begging him to stay. He is often in a peaceful, relaxed position. He always finds me, but never anxious or worried. I wonder if this is what heaven will be like; never a time of fear or anxiety, rather a calm and reassured reunion.
My dreams confuse me when I wake. I have to concentrate on where I am and why he is not here beside me. It is strange to experience these momentary lapses of memory where I need to focus on remembering exactly what happened to Shawn and consciously remind myself of our story in order to step back into my new life regardless of what my heart desires.
These dreams are the closest I have been to him since he died. I hope I dream tonight for a fifth time in a row.
The Good News
I was reading some of the guestbook comments on the Star Tribune website in memory of my dear friend, Mary Jo. One stood out to me above the others. It says:
It will be very different from now on without Mary Jo. But having her around in my life made it different, too. And that's the good news. -K. Isaacson
Simple and striking, the tribute reminded me a lot of Shawn.
It will be very different from now on without Shawn. But having him around in my life made it different, too. And that's the good news.
I have thought of this concept often in the last couple of months. My life is completely different now that Shawn isn’t here. Completely changed from what I ever would have imagined or planned. I am learning to live with different. I am learning to accept the differences of life abruptly altered. Mostly, I am learning to treasure the good news that our life paths not only crossed, but loved. That’s very good news.
Pep Talk
Each morning begins with a bit of a pep talk. As I wake, I am always reminded that life has changed. I want to spend the day with Shawn. This is my preference. I wish Shawn were here. This is my consistent feeling since the day he was taken. I want Shawn daily involved in our lives. This is doesn’t change. The longing doesn’t leave. The adjustment to living life without him slowly maneuvers throughout a 24 hour period; leading to one more level of mandatory acceptance before night falls. Hence the need for many pep talks or spirit boosts.
The thought process rotates itself through a series of examination without my control. “I wish Shawn were here” circles into “he is not here.” The chain links further, “I want to spend the day with Shawn” ties itself to “He can never spend another day with you.” The pep talk takes over, “I want Shawn daily involved in our lives” alters itself into, “How will you choose to be daily involved in today?” The questions then begin to modify themselves, “How will you move in and out of today? What will today look like to you? Where is the focus? On loss or on life? Will you choose life today?”
The reworking of my mind’s desires, dreams and days past become my present confrontation to tackle. Each day of healing brings a new source of discipline, forgiveness, contribution and self development. Losing Shawn and living life fully seem to be contradictory terms until I surrender to the idea that living an abundant life is all in the choosing.
This is how I enter my day. I choose abundance. This is my pep talk.
Once In A While
Once in a while, right in the middle of an ordinary life, love gives us a fairy tale.
-Unknown
I think the best part of my relationship with Shawn was that he inspired me to be my best. He saw the best in me, even if I was feeling my worst. He could see beyond what I limited myself to see. Now I feel like his vision is revealed. The best in me is finally being born. Each step I take further into the healing process bids me to stay awake and offer myself authentically. Even when I am scared or sad or depressed, the message returns telling me the truth about my purpose. I have great things to offer. His inspiration becomes mine.
Inspire. Breathe into life. Heighten or intensify. Supply inspiration. Prompt for more. Cheer. Encourage. Urge. Influence. Fill with confidence. Revolutionize. Enliven. Motivate. Stimulate energy. Draw forth ideas. Inhale. Inhale deeply.
The definitions of inspire move around me. Out of an ordinary life comes a beautiful love story. One between two people. One alone with myself.
Waste No Magical Moment
I spoke last night at a banquet for married couples. It was an amazing evening. I love sharing my story. Not because of the painful topic, but because of the chance for change. I have a passion for being a part of a plan bigger than myself. I have a purpose in helping see lives changed for the better. My message over the last year and a half remains constant, yet grows in fervor beckoning my audience to “Treasure Today and Be Here Now!”
My very good friend came with me to hear the talk and commented afterwards on the power behind my message. She said the passion in my voice is strong; hardly able to wait to share with people the poignant truth to live now – do not waste magical moments. This message in my life continues to gain momentum.
After the dinner, I slept over at my friend's house due to the distance home. It was a perfect "girl's night" with a long inspiring chat, a movie and an ice cream invention.
The next morning her six-year old daughter, our goddaughter, showed me a picture of Shawn I had never seen before. He looked so cute and relaxed. It was a spontaneous photo of him telling a story and he had an expression of intrigue on his face that I remember well. I was sitting next to him laughing freely.
I wanted to jump inside that photo.
I wanted to hear what he was talking about. I wanted to find out why I was laughing. But most of all, I wanted to experience that piece of being a couple again.
- Connected
- In-tune
- Supported
- Attached
- Invested
- Treasured
- Valued
- Prized
- Respected
- Appreciated
- Relished
- Important
- Delighted
- Enchanted
- Amused
- Enjoyed
- Understood
More than just two people on a page, I was holding a snapshot in time of a relationship honored. This is where my passion springs from; knowing that a life lived with love is a life full of gifts to treasure.
Waste no magical moment.
Birthday Wishes
Shawn would be 34 today. And I would be in love with him.
March 7, 1973 marks the date his life story began without any fear of his life story ending. Birth brings hope. Birth brings dreams. Birth brings unspoken expectations for life lived long. Birth should not appear in the same sentence as death. This is our very human idealistic wish. Today is his birthday and death abides. Life doesn’t always follow a decree of wants.
If only I could erase the waves I’ve ridden in the last year and a half, I would welcome back his life without wavering. I would return death in a heartbeat. I would kindly say, “I am done with you. Give me back my best friend.” I would celebrate another year together rather than apart. I would count out all the candles. I would give him all the love I am capable of expressing.
These are my birthday wishes.
Recollection
There are things circling Shawn’s death that I don’t recall. We sang a song in church last week that my friends indicated was sung at Shawn’s funeral. I had no recollection. One friend asked, “Is this song hard for you to sing?” I answered, “It is harder that I don’t remember the song being sung at his service.” Complete pieces of information erased from my memory as if it never existed.
Now finding myself in the middle of year two without my husband, I am starting to feel a new type of loss. Not only the loss of Shawn, but also the loss of time lived without him. The last year and a half feels like time lived by default motion.
I found photos of Jordan’s second birthday after we had returned from our trip to Honduras. He is sitting at our kitchen table blowing out candles. The cake bears no familiarity to me. Did I make it? Did I purchase it? I assume my sister brought it, as I don’t believe I was in the frame of mind to either make or buy a cake at that point. What conjures up remorse in me in regards to a simple chocolate bundt cake, is the very fact that I have no memory of it or more importantly the event surrounding it.
Can I buy my time back? Loss encompasses all sides. If I am not careful, I can see with all the other details lost, how easy it would be to lose myself.
Truth of Who You Are
A friend of Shawn’s emailed me this week. I love the message. It's okay to laugh at the truth of who you are. It's okay to live the truth of who I am.
“Shawn visited me in a dream this morning. He and I were in an office with a few other people. He was wearing a new athletic-type shirt, and I had just noticed that he still had a sticker on it-- something like a size sticker, but his was promoting a new "CoolMax" fabric. I quickly looked away after I noticed it, knowing that if it had been me, I would've been embarrassed. If it were me, I would've removed it as quickly and discreetly as I could, and hoped no one noticed. Not Shawn. He quietly peeled off the sticker and stuck it on his upper lip like a moustache and then said something witty to the group! He glanced at me quickly once everyone was laughing, as if to say, ‘Don't take yourself too seriously, friend. It's okay to laugh at the truth of who you are.’
In the moments of half-wakefulness, I made a mental note to call him up and tell him I was thinking about him. To tell him I just started a new job that intimidates me. To tell him that I'm a handful of months into marriage and I forget to laugh at myself sometimes here, too. I think he already knows, but I'll share it with you instead, Jennifer. Thanks for listening. You are in my thoughts often and will be today.”
-Shawn’s friend from youth group days
Together
I find myself bursting with what I am learning through my journey of grief or more accurately my passage of discovery into what God has purposed for my life. The lessons stored up in moments are extraordinary if I choose to learn them.
A difficult thought today is that I want to share everything I am gathering in addition to everything I am unfastening with Shawn. He would be equally intrigued with these new life themes that seem to surround me as I continue to walk in my loss of his love and friendship. I want to share with him my newfound hope, my joy in simple stillness and my passion to live the life God intended for me to live.
A new thought transpires within my contemplation of loss. Maybe I am indeed, sharing my new treasures with Shawn. He now sees completely. What once was limited for him is now made new and full. He shares in God’s goodness and more abundantly in God’s richness. Shawn is walking in glory. He sees the passion. He has been exposed to the extensiveness of purpose. He can comprehend what I only have a glimmer to perceive. In my view, my eyes have been uncovered. From Shawn’s sight, he knows and understands my lessons more wholly than I am even able to explain. I am a glimpse closer to the truth. Shawn is surrounded by the truth. He shares all this with me.
Officer's Note
There is nothing better for me to read than an inspirational story of how Shawn's life is still making a difference. I love that I had a short chance to love him and I love that many others now get to experience the best of him alongside of me.
Officer's Note:
As I write this I am patrolling the streets like Batman; as Shawn would have said. I was working the day Shawn was killed. Our dispatch sent out a city wide message to all squads letting us know what had happened, and my heart just sank. I went to Shawn’s wake and funeral. I thought Shawn’s service was a wonderful tribute and it had an impact on me and how I have lived my life since. Shawn set the bar pretty high, he seemed to have been a kind and wonderful person and I admire the way you two had such a close relationship. I am married and still have a lot to learn about love and how much we should value our time with our loved ones. I also have come to realize that a close relationship with God is very important. You and Shawn have taught me a lot about that. I can't even imagine what you must be going through. I still carry the card that I got from Shawn’s wake. I carry it in my card holder and try to remember to do my duty daily. I'm not sure why I thought I should write you an email, but I guess I wanted you to know that Shawn is still making a difference in people's lives…people like me who you have never met and didn't even know. I will always remember him, and think of him pretty much every day as I drive by the highway signs which bear his name. I know that Valentines Day must be a very hard time for you…as I would imagine just about any holiday is. I hope it goes as best as it can.
Ultimate Gift
“No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”
-Aesop, “The Lion and the Mouse”
On my birthday, the neighborhood Schwan’s guy stopped by my house and overheard a phone message I was playing upstairs on the speaker option. He discovered I shared my birthday with Valentine’s day and asked me, “What’s your favorite ice cream?” On the spot I answered, “Anything gooey, carameley, chocolatey with nuts." He offered Pecan Praline, which I couldn’t turn down, as he ran out to his truck to bring back a half gallon container as an impromptu birthday present. As he left I told him he had made my night. The kindness he offered, without knowing the secrets of my life, was an ultimate birthday gift.
This Is What Our love Is
I discovered a song by surprise today. Shawn and I had scribbled these lyrics down on paper one Sunday afternoon in our little cement home in Honduras during our volunteer days with the Peace Corps. He recorded the tune on his hand-held recorder and must have transferred it to our computer once we were back home in the states.
As I listened intently, the sound of his voice resonated as recent. How could it have been buried for a year and a half by now? How can I turn 34 when he never saw 33? How can his talents be taken in such a reckless crime? It makes no sense to me.
I love this song. I could listen to him play it over and over on the small travel guitar we had brought with us on our travels. The guitar had a tinny sound that didn’t support his musical skills, but regardless of instrument, I hear the love in his voice and feel his innate style of rhythm creating a gift for just the two of us.
I am glad I found the song today. I love surprise discoveries.
This Is What Our love Is
Walking on a Sunday afternoon
Laughing at the pie shaped moon
Holding your hand strong in mine
Never keeping track of time
This is what love is
This is what love is
This is what our love is to me
Secret telling even if we cry
Never needing to question why
Reading books and writing poetry
Dancing in the kitchen just you and me
This is what our love is
This is what our love is
This is what our love is –is to me
Written by: Shawn and Jennifer Silvera 2002
Brilliant Vehicle
I bought a new vehicle last week. Actually, a used vehicle; but new to me. The process of buying a car on my own was empowering. However, the best part of the entire purchasing/negotiating experience was at the end of the deal when the sales person candidly looked me in the eye and said, “You are a brilliant person.” His voice of sureness gave me back months of lost confidence that had been swallowed by my unexpected battle with loss.
Love Language
February has long been the month dedicated to relationships and a favorite month of mine, as my birthday falls on Valentine’s day. I have been hearing many references this week to one of my favorite books, “The Five Love Languages” by Gary Chapman. The book outlines the various ways we give and receive love: quality time, acts of service, words of affirmation, physical touch and gifts.
The salon I go to has quotes from the book posted around the store. One of the excerpts resonated with truth for me. It read: “One of the by products of quality activities is that they provide a memory bank from which to draw on in years ahead.”
One of Shawn’s primary languages of love was quality time. I find it interesting that my memory bank is filled with cherished samples of quality time we spent together. I wanted to tell everyone in the salon that this book rings true – not only in life, but in death. I firmly believe that the quality of time Shawn invested in me plays a strong role in my healing process.
Make of It
I was cleaning my office today and stumbled across an old college folder of Shawn’s for a psychology class he was taking prior to the accident. Interestingly enough it appears from his notes that the professor was discussing trauma, grief and loss. He highlights on one of the notebook pages, “It’s not so much what happens to people, but what they come to believe about it and make of it.” Reading these words in his personal penmanship seems nearly prophetic and I am buried in the complexity of the message.
I remember shortly after Shawn died, one of his instructors came to visit my home and commented on Shawn’s tenacity to seek God; wrestling His creator with mighty questions to follow in the purpose God had designed for his life.
Further down in the notebook he has scribbled, “What is God doing here, and how, and why?” And now his words become my questions – what, how, why? Through his death, my beliefs continue to shape and my heart persists to mend and my mind twists and turns and my life dedicates itself to what I will make of it.
Talented Kindness
Today I came home to talent on my table. My neighbor hand crafts baskets with intricate weaving and design. As a gift, she created a beautiful basket for me with twelve photo slots to hold a variety of Shawn’s best photography.
In my previous life, the one where Shawn was living right beside me, I remember defining talent by skill. He was a talented musician, skilled at guitar, singing and possessing amazing rhythm; an attribute I believe he inherited from his Jamaican heritage.
In my current life, the one I live day by day after enduring traumatic loss and forging forward, I see talent gently woven with kindness, similar to the basket I given as a gift.
Our aptitudes are blended with our passions allowing us to use our abilities to bless others when we choose to share our thoughtfulness and compassion. This is how talent becomes a gift. Once the gift is received, the talent becomes a treasure. One that both the giver and receiver will never forget.
One look at this brilliant basket and I immediately think of my artistic neighbor and how her talented kindness carried me to a better place the day she decided to share her gift with me.
Repeated Beginnings
As I enter my second year of life without Shawn, I am noticing many differences from the first year that has passed without permission. One year is filled with the chaotic, deafening sound of loss and the next becomes a silent response to the halting destruction of tragedy.
The first year of loss seems to carry a sense of survival, endurance, and continued existence. This year is summarized by stamina, patience, determination, exhaustion and energy extended simultaneously. It was a year of resilience, strength and weakness pushed along without choice by a driving force. Most of the year carries the mist of a convoluted vapor hazed with confusion, uncertainty, doubt, hesitation, and uncompromising unbelief. For me, the frightening shock of loss overwhelmed the astonishing gift of life, causing me to question every vessel of meaning behind my existence. I spent my year functioning in one world while living in a new world created only for the griever. I was never curious to visit this new place of sadness and heartache, yet found myself staggering within the confines of the perplexing space between life and death. This was my first year.
The second year is soundless. The noise is disappearing and I feel like life is mutely slowing. Words continue to be unable to justly describe a wordless situation. In the stillness of this second year, I am permitted to think more clearly even though the comprehension of what happened hurts in new ways.
The inconsolable reality of loss is my new truth. Just because I lived through one year, doesn’t mean my heart won’t continue to miss her heart’s mate. In order to restore and make well, I believe I need to experience this second hushed year where I can concentrate on what my new life holds. I believe through God’s grace my heart holds the power to mend itself around her undeserved catastrophe.
It is only now, in the start of another year, that I feel like I am entering a place of steadiness to continue the quest for healing. In the quietness of year two, I begin again the journey of rebuilding what was viciously taken away. I have a feeling that on this road, in this new land, I will have many repeated beginnings.
Love Endures
I probably should not be deciding what my favorite Christmas gift is before I have even celebrated Christmas. But, last night after I got home from what would have been Shawn’s graduation, I opened a gift from one of his classmates. It came with a simple card that read, “God Bless You, Jennifer. I am so glad to have met Shawn and I really wish he was here today.”
Inside the box was a stone crafted cross with the engraved verse, “The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me; your love, O Lord, endures forever. Psalm 138:8”
My eyes were fixed upon the word “purpose” and I was warmed to read the cross's prayer. My second reflection focused on the word love and the concept of God’s love enduring forever. How perfect this gift reached me, especially since Shawn’s death I have been convinced that in the end only three things remain: faith, hope and love. And I am sure that love is the greatest.
Graduation
Class Theme:
There are better things ahead than any we leave behind. – C.S. Lewis
Tonight I was invited to Shawn’s graduation ceremony (or what would have been his celebration) at Northwestern College. The spring before he died he went back to school to study psychology as a compliment to his law enforcement degree. I remember when he started this goal we thought it would take forever to reach graduation.
Since his death, I have redefined what we used to think “forever” meant. Forever now refers to the space and time after death. For me, nothing on this earth can ever again hold the classification of "forever". I now know this life is temporary in addition to everything that comes with it including new clothes, old clothes, hair cuts, degrees, holidays, careers, household chores, and so goes the list. I do not write this to be negative in regards to striving for our dreams and aspirations. Maybe just the opposite; it is unbelievably vital to work towards our desires and ambitions with our best energy because the moment directly in front of us is our only guarantee.
Attending the graduation ceremony without Shawn in attendance was a struggle. It would only be normal for me to want him there in cap and gown. At the same time, I was glad I attended to witness the hard work and achievements of his classmates. I felt a sense of closure and accomplishment to be present in honor of Shawn.
On the stage of the auditorium was a dedicated bouquet of flowers arranged with white daisies and white roses. Attached in the middle of the display hung a Class of 2006 tassel. I was so proud to hold this decoration. His class gifted me with the flowers in memory of Shawn, which I plan to bring to the gravesite on Christmas Eve. Their thougthfulness gave me great comfort for coming.
Press On
“A lot of people will try to talk you out of pursuing your dream. The world has too many people who are happy to discuss why something might not work, and too few who will cheer you on and say, ‘I’m there for you.’ If there is something out there that you want to do...don’t focus on the obstacles. Don’t ask for permission. Just dive in.” -John Wood
Shawn and I had many dreams. Stepping into December, the month of magical thinking, reminds me of our many ideas and grand imaginings. Changing dreams is easier said than done and sometimes the same interest or eagerness lessons when dreaming alone.
I still have dreams. I just feel a little shaky standing on my own and attempting my new endeavors. As I have written before, Shawn spoke confidence into me. More than his unspoken faith in me, he breathed reassurance around me. Regardless of my effort, win or fail, he was with me for the results. I liked being the other half of each other. There was much less pressure and much more willingness to risk.
Now when I think about pursuing dreams, I think sometimes I myself stand in the way of diving in more than anyone else. Often it is me who is trying to talk myself out of something. Why reach out to a future owned by the unknown? I am much more fragile since he died and a bit less secure. The emotions go up and down.
Maybe without Shawn I am waiting for someone to give me permission to not only follow, but chase after the dreams I still hold. Maybe within all my hesitations, the permission in the end must also come from me. A voice inside to encourage and say, 'Let go of the obstacles. Press on'.
Lemon Grass Tea
I have known it to be true that certain smells can bring me back in time to memories of distinct instances or locations. I believe this is also true for the sense of taste.
For my birthday last year my brother and sister bought me fresh tea. One of the flavors in a package of many was lemon-grass. As I was drinking my tea tonight I remembered that the last time I had lemon-grass tea was while serving in the Peace Corps in Honduras with Shawn. One sip of my tea this evening and I was brought back to our little cement room house, sipping tea on a cool Honduran night with a low temperature of 75 degrees. I could picture the single gas-counter-top-burner we used to heat the water; almost as if we were performing a science experiment. I could see the long, smooth lemon grass stalks in their natural state squished into our teapot to soak up the zesty flavor.
Shawn loved to make this tea at night to accompany his work on the computer writing journal entries or notes back home. The hot drink had a clean aroma, filling our house with its scent and calming our stresses. The tea was always given to us as a gift from a local farmer, freshly cut from his field and shared with us to enjoy. Now I am able to recollect how good it tastes to drink a gift.
One sip of my tea tonight and I can see him. I never knew taste was related to sight. Now it is all connecting in my mind. I taste and see and smell the tea and it brings me directly back to Shawn. The memory is smooth and clean and calming.
Climb the Ladder
Shawn used to help me with everything in my life. It seems like an extreme statement to say "everything". But, that is how my mind remembers him. He seemed to be very willing to serve, knowing this was one of the best ways he could show me his love. I miss this level of devotion.
This year, pulling out Christmas boxes to decorate initially felt like a chore. It had been Shawn's job to lug out the boxes from storage, allowing me to have "creative time" to put things where I wanted. He would hang the lights and garland up high both outside and inside. I didn't have to think about using a ladder. I loved (love) to create. He loved to please. We worked well together. I loved (love) to design. He would do his best to help me achieve my vision. He wasn’t scared of heights. We complimented each other's strengths. Without him, Christmas doesn't feel like a compliment. The togetherness of the holiday has been converted into a form of isolation for me even though I am surrounded by many loving people.
Last night, as I started to drag the boxes from the crawl space, I was reluctant to fake my way through the boughs of holly. Yet, I felt a sense of importance to provide my children with the experience of Christmas. Not just with lights and ornaments and a tree, but even more so with the spirit of the season that resides in my heart. It is meaningful for me to share real joy with them.
I decided to grant myself permission to decorate without feeling burdened or pressured to put out every adornment I own. The next morning when my children gazed at what I had displayed, their eyes grew with intrigue and well-rested smiles. They were impressed with the tree, excited about the toy-bear musicians that play Christmas carols on bells and fascinated with the nativity globe, which plays “O Little Town of Bethlehem” while glistening snow falls around the baby Jesus.
I couldn’t believe how good it felt to enter into the celebration of Christmas. There is a sense of healing within the holidays that reveals itself in small, unpredictable steps if we are open to participate. And I believe there can be good surprises even when we try something we don't believe we are strong enough to do. Chances are we are stronger than we know. If we need to we can climb the ladder.
Further Away
The worst part of time moving ahead on a linear line is that it carries me further away from all my moments with Shawn. I feel like I am on the walking belt at the airport where it automatically drags you forward. Once you step on there is only one way to go.
Today when I saw the snow falling whimsically outside our window, my heart was light with mystery watching my children’s magical reaction to the season’s first snowfall. Simultaneously, I wished Shawn could be experiencing this same lightness of heart. Concurrently, a striking fear ran through me. I think it was the fear of reality. I realized again, for what seems the 512th time, that Shawn is not here in the way I once knew him. The thought process unravels a bit further until it hauntingly nudges me with the most sullen of all questions, “Was he even real?”
I see his smile in the photograph on our piano and I can’t remember him the way I used to. The smile is frozen in time with great warmth and expression and yet, I can’t seem to conjure up the last time I saw him with that smile. Of course, I have my guesses. But, I want a concrete memory. Why wasn’t I paying attention to every time he smiled at me? Why can’t those loving glances be accurately recorded and recalled like the register of a checkbook? I want a list of all the dates to review when I withdrew a smile from him and deposited one of my own. Why do memories start to fog and blur all the while remaining warm inside the distance? It is like asking to remember what one had for dinner last Wednesday, the memory is lacking.
Smile at me again, Shawn. I want to freeze frame one more memory in time with you. Let me have another chance, Shawn. Over sixteen years of knowing you and nearly six years of marriage will never be nearly enough.
Death, I beg you to stop creating such distance. This is the slyest trick you play. I see what is happening as time progresses and it feels like I am losing him all over again. I hate how he doesn’t seem real anymore or is it that I hate being left to question?
He is my best mindful memory. I would prefer him to be my best at hand moment. I wish moving forward didn’t mean moving further away. Right now that is all it feels like.
