Jessica Aiken-Hall

Unleashing Secrets

On My Mind

Seven Months

Seven[1]It’s only fitting that it has been seven months since I last wrote. Seven pops up a lot for me. It is probably one of the most significant ages in my life, as is every seven years after. Major life events occur in my life every seven years.

At age seven the sexual abuse started. At seven my sister was born and my mom sent me to my gram’s house. At seven I was pretty much abolished from my family as my mom coddled her new bundle in pink. At seven it became obvious that I would never fit in to the family I was born to. Luckily for me my gram loved me and made up for all that I had been lacking. We had always been close, but at seven I believe our relationship grew. It was then that I knew that she was where I belonged.

Seven years later, at age fourteen, I was put into foster care after I finally disclosed information regarding the sexual abuse. Again, I was abolished from my family. I was lucky to be able to live with my best friend and her family, and later my gram. When I was thrown away there were always people there to brush me off and help me shine.

Seven years later, at age twenty-one, I was pregnant for my first child. I was seven months pregnant when I learned that my sister had been sexually abused by the same man who had abused me. The difference this time was that she was not thrown out, he was. The anger inside me changed to guilt as I questioned how I could have let this happen to her. At that moment I was not hurt by the circumstances. I was hurt knowing that I had not protected my sister.

Seven years later, at age twenty-eight my world went black as the only person that ever loved me died. My gram died, as did I. When she died I did not know how to live. I lost my security, my love, and my purpose. I had three children by this time which was the only reason I did not commit suicide. I pushed through the pain and the darkness to make it through each day. After a year the pain and loss had not eased up, it was just as raw as it was the first day.

Seven years later, at age thirty-five I accidentally stumbled upon my path to healing. I learned that I developed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after my gram died. I worked on the past hurts and scars that I had been hiding. I opened up and was honest with myself about a lot of things. Most importantly I forgave. I forgave all the people who hurt me, and I forgave myself. For the first time since my gram died I was in an okay place as the anniversary approached and passed. Seven days later my mom was rushed to the hospital by ambulance. She died three days later.

The last words I told her while she was still conscious were, “I forgive you. I love you.” Although I discovered many times in my life where she “threw me away,” I know that she had her reasons and her own demons. I understood that she did her best for me. My best was to let her know that she was loved and to take any thing off her shoulders she may have been carrying. Those three days are still sketched into my memory, and will be for a while. I saw some of the most gruesome and terrifying images those three days that haunt me if I let them. My mom’s death itself was beautiful, and nothing more I could have asked for her. That is what I try to bring my thoughts to when I start ruminating over the days leading up to it.

My mom’s death was the first one that I had been present for. I had spent the past ten years working with the aging and dying population, and had lost many people who I have loved. I had been to many funerals and seen many dead bodies, but I had never been there for the moment. The moment where the spirit leaves the body. As I did Reiki on her feet I felt as she released. That brought me peace and comfort and made the next few minutes tolerable. It was beautiful and she is free.

It has been almost a year since then, and I am now only six years from my next seven years. I cannot worry what it will bring, because it would steal my potential for joy from me. I will live and learn along the way. I will dream and I will reach goals. I will not let any more of my time pass me by. I may fall down every once in a while, that just makes getting up so much more rewarding.

To seven years.

To seven months.

To seven weeks.

To seven days.

To seven hours.

To seven minutes.

To seven seconds.

seven2

To seven.

 

 

Worth Waiting For

 

summer 2016 012.JPGWhen I was twelve years old I remember waking up from a dream and feeling safe. For me, feeling safe was an unusual feeling. I laid in my bed, under the covers and thought about the man I had met. As I walked along a path in the woods I came to a small stream. In the stream was a large rock, covered in moss. Upon the rock sat a man with deep brown eyes who stared into mine. When he began to talk to me I felt at ease, as though we had spoken before. As he sat on the rock, looking into my eyes he told me that he loved me, and he would wait for me. He said that it would take me a while before I found him, but I would and he would be ready and waiting for me.

I often thought back to this dream, to the man on the rock. I thought about the possibility of finding love, a love that was comfortable and safe. I tried to talk myself out of the existence of this man, but my mind and heart would bring me back. When I got older and began dating, each boy and later man who I would date was never him. Their eyes were never the eyes that had connected with mine in that dream. As the years passed I gave up on the idea of this perfect for me man waiting for me. I summed it up as a silly dream and gave up on finding the feelings I had woken up with that morning so long ago.

Each relationship I entered I soon knew I did not belong. Some held onto me longer than others. Some hurt my soul deeper than others. Some hurt my heart, while others hurt my whole existence. I was trapped in a cycle of toxins, released with every hurtful word, every raised fist. The deeper I got into the toxic spiral the more I felt I would never escape. The man on the rock still haunted my thoughts, as though he was reminding me to never give up on his promise. To keep looking, keep searching for him. I pushed the idea that there could be a man like him waiting for me out of my head. I felt that I was destined to be unhappy for the rest of my life. I felt that I did not deserve a love that was pure, and real, and safe.

Little by little I began to die inside of myself as I allowed the damage by others to slowly destroy me. Until one day. One spark of light came in and lit the path for me. It led me to freedom. It led me to safety. As the light lit up my darkest corners the man in my dream came to me. In my darkest hour, in my weakest state I was given the gift of love. Of safety.

As I looked into his deep, brown eyes I knew. I knew I had seen them before. I knew I had felt this way before. I knew that we had met before. I knew that he had waited for me. As our eyes connected mine filled with tears. Tears of love, tears of relief, tears of trust, of safety, of belonging. I knew in the instant that our eyes connected that he was the one that I had been longing for. He was the one that I had been waiting for; who had promised to wait for me.

I didn’t know if he knew of the connection too, but I trusted he would remember. I trusted that we met again for a reason. I trusted that the universe aligned so our paths would cross. For the first time, I just trusted. I worried that I may not measure up. I worried that I may not be enough. I worried that I may not earn the love that I had been longing for my entire life. The thoughts came and went and circled inside of me. I had been told for so long that I was no good, that I was not worth anything, and those thoughts stuck with me. But he never once gave me reason to believe them again. He never once made me feel like I was less than.

As I tried to find a reason why he may leave me, why he may see what others had seen, he always gave me reasons to believe I was wrong. When I was unable to love myself, he loved me enough for both of us. He stood by me, and my kids when our world shattered. When things became a nightmare he never left. He stood by us and waited. He shielded us with safety and provided love and support. He never left. He kept his promise from twenty years ago.

For the first time in my life I am not called names or hurt. After three years he has not once called me a name or put his hands on me in anger. For the first time I can see, I can feel what it is like to be loved. I don’t have to chase it, I don’t have to beg for it; it just is. To be loved and only be expected to love in return. I never thought such a thing existed. I was wrong. All those years of hurt, sadness and abuse are over. They are over. I never thought I would be able to say those words; but they are over. Never again will I allow anyone to treat me the way I had been treated. Never again will I question if love is real. I know. I know without a doubt. I feel with all that I have that love is the only real thing out there. Love is all around when you allow it in.

To the man with deep, brown eyes; thank you for all that you are, for all that you do, and for waiting. I love you.

 

What is Luck Anyway?

sky

It had always seemed to me that luck has a lot to do with how people have the lives that they have. For the majority of my life I felt as though I was unlucky; in every single aspect of my life. I would look at other people and think “why can’t I have a life like theirs?” I would look at other families and long for the love and connection that they shared. I would ride past homes and wish that was my house, where a family full of love was waiting for me. I did not understand what I had done to be stuck in the life that I had. I felt that I was being punished but I was not sure for what. I just did not understand. I was just unlucky; a constant dark cloud full of rain always followed me, and I hated it. If it could go wrong, it would go wrong. I would watch others who appeared to always be happy. I would get angry, and then sad as I watched everyone else live the life that I wanted. How could this be fair? How could life be so great for everyone else? How come I had to live this way?

I dwelled on the fact that I was unlucky. I was overcome with depression as I thought about how much effort it took to live. It hurt to even breathe some days, all because nothing ever went the way that I expected it to. Happy occasions would end with tears or sadness when it was not what I had thought it would be. The excitement would build as I thought about how it “could be”. I thought about the way it was for the people who always smiled. I thought about how it happened on TV. I thought about everything, anticipating that maybe this time it would be my turn for life to go as I thought. For once it was going to be my turn to smile and be happy. Time after time, my time never came. A happy event would end as the next dive into depression began.

I was seen as the “Eeyore” amongst my family and friends. I saw the glass as half empty; at times I saw it as completely empty. I held my head low, hid behind my hair and did all I could to not stand out. Life was hard enough without calling attention to myself. I was pessimistic, gloomy, dark, depressing, melancholy, blue, and just plain miserable. I lived everyday thinking negative thoughts. I knew deep in my heart that I was destined to be doomed. Forever. What did I have to give the world when the world had nothing but problems to give to me?

Every single thing in life let me down. Every single person let me down or hurt me in one way or another; with exception to my maternal grandmother. In a world like this, it was easy to see how negativity could take over everything. I became a slave to the negative thoughts, thinking that I was unworthy of anything “normal” or “good”. I just accepted that this was how my life was going to be. Life is not fair; that was a thought that repeatedly came as one more thing would happen. One more bad day; one more awful person; one more painful experience. I was vulnerable and I was open to the pain because I was always searching for that one chance at changing how it was going to be. Little did I know then that everything that ever happened was changing me. The big picture was not completely drawn at that point; it never really is.

With an outlook like that it was no wonder that life continued to go the unlucky way. Looking back I can see how special events never turned out the way I had imagined. If I dwelled there, in those moments I can see how more and more of my life would be the same. I am not sure of the exact turning point where this changed for me, but I slowly began looking at life differently. I started taking the power away from the negativity and I started to look for the benefit from each situation. Was there a lesson that I needed to learn? Was there something better waiting for me? Changing these thoughts helped change my life.

Thoughts like this were not productive. Thoughts like this took time away from enjoying the good times or even acknowledging that there were good times. There was no way that I could have been brought into this world to live this way. There was just no way that this was my life; this was not the road map I was meant to follow. It took a long time to see that there were other routes in life; that just because I was on this road did not mean that I was stuck there. Realizing this was life changing. It did not come to me suddenly; but as with everything in my life it started building slowly and one day I saw it; I saw the light in the distance from my darkness. I would not have to live this life any longer. And I chose not to. Life is all in the perspective. You can look at life any way you want to and interpret it any way you chose; ultimately the choice is yours.

Beginning to believe that I was worth the change was a very hard process. So many years of darkness kept bringing me back to the old space that was my life. Darkness can have a hold so strong that it is hard to fight back. It is easier to give up and just let what is comfortable happen. Comfort is not always good. Sometimes comfort is toxic. Sometimes comfort is abusive. Sometimes comfort is lethal. And sometimes it is wonderful. It is a balancing act going between lethal and wonderful is mesmerizingly exhausting. Like Alice in Wonderland there is mystery behind every corner, not knowing who to trust and what to believe. Our minds are good at telling us stories. We just have to become better at rewriting the story that gets told to us in our quietest times. It is in those moments that make up how we see ourselves. It is in those moments that we have the chance to change how we fit into our world.

Every day is a struggle; believing that the unknown will be okay and that we are strong enough to get through anything that comes our way. Trusting that what happens is what is meant to happen. To learn how to walk away feeling joy and not feeling let down when perfection does not come. Learning that perfection is only what we make it; our own perspective. If you expect everything to be flawless you miss out on what really is happening. In reality perfect is not obtainable, you just learn what your perfect is.

Luck is an illusion. Learning this helped change my expectations. Understanding that I am not the only person that has felt consumed by bad days and gray clouds was the first step at understanding that it is not always as it appears. On the surface it may look like everyone else has all that they need or that they are loved and feel safe, but you really never know what another person is feeling or thinking. To an outsider it may appear to be just right; but to the person that it matters most to, it may be all wrong. Terribly wrong.

An outsider may think that my life was perfect. They may have thought that I had everything that I needed. They may have thought that I was loved by many. They may have thought that we were happy kids. But they were wrong. Most of the time what we think about another person or situation is wrong. Jealousy gets in the way and we start wishing that our life were like theirs or wish that we had what others have. Jealousy comes with a price; the price of peace; the price of happiness.

Luck is merely what you make of it. Maybe I did have all that I needed. Maybe I was loved enough. Maybe I just wanted too much. When I stopped looking at what others had and focused on what I had life began to change. I do not call that luck. I call that life experience. When you learn about others and see that there are people who have nothing and are the happiest people you have met while others have what you consider everything and they live lives of despair. Luck is knowing that happiness matters. Luck is knowing that something is better than nothing. My nothing is someone else’s something.

Maybe I did not have the best of everything. Maybe my life was not a fairytale. Maybe I had more than my share of hardships. I learned to stop questioning it and learned to start being grateful for what I did have. Finding the light within the dark spots was my luck. My luck came when I understood the value of my experiences. No one could take away from me what I went through and what it taught me. What happened to me is something that I will own forever. Everything thing that I saw as a hardship before is now seen as a lesson. Life has been my greatest teacher, and understanding that is what I consider lucky.

 

Sometimes I Forget

Spring 2016 836.JPGSometimes I forget.

Sometimes I forget that you are gone.

 Sometimes I pick up the phone to call you to tell you about my day, and as I start to dial the phone I remember that you are gone.

Sometimes I can’t wait to tell you the news when something exciting happens, and then my joy fades as I remember you are gone.

Sometimes I crave the sound of your voice.

Sometimes I miss the way that you smell.

Sometimes I miss the comfort that you gave me.

And then I remember.

You are gone.

Gone from the physical world.

Never gone from my world.

Even death could not take you from me.

Even death could not weaken our bound.

Death could not stop our love.

And then I remember I will never forget you.

Happy Birthday. Happy Travels.

img_7123Today was my gram’s birthday, had she been alive she would have turned 97 today. When she turned 85 I threw her a big surprise birthday party. A lot of the people who were important to her came to celebrate the day with her. The ones that could not make it, and some of the ones that could wrote down their favorite memory of her and I put them together for her in a book. The look on her face and the joy that book brought her was worth all the work that went into it.

As we drove to the hospital the week before her death I joked with her about planning her 90th birthday party. She laughed and told me she did not want a party; I told her it was something worth celebrating and I would throw her one any way. A few days later she died. She won, kind of. We planned her burial for what would have been her 90th birthday and we celebrated anyway.

Every year since her death we celebrate her on her special day. June 5th will always be special to me and I hope to my kids. Some years we have cake, some years we buy her balloons or flowers, and some years we just go for ice cream in her honor. This year was a little different. This year we celebrated my mom’s life on my gram’s birthday. We said our goodbyes to my gram’s only daughter on her birthday this year.

Since my mom died I have felt very connected to my female ancestors. There have been things that I have noticed that make me believe that we are all very similar even generations apart. Many of the women in my family had a very special relationship with their grandmother, while the bond with their mother suffered. We all had the maternal support we needed; it just came from the generation before. I felt that celebrating my mom’s life on the birthday of the woman who gave her life was completing their circle.

The remaining few in my family are here, working on our own circles; but today we could reunite them, as well as the other mothers and grandmothers from our family circle that have already passed on. We are all connected, in an interwoven weave that makes us whole. Each piece, no matter how insignificant it may seem is critical for the survival of another. My mom may not have been able to give me all that I needed, but she made sure my gram could. The mothers and grandmothers in my family are strong women. We are a force to be reckoned with. We have our weaknesses, but oh do we have our strengths. We are family. We are survivors. Life was a struggle for all of us, but we managed. We managed and we succeeded.

My mom’s celebration of life took place this morning at Lake Willoughby. It was a place her mom took her as a child, and where she took us as kids. It was a place of joy. A place of peace. A place of wonder. A small circle of her friends and family gathered by the water we swam and splashed in. It was a place where I felt loved, and a place she had as well. Water had been an important part of her life, and she made it an important part of ours. Her mother passed on her love of water to her, and I to my children.

The flow of the water, the splash of the waves, and the strength in the current make water mystifying. Water is ever changing, never to have the same ripple twice. It is calm and serene while having massive power. A shallow river has enough force in its current to move large trees downstream. Looking at the calm water you would never know the power below. But don’t test it. Don’t push it. Water will win as it peacefully passes by. The women in my family are like water. We quietly watch the world around us and push back when we need to. You need water to survive as you need love. You will wilt away into nothingness without water, as you will without love.

Today’s forecast called for 90% chance of rain, heavy at times. While we gathered around the lake it merely sprinkled, off and on. There were lulls of no rain at all. The sun even peeked out of the clouds for a little while. We sprinkled some of her ashes into the water as the others sang “You Are My Sunshine.” We were her sunshine, as she was ours. Today she gave us the gift of sunshine, if only for a few moments. As we drove away the heavy rain came. I know she had something to do with that. She did not want us to be sad, she wants us to live. She wants us to be thankful for the time we had with her and to live the rest of our lives as we wait for our final descent.  She was a prisoner in her life for as long as I knew her, and many years before that. Where she is now she is free. She has joy and she has love. I know she is not gone from our lives; she is just on a different path until we meet up again.

Happy Birthday Gram.

Happy Travels Mom.

Until we meet again. Much love.

Seven Years, Ten Days

Spring 2016 855.JPGMy mom died. Seven years and ten days after her mom, my gram died. This was the first year since my gram’s death that I did not fall into a deep depression. This was the first year that I was on top of my grief. And then one week after the anniversary of losing my gram my mom went into the hospital. As I was watched the doctor franticly look at her notes and then my mom, the look on her face said more than anything she could speak.

I sat against the wall in the hospital room I thought about the day. It was April 17th. We were having my gram’s service April 17th seven years before. It was 2:00pm when I connected those dots. I could not keep my tears in. I knew what was happening. I had to leave the room, because I did not want my mom to see me cry. I rushed down to the waiting room and let the tears out. I sent my brother a text to let him know what was happening. The time stamp was 2:07pm. My gram’s service was held April 17th at 2:00pm.

Why was the universe testing me? Why did this have to happen now? Why did I have to start the grieving process over? There were too many thoughts going through my head. I was not ready to lose her, not yet. I wanted to talk to her to tell her the things that I had been working on. I wanted to tell her that I hurt, but I understand now why things happened the way that they did.

On April 18th we were called in to her room to say goodbye as she was having a heart attack. She was still awake and able to speak. I told her “I forgive you Mom, I love you.” She responded in a few words and was asleep, never to speak any more words. We were called in to say goodbye to her a few more times that day, each time I told her that I loved her, once kissing her forehead.

My anticipatory grief was setting in. Days before we thought she just had the stomach bug. I had not gone to see her the last couple times because she did not want to get the kids sick. And now we were saying goodbye over and over again. Each time we said goodbye she would become stable and we were told she was improving. Part of me hoped that she would pull through and part of me knew she wouldn’t. I wanted to keep hope and faith alive but I also wanted to be prepared for what was coming next. It was like walking on a tight rope, not wanting to look down, but knowing you have to.

After two long days of waiting and hoping for the best we had to make a choice. Do we keep letting her fight, or do we let her go? We let them try everything, and she was surprising us each time. They gave her a 1% chance of surviving the first surgery, and she did. They gave her a 10% chance of surviving the night, and she did. We hoped she could fight it; that she could beat it. Medications were at their max and she was failing. She was in pain. If we let her keep fighting we would have lost her. We decided to stop all life saving measures and transition to comfort care.

Within minutes she was gone. We said our goodbyes to her as she departed her Earthly body. The four days that this took place were excruciating. A waiting game; hoping that we would get good news, but knowing we wouldn’t. I didn’t want her to suffer, but I wanted her to live. That is a hard choice to make. I felt selfish letting her linger just for us. We initially wanted it for her. We knew that if she had a choice she would want to live too. So we did everything that was offered to us. We did everything and it still was not enough. Regardless of our choice she was going to die. It was just a matter of moments. In the big picture her peace was worth more than those moments.

I don’t have regrets, only that she was most likely in a lot of pain. We did not know that until after she had been suffering. We did what we could do and we were there with her when she needed us. She went peacefully and quickly once the medications were stopped. We followed her wishes the best we could with little to no information as to what she wanted. She never wanted to die so she never talked about her wishes.

Seven years after losing my gram and drudging through the thick, painful, at times paralyzing grief I was given a reprieve to try to live without the pain and then I was given another major loss. Another loss that could have sent me down the ugly, black spiral I had just climbed up. This loss has been different. My grief has been different.

My mom and I were not close. I spent my whole life longing for her love. She gave me the love I had looked for as she clung to her life. In her final moments she gave me what she never could before. I am not sure if my pain is subdued this time because of the distance that separated us; or if because she left me at peace with our past. I am sad as I think about what never was. And I find myself thinking of things I want to tell her and forgetting that she really is gone. I don’t know the difference. I just know that it is easier. So far. I also know that grief is ever changing. I know that it is different. I know that it is tricky and I know I cannot out run it.

As my mom was still alive, fighting for her life I looked down and saw my gram’s ring on my hand, on her arm. I was brought peace knowing that she was there helping me and also there for her daughter.

My mom was 62 years old when she died; my gram was 62 years older than me. My gram was 34 when she had my mom; I was 34 when my mom died. As I sat and thought there were a lot of connections like this. It made me see that we were all connected, but more importantly that the big picture is already mapped out. Things are preplanned and we are just along for the ride. Good or bad; if it is meant to be it is going to be. Life is always going to be; until it is not. It is what you do in between the being and not being that matters most. It is time for me to be the most that I can be in my time I have left.