Getting through this one day at a time…
Giveaway ends March 31, 2024.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
Chapters 1-5
I am working on finalizing my manuscript. I thought it would be good to post the early chapters as I go along. This will be edited later but I don’t have a copy editor so I welcome any and all feedback! With the exception of quotes and excerpts from text messages, all writing is my own.
There’s always awkwardness when people find out I was widowed. I never like making people uncomfortable, so I usually rush through the explanation and wrap it up neatly. I’m doing good now. I’m remarried. I’m happy. Seven years later, a degree and license in counseling, and I am still following societal norms. Let’s pretend that grief doesn’t exist.
This was not the first death in my life. I’ve lost all of my grandparents, my Aunt Terry, my Uncle Joe, and my nephew Max who only lived for a few minutes. On Patrick’s side, we lost Zia Sue, Nona, Opa and Elsie, Danielle, Ryan, Zia Jan, Zia Glenda, Tony, Barbara, and Zio Angelo. Some of these were sudden and tragic, and they all affected me profoundly. So I thought I understood grief pretty well… until I lost Patrick.
I feel it’s important to acknowledge the depths of grief and the path through them. This is something that I have consistently downplayed because heaven forbid anyone should think I’m not okay. I’m tough. Don’t worry about me.
The truth is, I am human, and I have no clue how I survived the loss of my husband, Patrick. But I did. If you are experiencing the death of a loved one, I hope my story shows you that there can be a light at the end of the tunnel and a new path for you.
I want to share my experience so far in the hopes that it might help people when they interact with someone who has experienced loss.
Imagine that you are taking a walk. The weather is mostly perfect, and the scenery is beautiful. As you walk, you are holding the hand of the person you most want to walk this path with. Occasionally there is a hill, and sometimes you stumble, but your partner is always right there to help you. You carry many memories with you, and in the distance, you can see many places that you want to go, and you anticipate these experiences with excitement. You have the path memorized, and you know exactly how to get where you want to go.
Suddenly there is an earthquake worse than you ever imagined. A huge chasm opens up in the path in front of you. You feel your partner slipping, and suddenly they have disappeared. The destruction is so great that you can no longer see your future path. The experiences you had dreamed of are no longer possible.
At first, you feel like jumping into the chasm and looking for your lost dreams. You don’t really see any other option. Moving forward alone is unthinkable. Suddenly you see that there is another path leading away from the chasm.
This path has not been used as often, and it is not as easy to navigate. Sometimes you need help clearing the way. Parts of the path seem dangerous and frightening, and the chasm always seems to be nearby.
As you make your way, you start to notice that there are some interesting things ahead. There are other people traveling the path, and you begin to enjoy their company. They help to clear the path and point out destinations that you didn’t realize were there. This is a much different path than you had planned. You haven’t forgotten about your missing partner or the plans you had with them, but you realize that they would be happy that you found this new path and would want you to continue on.
I wrote this on the one-year anniversary of my husband Patrick’s death. I am now on a completely different path that I did not choose, but it is not as awful and scary as I thought it would be. There have been new dreams and hopes for the future. I feel that Patrick walks this path with me and helps steer me in the right direction. He can no longer hold my hand, but he still keeps me from falling.
April 20, 2016, started differently. I woke up around 6:45 AM to a silent house. My husband, Patrick, ran or rode his bicycle every morning before work. Patrick was very dedicated to staying physically fit. He would be the first to tell you that he didn’t particularly love working out but did it anyway. When he graduated from PT School, he gave a graduation speech, and it was about the importance of staying physically fit. I am hoping that someday I will find a copy of that speech!
He did some type of workout almost every day of the week and frequently did more than one. Each weekday morning, he would either run, lift weights in the garage, or ride his bike out Shaw Avenue to Quail Lakes, do a lap or two, and then return home. I am not much of a morning person, so it was not uncommon for me to sleep through his entire workout. He would usually wake up at 5:30 AM and finish by 6:45 AM. He left while I was still sleeping. I would occasionally wake up briefly, but sometimes I slept through it entirely. I thought it was odd that he wasn’t home, but I had a conference call at 7:00 and needed to prepare for it.
I was a Plan Sponsor Liaison at Aetna. I worked with our sales and marketing team and multiple National Account customers. I had worked at Aetna for over 21 years, the last year or so from home, and I loved being able to work at home. I quickly changed into my day pajamas; Capri-length black sweatpants with a stripe down the side, a sports bra, and a t-shirt. I ran into the loft, turned my computer on, and then asked my 17-year-old Daughter, Camille, to check the garage to see if her dad’s bike was there. And then I dialed into my call.
Camille went downstairs and returned a few minutes later to tell me the bike was gone. Ugh. He was very proud of his old, beat-up bike. I don’t remember when he bought it, but it could have been in the mid to late ’90s. I was sure I would have to get off my call and rescue him from a flat tire. My customer would probably be okay with my absence, but I worried the sales team would be annoyed. I could ask Camille, but she needed to get to school.
I waited until 7:10 and then sent an IM to my account manager to tell her I had a family emergency and needed to step away. I got in my car, which luckily already had the bike rack, and headed out to his usual route. I imagined him walking along the side of the road. He probably didn’t have his phone. He was invincible. Why would he need a phone or any identification?
Patrick was 49 and one week. We celebrated his birthday exactly one week before at the Paul McCartney concert. I had surprised him with tickets and then decided the girls should go too and bought two additional seats in another part of the arena. We had a fabulous time, and I was thrilled I had splurged on the tickets!
Patrick was a physical therapist and was very dedicated to staying physically fit. He was also frugal and stubborn. His bike was ancient, and he considered himself an anti-cyclist, refusing to wear the usual cycling gear. I had a road bike and frequently extolled the virtues of cycling and the benefits of getting a fancier bike, but he wouldn’t have it. He made fun of the cycling kits the serious cyclists wore and prided himself on wearing the most beat-up clothes he owned when riding. He had a cyclist’s body, and I liked to imagine how great he would look in cycling shorts with a tight jersey, but he refused.
On one of the few occasions when he did a ride with me and some of my cyclist friends, I could only imagine what they thought when he pulled up on that beater bike. But he could keep up with them and climb a hill as if on a lightweight road cycle. He did carry a saddle bag with tools and was usually able to repair a flat, but who knew what kind of mechanical trouble the bike might have?
I knew the main route Patrick would have taken. He might have taken a couple of ways to get to the main road, Shaw Avenue, so I guessed and chose Locan Avenue. I didn’t see him there, or when I got to Shaw, so I headed east and scanned the side of the road for a man walking a bike. A fire truck passed me, going in the opposite direction with its lights off. I wasn’t anxious at this point, and I felt the truck would not be driving away if there was an emergency.
We live in Clovis, CA, a constantly growing suburb of Fresno, CA. New housing developments are always popping up, and one or two roads are closed on any given day. I saw the usual flashing signs ahead and assumed the road had been closed due to the new development on the street’s south side. But a small truck was parked there, and someone was beside it. I should investigate.
I pulled over, got out, and walked over to the person, who was a Community Service Officer. I asked her what had happened, and she said there was an accident. I told her my husband was riding his bicycle and asked if I could see if he was there. She told me the crash involved a motorcycle. She even added the sound effect “vroom, vroom” to reassure me. She wouldn’t let me pass.
I returned to my car and then drove past Shaw, trying to think of a way to get closer. Patrick had CPR and first aid certification and would have stopped to render aid. Suddenly I realized this was too big of a coincidence. Patrick wasn’t home, hadn’t contacted me, AND there was an accident. An inner voice told me I needed to go home.
I remember the first time I saw Patrick. I was working as a typist for his cousin, John Prandini, in his physical therapy office, which was inside a local fitness club, Fresno Racquet Time. John is the brother of one of my high school track and cross-country coaches, Carlo Prandini. I knew that one of their cousins was coming to work as a physical therapy aide for the summer, but I guess I thought he would be older. I was in the front lobby, and I saw a guy walking in. He was tall and was dressed in a very 80’s style with light yellow pants, a t-shirt, and suspenders with palm trees on them. He was hot!
I later figured out this was not actually the first time I saw Patrick. Although I went to Clovis High School and he went to Hoover, we both ran track and cross country and would have been at the same meets many times during our high school years. And I once went on a date with one of Patrick’s best friends, John Wright, and Patrick was with him when we met. I often wonder why we couldn’t have met sooner, but I think we met when we were supposed to. We weren’t instantly an item, but by the end of that summer, we had begun our 30-year love story.
As I drove, I called my nephew, Nicholas Campbell, who was a police officer at the time. He said he wasn’t working but agreed to try and get information. A few minutes later, he called back to ask me to describe Patrick’s bike. He mentioned there was an accident, and the rider did not have ID. I told him my husband refused to wear the Road ID I had made for him.
I don’t remember panicking or wondering why they would need ID. Maybe shock had set in? All I knew was Camille would be leaving for school, and I needed to get home before she did. As I walked into the house, I got a breaking news text reading, “Fatal bicycle vs. vehicle accident closes Shaw.” And I knew. I can remember thinking this is what happens when you follow the news too closely. I received notification of death by a news alert. My brain refused to process the news.
I met with a small publisher today. I’ve been wanting to compile my blogs into a book. I definitely have enough material. I just need to decide if I want to spend the time and money to get it done.
Actually, it just occurred to me that if I was led to this publisher. I first met Everett O’Keefe when he sent me a friend request after Patrick died. He went to high school with Pat and has fond memories of him. I’ve never met him in person and I hadn’t spoken to him before today.
A few months after Patrick died I joined a group for widows and I met Leicia Riding. Later I would find out that her husband, John, was also a friend of Everett’s and they wrote their first book together. They were in business together up until the time of John’s death in 2014.
And finally, in 2020 my mom remarried. My new stepfather is Donald Tacchino and he was an English teacher. While visiting him recently, he showed me a book he had received from a former student. The book was The Power of the Published and it was written by, you guessed it, Everett O’Keefe! He let me borrow the book and I scheduled a book consultation as soon as I finished it.
My inspiration
Before Patrick died I read a book called Radical Survivor by Nancy Saltzman. Nancy tragically lost her husband and two sons in a plane crash. I can’t say I enjoyed her story, how can you enjoy someone experiencing that kind of loss? But, it happened. She woke up one morning with a husband and two sons and by the end of the day it was just her. And the next morning? She woke up and moved forward. And she has kept going each day since then. I’m incredibly sad that she had to experience that. At the same time I’m grateful that she found a way to share her story because it gave me a lot of hope. I read several different books by widows but Nancy’s will always be special. She’s my hero.
I eventually reached out to Nancy and she told me about Soaring Spirits International, a great resource and source of support for widows and widowers.
There are many other people who helped me along the way, including friends, family, and strangers whose words I found in books and blogs. I would really like to pay it forward. And, as a Licensed Professional Clinical Counselor, I can now provide additional insight on grief and recovery.
While I am working to organize my story, I thought I would reach out and see if any of you would be willing to share any tips on things that have helped you through your own grief? I would love to include real-life examples of ways that people have handled grief. And if you have any other tips I would also appreciate those! You can either comment on WordPress, Facebook, or Medium. You can also email me directly at danell.tenyenhuis@danellt9.com.
Thanks everyone and stay tuned for more!
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That’s how long Patrick has been gone. Okay, technically it’s 3,155,040 minutes but It was easier to round it down. Either way 3 MILLION conveys the enormity of the loss. On the other hand, if we were together nearly 30 years, he was a part of my life for over 15 MILLION minutes and that’s the important number.
This year has been a little harder for me and I didn’t completely realize it until my friend pointed out the “intense trio of 3 days, his birthday, Easter, and his passing.”
I knew Easter was late this year but I didn’t make the connection that this is the latest it’s been since he died which put it right in the middle of “THE WEEK.” Now that I realize the connection, it makes it a little easier.
For the last two years I have frequently reminded my clients that the pandemic is an added stress. This usually comes up when they are telling me they are having a hard time getting out of a “funk” or they don’t understand why they are so anxious. I feel it is important to recognize when we are under stress. I often hear people say “ I should be able to handle this.” What they mean is “I don’t really have a good reason to be sad or depressed.” I’m here to tell you that A) You don’t need a reason. And B) There may be a reason you haven’t considered.
When I point out a reason someone might be having a difficult time I ask them to give themselves grace. It’s okay to have difficult days. I know April 20th is always going to be hard. I can’t take off work this year because I haven’t accrued time but I made sure my boss knew the significance of the days. And, being a counselor, she made sure to ask me what I need from her. Luckily I have group supervision on Wednesday so I will meet with my boss and 7 other counselors for 2 hours and if I need a little extra love, they’ll be there for me!
I think I’m actually going to be okay. I’ve mentioned previously that I have a friend who is a spiritual medium. I know everyone may not understand or agree with this but it is something that has brought me comfort. And believing that my friend is able to send me messages from Patrick does not diminish my belief in God. I still believe in God and heaven and I believe that it is possible for our loved ones to send us signs after they are gone. And this friend is the one who mentioned the intense trio of 3 days. More on that in a minute.
Yesterday I was briefly put in “Facebook Jail.” I think there may be different levels of jail for Facebook. I was put in jail because my post “went against our community standards on human exploitation.” This decision was reversed a few minutes after I told them they misinterpreted my post and I can no longer see what all of the punishments were but I remember two of them. 1) I could not advertise for 30 days. Um, okay, I wasn’t planning on doing that anyway. And 2) I could not livestream for 30 days (I definitely wouldn’t have been doing that either). I think the last one might have been that I couldn’t request to be added to any groups.
If you didn’t see my post, I will put it at the end of this post. I made the post on Patrick’s birthday and I told a story about the outrageous lighters he ordered days before his death. The lighters shoot flames from an exaggerated male appendage. I was careful not to use the P word but I still got in trouble! I put a picture of the lighters in the comments and mentioned my 18-year-old niece since she was the latest person to find a hidden lighter. Maybe she was the human I was exploiting? Lol
Patrick would have LOVED this story. In fact, I’m fairly certain that the idea that Facebook jail exists might have been enough to get him to create a new account and make it his sole mission to get put in Facebook jail. It saddens me to think of all the entertainment we missed out on!
So, back to the message from my friend. She mentioned that she had a message for me and it’s my understanding that the messages are not always as clear as I would imagine so it sometimes takes a while for her to convey them to me. She’s still working on the whole message but she did tell me that Patrick loved the story and was very happy that his lighters caused problems. This surprises no one!
I guess I should sleep soon. Bruce is out of town tonight so I’m not worried about keeping him awake. Plus, he can sleep through just about anything! Speaking of Bruce, I’m happy to say that I’ve now spent well over a million minutes with him and I’m very grateful for this. He continues to be there for the girls and I. Last week he came with us to spruce up Patrick’s headstone and he ended up in his hands and knees washing it off. I was filled with love as I watched my current husband lovingly clean my late husband’s headstone. I don’t know how I got this lucky twice but I am very grateful. Today will be a little bit easier because he will be by my side. ❤️
Here’s the birthday post:
Happy Birthday in heaven Patrick! ❤️❤️❤️
In honor of his birthday, I have a funny story. Shortly before Patrick died he had bought pipes for Phillip Weathers and Denny Boyles. They were ridiculous looking and one was an actual corn cob pipe! I knew they had arrived but I could never find them. I know they were sitting in boxes on a coffee table and I think the boxes were thrown into recycling during the chaos of that day. I was sad that we never found them but I discovered another surprise while I was looking.
When I pulled up our Amazon order history to confirm we had received the pipes, I saw he had ordered a unique lighter, a little golden man with a very large appendage from which the flame was intended to shoot out! Only Patrick would order something like this! And the shipment hadn’t arrived yet!
The day the box arrived was a difficult day. We had an appointment at the funeral home for a private viewing. Denny drove the girls and I there and I decided I would let him open the box when we got home. He had no idea what to expect but we were all surprised to find not one, but two lighters in the box. We had a good laugh!
We thought about what we would do with the lighters and we decided to share them with each other in the Cranberry Lambic tradition.
Many years ago someone (possibly Dina or Jeff) bought a beer that was called Cranberry Lambic. I’m not a beer drinker and I never tasted it but it is apparently the most foul-tasting beer that exists! Once the first one was drank the purchaser decided they couldn’t finish the rest and decided to “gift” them to others. Over the years the siblings came up with elaborate schemes to sneak the beer to their unsuspecting victims. You might find one in your fridge after guests left. Or maybe it was in the ice chest you carried home after a party. One particularly cruel sibling carefully removed the label and replaced it with a Sierra Nevada label. I believe the rule is that if you start drinking it, you have to finish!
When Patrick died the siblings agreed that it would be fitting to leave a bottle with him to ensure that he was “it”. So now the lighters are passed around and hidden in each other’s houses. Last Friday we had a gathering at Matthew TeNyenhuis’ and Denny mentioned that a lighter might make an appearance. As I left Matt’s house I realized I hadn’t heard if it was left there or not. Apparently Denny carefully opened and resealed a bag of tortilla chips and made sure they were left there. A few days later my 18-year-old niece, Ella TeNyenhuis, had friends over for tacos. So now Ella is it!
I’m so glad that Patrick’s humor has outlasted him! I’ll put a pic of the lighters in the comments!
Random items bring back fond memories.
“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.”
Thomas Campbell
There is no rule book for handling the belongings of your late husband. I did not think I would be going through his things four and a half years later, but I’ve done it at my own pace.
Bruce and I combined our households in mid-2019. Moving was stressful and luckily we have a large garage with room for a lot of boxes. We intended to do a little at a time and then time got away from us.
I’ve had multiple boxes of Patrick’s things that I was holding onto. I was planning to get them all together and then go through and discard anything meaningless. How do you decide what is meaningless? I decided to consolidate the mementos into one box and save it as a time capsule available for the girls or their children to look through in the future.
One box was clearly items that had been packed up in college, moved home, and possibly never touched again.
I picked up a very worn deck of cards with a University of the Pacific logo and a campus picture on them. I’m positive that we played spades in his dorm room or apartment using those cards. The cards might not be played again but they could still be picked up and the holder could imagine their father, or possibly their grandfather, handling the same cards.
A cup made of leather with the name Pat on it. Clearly a high school art class project. Filled with pennies. The pennies could be cashed in for a few bucks. Or they could age in the time capsule, along with the ziplock bag labeled rare coins.
A “guess list” notebook. Used as a sign-in for his bachelor party. Some of the entries intelligible, most nonsensical. Smiling at the thought of Patrick with his high school friends and cousins. Damian reminding him that he knew me first. John not mentioning that he dated me first.
High school ID cards for each of his years at Hoover High School. A school picture and a picture of Patrick running for Sierra Freshman High School.
A book of poems and short stories published in his senior year. Contributors include a classmate who is now the CEO of Valley Children’s Hospital and another who owns a small publishing company. Patrick had several contributions including this one about his great-grandmother. Of course they got his last name wrong!
High school awards including certificates and plaques. Possibly I will add the yearbooks but for now they are on the bookshelf for easy access.
Cassette tapes that are mostly useless now. A picture from his high school prom with his date Heidi. A pair of dice.
My favorite item is a souvenir keychain from Magic Mountain. If you look into it and hold it up to the light you will see a picture of Patrick and I. I’ve always loved the picture.
There are physical therapy tools to measure range of motion and pain sensation. And there are needles and thread to do minor repairs while away from home.
A Jiminy Cricket figurine.
A butane lighter and a nesting tin cup.
A metal “Honor Carrier” cash box from his days delivering The Fresno Bee. Locked but easy to open with a screw driver. Inside are various items including his high school valedictorian medal.
There are various other items that I will leave as surprises for the girls. I realize that many things could be tossed in the trash. I save them because they meant enough to him that he saved them. And I feel close to him as I look through them.
I also know there are still more mementos in the garage. Some day I will find them all and finish the time capsule. And when I do, I will look through everything again.
I think this has been the hardest week of the pandemic so far. The world has just become such a hateful place. As a counselor, I recognize that this is a really stressful time and I try to have compassion for people. That has been more of a challenge and sometimes I am just so angry that it has brought the worst out in so many people.
In Clovis, the big topic has been whether or not in-person classes will happen. My kids are in college so it doesn’t affect me directly, but I have friends and family who are parents and/or teachers in Clovis Unified. And there are mixed opinions about what should happen with schools. The governor took the weight of this debate off everyone for now by requiring that schools start the year off online.
Prior to that happening I saw a post from a friend (and former high school classmate), who is an award-winning high school teacher. This friend survived breast cancer in the last few years, so, she is understandably very concerned about the level of exposure. I should also add that this friend loves teaching and her students love her. I know this because they frequently seek her out after they have graduated and post messages telling her the impact she had on them. I always read her posts because she is a very positive, uplifting person. I became angry when I saw that one of the comments on her post was another high school classmate calling her a “whiny baby” for posting that she felt expendable. The same individual also left equally offensive insults on some of the comments made by others. I knew this person in high school and always had a good opinion of her but I haven’t stayed in touch. So I took a look at her Facebook profile to try and understand why she was being so hateful. If I had to give a brief synopsis of her profile it would be “Christian woman who spends her life doing good deeds”. I’m sure you all have friends who fit into this category and I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I have known people like this my whole life and many were indeed good people. I wish I could say I was surprised to see the discrepancy between her profile and her comments but I wasn’t.
I’m not the kind of person who quotes scripture on Facebook but I do remember the general lessons I have learned from reading the Bible. What I know is that we should treat others well and we should show who we are by our deeds, not our words. Once again, I was disappointed to see someone proclaiming to be a good person based on the fact that they are Christian, yet acting in a very ungodly way. To make matters worse, the commenter’s sister defended her by saying she had adopted a special needs child. Doing good things doesn’t give you a pass to be hateful to others. Needless to say, I will not be sending a friend request to this particular long-lost classmate.
If this incident were an anomaly I wouldn’t think much about it, but it happens entirely too often. I don’t really advertise my religious beliefs. I know I’m supposed to go out into the world and tell others the “good news” but I also feel that you can do this with actions, not words. I believe that I should strive to be a good person, to treat others how I would like to be treated, and to have love and compassion for all. I try not to judge and to be forgiving. I guess this post fails at the judging part so I will need to work on that. My point is that we should demonstrate who we are by our actions and “They will know we are Christians by our love”. Also, I am definitely not perfect, which is another reason why I don’t post or write a lot about my religious beliefs. I try to be a good person, that is all.
Patrick has been on my mind a lot lately and of course I wonder how he would react to all of this. I know that he would be focused on the medical/scientific aspect of this. He wouldn’t question the need for a mask and I think he would probably agree with the closures and social distancing. He would have done his own research and also listened to the opinions of medical professionals whom he worked closely with. And actually, he probably would have been very alarmed at the potential for loss of life and disruption to medical care. I’m very thankful that our daughters are also sensible and have followed social distancing guidelines. I know he would be proud.
In the interest of full disclosure I will say that the pandemic has had little financial impact on my household. I have had to be cautious since I rely on savings that is subject to fluctuations in the stock market but Bruce is still working and overall we have been in a good position. In fact, Sierra and I both started paid positions in the last few weeks so we are in an even better position. I understand that I have privilege that others might not so, for me, the economic impact is not as significant.
With that being said I feel that the potential for loss of life should be a top priority. Some people have tried to downplay this by saying that these are people who were not healthy to begin with. Or that the numbers aren’t really that high. Sadly, I think their opinions might change if the virus hits close to home.
With all of the tension right now, I’ve gone back and forth about what to write, what to post, etc. I feel that I have educated myself on many current issues and that makes me want to share that information. But I’ve seen others become angry with anything that contradicts their beliefs. I’m still surprised that the pandemic and social justice have become political issues. Sadly, I think it will get worse before it gets better. Be safe everyone! You can also find me on Medium.com – @danellt9black.
I’ve recently decided to use my voice to raise awareness about systemic racism and white privilege. I’ve posted some of it here but I was worried that many of you come here to hear stories about Patrick or stories about grieving and I didn’t want to offend you. So I started posting on a site called Medium. This is a user friendly site that makes it easy for anyone to publish their writing and have a voice. I’ve read stories occasionally on this site in the past. I like it because it tells you how many minutes on average the stories take to read so I can decide if I have time to commit to a reading a story. I didn’t realize that you can only read five stories per month before you are required to join. More on that later…
I’ve written that my opinions did not change overnight but instead have been a slow process that began when Patrick died. I’ve been criticized for implying that my college degree is the only reason that I understand this. And, I do think that education encourages the type of critical thinking that helps you look at things differently, but I don’t think a college degree is required. Knowledge is the key and there are many ways to increase your knowledge.
I have found that Medium is a great site to get a variety of different perspectives. Any writer can publish there, not just the highly successful ones. You can pay around $5 per month for a subscription. The stories are not long either so you can read much more quickly than a book.
I find myself getting upset and angry at the many posts I see that are making excuses for poor treatment of black people. I know that my changed feelings may result in irreparable damage to relationships and this makes me sad. I’ve always tried to keep peace. However, I feel a strong calling to speak out and I’m going to continue to do that in multiple ways. My opinion mattered when it was about grief so I am hoping you will keep that in mind and take a few minutes to hear what I have to say. This is not about Patrick and I honestly don’t know how he would feel but he was a good person and I would like to think that he would have opened his heart to try and understand the struggles that black people have faced since before this country was founded. So I am going to use this platform to speak out.
Below are links to the stories I have posted on Medium. These are “friend links” so you can read without joining. I would love for you to read them but I would love it even more if you would listen to some of the black voices that are speaking out, and I mention some in my writing.
My Family Disagrees About Facebook Posts
One Hometown – Alternate Realities
If You Think You Are Unbiased, You’re Fooling Yourself
Although I am very tempted to apologize for disagreeing with some of the people I love (since that is my nature), I’m not going to do that. I am stepping out of my comfort zone because I think it is important for all of us to remove our blinders and try to understand what is going on. It’s not going away folks, no matter how sad or angry it makes you. I’m going to end with a quote from my friend, Paul Moore. Full disclaimer, I didn’t ask his permission but I feel he would be ok with it.
I feel like we are living out Malcolm’s post-JFK-assassination “chickens come home to roost” quote. Suddenly we’re back to 1968…because we never really got past 1968 in the first place. We are stuck and we need to change as much as ever before, because we can’t and shouldn’t go back to our head-in-the-sand recent existence. One day after another, we prove ourselves to not be nearly as good a country as we claim to be. The first step to recovery is admitting we have a problem, and it should be obvious by now we do have a problem.
Our beliefs are a combination of our family values, our upbringing, life experience, observation, and even research. Since some of this input happens throughout life, sometimes beliefs change.
In 2016 my world was turned upside down. There was an important election that year and I did not care. I put very little thought into it and based it on my beliefs at the time. I have been a lifelong Republican and party lines have generally matched my beliefs. I have a somewhat closely guarded secret. I voted for Donald Trump. Some of you will cheer this news and tell me there is nothing to be ashamed of. Some of you will be disappointed in me and some might even unfriend me. Honestly, with what I know today, it still would have been a hard decision because I really wasn’t happy with the alternative. And I guess I really thought that Donald Trump would rely on experts to guide policy. I liked the idea of changing politics and I believed that taking a fresh look from a business viewpoint might be just what we needed. I also mistakenly assumed that Donald Trump would be presidential. I am guilty of not considering what kind of person I was voting for.
Eight years earlier I was more involved in the election. I had what I considered a friendly ongoing debate with an African American coworker. He shared his support of Barack Obama and I shared my support of John McCain (full disclosure – I had to google who was running that year so clearly I wasn’t passionate about him). The day after the election I went into work and congratulated him on his candidate winning. I actually felt ok about Obama winning. I thought it was an important milestone for our country and I believed, and still do believe, that Barack Obama is a decent human being. I also looked forward to my party not being blamed for everything wrong in the world.
Now back to 2016. This year is also significant because I started my education as a counselor in September, 2016. Imagine my surprise when I figured out that counseling was a liberal profession?
While becoming a counselor you have to become intimately familiar with your own personal biases. This can be a very difficult process. In my cultural diversity class I was given an assignment to write about my biases. I wasn’t given the option to say I wasn’t biased. I had to reflect on my beliefs and I was not proud of what I saw. I have denied being racist my entire life and I now realized that some of my denials, if not racist, were ignorant and offensive to minorities. Having biracial relatives doesn’t prove I am not racist. Having minority friends does not prove I am not racist. Being kind to minorities does not prove that I am not racist. Accepting the privilege I was born into and not speaking out against racism does make me racist.
One of the most racist things I ever did, I did in the presence of one of my closest friends, Lisa. Lisa is a huge Lakers fan and I have had the opportunity to attend a few Lakers games with her. During one trip we found ourselves looking for parking and ended up in a sketchy neighborhood. I remarked to Lisa that I was glad I was with her (she is 6 feet tall and black). Lisa looked at me like I was crazy and laughed. She said something along the lines of “You think I can protect you because I’m black? I’m scared too!”
I believe Lisa forgave me but I’ve never asked. I’m sure it was one racist act in a long line of racism she has experienced. I feel that I am basically a good person and I think she would agree but that doesn’t excuse my racist behavior.
While completing my assignment on personal biases, I found an interesting essay on White privilege. This article changed my life and I truly mean this. I challenge any white person who follows me to read this article and then ask yourself if it is not true. After reading it I finally understood, I have privileges that I have not earned. I received these privileges simply by being white. I think this concept is so difficult for fellow white people to accept because it changes our whole identity. I used to say that I did not condone slavery and I didn’t understand why blacks felt mistreated when slavery was so far in the past. I was annoyed when police officers were questioned for simply doing their job. I believed that law abiding citizens would never be mistaken for criminals and I believed that most police killings were the result of the victims criminal behavior. I have two nephews in law enforcement. They are good people. I think the majority of law enforcement is good. But that doesn’t excuse the behavior of those who are not.
In my diversity class I also learned about Microaggressions. The attachment gives examples. If you find it hard to acknowledge that you have been racist, maybe you can at least acknowledge that you have been guilty of microaggressions. I’ve included the definition below.
mi·cro·ag·gres·sion/ˌmīkrōəˈɡreSHən/Learn to pronouncenoun
At the very least, my interaction with my friend Lisa was a microaggression. I’ve also been guilty of this when I’ve said that I can’t be racist because I have black friends and relatives. Another microaggression is saying “All Lives Matter”. This article explains why. Black Lives Matter is a movement that started to bring attention to needless deaths. Changing the first word to fit your cause or beliefs is, in my opinion, a form of cultural misappropriation. Many of you will disagree and I challenge you by giving you comparisons. Would you walk into a cancer fundraiser and try to make it all about heart disease? Would you walk into a funeral and talk about someone you lost? I can’t think of anyone who would do these things because most rational people understand that cancer fundraising organizations are not denying the rights of other organizations that raise funds to fight another disease. And a funeral is the time to celebrate one person’s life.
The events of the last seven days need to be a wake up call to all white Americans. We need to speak up. Watching a cop kneel on George Floyd’s neck until he died was horrific. And, white privilege was on full display in Central Park when Christian Cooper was harassed by a white woman.
When I read the white privilege essay some of my beliefs changed immediately. Over time this experience has caused me to reflect on my beliefs and I am continuing to adjust my beliefs. I don’t consider myself smarter than my fellow whites who do not accept white privilege, I consider myself more informed. In closing I will quote my niece, Shayna Danell Boyles 💕 , who summed this up in a Facebook post,
“Even when it feels like the world has stopped spinning, racism is alive and well. if you’re not doing your part to actively combat racism, you are the problem. if you see an act of racism and passively allow it to happen, you are the problem. if you’re not actively working towards dismantling the system that is TODAY killing people of color, you’re standing directly in the way of progress, and it’s time to move.”
The day Patrick died I was overwhelmed with the love and support that I received. As the days went by I was amazed by the lives he had touched and the people who were profoundly affected by his death. At the time I couldn’t imagine a world without Patrick but I also couldn’t imagine getting through this if I didn’t have my people.
My people, each and every one of you! You helped me through this and inspired me to make something positive out of so much sadness. I had never planned to return to school, it wasn’t even on my radar. Suddenly the pieces began falling in place and I was enrolled in the Professional Clinical Counseling program (online) at Grand Canyon University. I didn’t think it would take me nearly four years to get my masters but I did it at the pace that was right for me.
Today I was supposed to attend commencement in Phoenix, Arizona. And, like all the other significant events right now, it has been postponed. I’m not going to let that stop me from celebrating so I put on my regalia and Sierra played Pomp & Circumstance on her phone while taking pictures. Someday our lives will get back to normal. For now I’m happy to have something to celebrate!
Thank you to all my family and friends who supported me, loved me, and believed in me!
Another year has come and gone. This day will always be bittersweet with the good and bad memories. Some people choose not to observe death anniversaries but it’s going to be there even if I try to ignore it. And honestly, I don’t ever want to forget the love and compassion shown to me that day. I took screenshots of every message, post, and text and I like to look through them occasionally.
The girls and I went to the cemetery today. We shared some memories and Camille commented on the irreverence of his headstone. He would have loved it! There were several special mementos left there by other family so we knew we weren’t the only visitors.
So much has happened since then. I know he is beaming with pride at all that the girls have accomplished. I think he would also like my new career path. I’m not sure how he would react to the pandemic. Being a healthcare professional, I know he would be familiar with the science and understand the need for the drastic measures being taken. But I think he would also find humor in the fact that toilet paper is a hot commodity. We just know that he would make us laugh, because that’s what he did.
My current class ends on Wednesday. This is also my final class. In honor of Patrick, and as a way to add something happy to April 20th (I know, there is already something associated with 4/20), I submitted my last assignments and my final hours. I am DONE with my degree! My commencement was scheduled for May 1st but has been postponed to October. So, I am going to make my own graduation, on Zoom! I have my cap, gown, and hood and I’ve already lined up a commencement speaker! Can’t wait to be officially employed!