she has taught me.

A day late, but still filled with love.

I spent all day yesterday thinking about my amazing mother while I cleaned the house: did the dishes, all the laundry [done and folded], and weeded the garden to the extent of an insanely sore body today.

So many thoughts went through my head about my momma. I laughed to myself remembering the best times, smiled remembering the constant love, cried remembering the hardest times. My mom has gone through so much, with such a bold statement of love.

Motherhood seems like the most beautiful, exciting, terrifying, heartbreaking, surreal experience. And with every step, my mother had taken her life with us head-on. I’ve learned so much from her.

She has taught me that being beautiful may come naturally, but the most attractive thing a woman can wear is confidence.
And she wears her confidence so beautifully.

She has taught me that standing up for what’s right, what’s true, should always come naturally.
And she always stood up for each of her children flawlessly, over and over.

She has taught me that you should never be embarrassed to dance when the music is good enough.
And now I cannot contain myself in cars, bars, and kitchens.

She has taught me hope.
And I find it in myself, and in her, when times are dark.

She has taught me not to take myself too seriously.
wull hay.

She has taught me that if you’re making dinner, you get a cocktail.
So I make one for Evan… and then one for myself.

She has taught me to pursue every. single. dream. that I find worthy.
And I’m living it, breathing it. Thanks to her.

She has taught me this and oh, so much more. I owe so much of who I am to this beautiful best friend.

Thank you, Momma. I love you so much.
Happy [late] Mother’s Day!

random thoughts for may second.

wrote this down today:

don’t know why it rang so true today, but it did.

I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever done things I hate… but now I’m adamant on doing things I love. all the things I love, so many things… those.

there’s this photography project that I am very much in love with. these four sisters took photos together each year… for 36 years.

it is just gorgeous. so much love.

also, I watched this and was inspired:

also, I watched this and couldn’t stop dancing:

not sorry for this being the most random post everrrr…

[but i still love you lots.]

 

also, I’m thinking about doing this:

thoughts?

[seriously, love you.]

men I’m mildly obsessed with right now…

I try really hard not to be too obsessed with Ira Glass. I mean, how unoriginal? But I keep catching myself using the phrase, “Do you listen to This American Life?” in conversations with friends and strangers alike.

And then he made a cameo in this awesome video of this awesome song by Thao and the Get Down Stay Down:

[this is also amazing.]

And then I go for a run and listen to the amazingly compelling story of Dr. Gilmer. It was so interesting that when I finished my run, the story wasn’t done yet, so I sat on the steps of our home listening intently to the rest of it… like I was too scared to stop it for even a second, because that would be too risky.

And then after beating myself up because one of my pieces didn’t make it into a local art show, I find this video/quote:

Ira Glass makes me want to do it all and make a podcast… which I just might do.

And it just might be crap for years…

…but then it might be kinda good. And then it’s all worth it.

Also, I’m obsessed with Zachary Smith. No, not my bearded manfriend’s brother [though, yes, Zach, I'm also obsessed with you].

This guy…

I want to do more hand-lettering and I want it to be as good as Zachary Smith’s.

And I love these guys…

And I’m actually obsessed with John Richards.

[much manly love to you.]

I want you to be here.

As I said before, there are moments [strong, strong moments] that I want to remember from the time surrounding my accident. The night we came home from the hospital, I don’t know if either of us thought we would ever sleep. Evan and I were both so exhausted, but as my face began to swell and blacken more and more and the adrenaline wore off and reality set in, there were questions and what-ifs and words-you-need-to-say that could have kept us up all night.

Instead we said almost nothing to each other and both tried to get as much sleep as we could, with almost no avail. I fall asleep on Evan’s chest every night, but since my face was insanely broken and tender, my body was at a loss as to how to fall asleep. So, I took another pain pill and slept for a few hours. Evan spent most of the night awake wanting to comfort me, hold me, without hurting me.

We both tossed and turned the morning after, trying to get more rest, and not knowing what to say to each other. Evan left the bed for some time and then came back when he saw that I was sitting up a little. He had been watching me with everything he had since right before the accident; catering to my care. Evan got into the bed and I saw him pause as he tried to figure out how to hold me, how to be delicate. I told him, “come here” and I brought his head to my chest, so that I was holding him and my face was clear from contact.

And maybe it was the lovely oddness of our reversed embrace that spurred it, or the inevitability of holding it together for too long, but Evan broke. And for the second time ever, I saw him cry. I didn’t actually see it; I felt it. He sobbed into my chest and said only, “I was so scared. I thought you could be gone.” We held each other. We comforted each other. We affirmed each other that we are here. Not gone. We are here.

[side note: evan finally got some well-deserved sleep right after this and I think he slept for five hours straight. a friend texted his phone asking if he could come drop something off; I replied for the sleeping boy saying, "sure!"… when our friend knocked, I opened the door with my busted manatee face and told our confused friend, "shhhh… evan's sleeping… he's beat."]

ev sleeping during said five hours.

The next few days were physically miserable for me. My arms were too sore to lift above my head, one of my eyes was swollen shut, and my top lip had tripled in size from biting through it. Beyond that were the expected pains of having a broken face and recovering from a serious head injury. I couldn’t even bathe myself.

Evan didn’t flinch when I expressed wanting to clean the blood out of my hair and wash my body. He prepared a bath and helped me out of my clothes and into the tub. It was hard not to feel demoralized. If you pride yourself on any ounce of independence, getting a sponge-bath is a hard blow. But Evan rejected all awkwardness and instead exuded an attitude of, “why would this be weird? you’re doing great; you’re beautiful; I’ll give you sponge-baths forever if you need.”

We got through those days, those weeks, these months, and clung to each other a little bit closer each night.

I never want to forget that love. This love.

–––

A week ago Evan was in a pretty bad avalanche while skiing in the backcountry.

I know.

He’s fine. He is incredibly lucky to have walked away.

I started writing a play-by-play of what happened… and then me finding out… and then my unfolding of feelings… but it was too soon. Too much.

Evan wrote a summary of the 500ft tumble for the avalanche center.

It was insane to have this person, this love, who I needed to help feed and bathe me so recently, barely survive this day.

There have been many numb moments since. When he told me the news over the phone [crying for the third time], I hung up and turned off the music and shut the computer and poured myself a tall bourbon. But then I just sat there in silence for about an hour, not touching the drink. Numb.

And then there are times when we let ourselves get caught up in the what-if game again. Tears. Apologies. Words. Embraces. Love. Whiskey.

–––

Today, a week later, Evan turns 29. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, EV!

His birthday is such a perfect time for me to reinforce my happiness that he is here… alive… part of this world. Life, once again, became a question we hadn’t asked and Evan answered with a vehement, “YES. I want to be in this world.”

And then I feverishly agreed, “YES. Be here. Stay here. I want you in this world.”

Life and love is still something I’m trying to figure out, but I know I want a lot of both.

A lot of both with this guy…

Evan, Anna Davis said it best when she said you are “just the best.”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY BOY!

WE’RE ALIVE!

I SOLD ALL OF OUR SKIS!

I LOVE YOU!

And here are some songs for a kitchen dance party later:

Maybe we should include a dance-off competition in this year’s Eye Patch Olympics:

Okay, and also this video is for you because it’s the best thing in the world and I bet you haven’t seen it yet.

[happy birthday! so much love. let's be alive.]

wheelhouse // missoula

I have a new little project: WHEELHOUSE MISSOULA.

And it has a new little tumblr:

Go get ya some.

Thank you for all the support!

And this song came up on shuffle the other day to remind me how much I love it:

[lovely little things.]

I loved it all.

There’s this friend I have who is awesomely blunt. He keeps me in check and doesn’t let me whine and doesn’t tolerate when I fish for compliments.

Lately, I’ve been very complain-y. I’m in three classes in grad school, working full-time, and trying to contribute to life and love as much as the rest of them and it’s just so hard! [see? this is me complaining.]

About a month ago, whilst complaining, aforementioned friend looked at me and said…

– I feel like I just read an article about how you’re glad to be alive.

Touché.

I am. I am. I am. Is this me telling myself to be more thankful? Maybe.

Even today, in an email, I wrote to a friend…

and wow, ugh, yes, I too, I am always oscillating. sometimes within hours, hardcore.
why the f–k am I going to school? why am I sitting at a desk all day? why did I think I could do something with my life? for this world? 
and then hopefully followed by inspiration and encouragement.
but sometimes it takes a while.

How quickly my lust for life grows cold.

And then, tonight, I found this website: The Battle We Didn’t Choose.

You must read the Valentine’s blog entry.

The last paragraph:

Before going to sleep Jen and I used to ask each other what the best and worst part of the day was, choosing to tell the best part last so we could fall asleep happy. The night we came home from the hospital after being told that Jennifer’s liver was failing and she didn’t have long to live, I asked Jen to tell me what she loved most about the day, which we had spent with family and a few close friends. Jennifer thought for a moment then looked through my eyes and into my soul. She said, “I loved it all.”

I just began weeping at that last line. I’m crying again.

There’s almost nothing I can find to express how this site has affected me. I’m embarrassed by my soul and encouraged by the power of grateful love.

[and some songs.]

[i loved it all.]

you’re going to be okay, friend.

[coffee, coffee, smoothie, coffee, wine, tea. repeat.]

[and music. some real good music. played loud. I will share my faves right now throughout this post.]

because I wanna be awake for this.
this time of year is amazing.
the sun is here. the water is alive.

so many exciting things happening in life.
but everything feels like a mess.
a beautiful mess, if you will.

there are still things I very much want to remember from the time around my accident.
[please excuse me for constantly talking about that time.
I told a friend recently that my accident, my incident, weirdly feels like a heartbreaking break-up.
you don't want to talk about it, but you only want to talk about it.
you're quick to blame your weaknesses, your faults, on what happened.
everything relates back to it. it tries to consume you.
and you have to be careful, because suddenly something will hurt that you forgot was still there.]

during my first real outing after the accident, about four days of being in bed, I accompanied evan to the grocery store.
I walked around clung to him, staring at people staring at me, my face.
but then they would look away. avoid me at all cost.
it was a weird feeling.
that horrible feeling that everyone is talking about you.
you’re embarrassing.
you’re different.
you’re broken.
at the grocery store.

then we were standing picking out yogurt when evan remembered that he forgot something.
he left.
I stood there looking at the cheese, wondering how long until I can eat nachos again.
a woman, very concerned, walked up and put her hand on my arm…

– what happened to you??

– I was in a bad ski accident, but I’m going to be alright.

– Oh, well I’m so glad you’re going to be okay, friend.

and then she just walked off.

she called me “friend.”
a word I wouldn’t use for a number of my co-workers, she used for a stranger.
it humbled me and filled me with love.

someone I don’t know truly wanted me to be okay.
no one should have to feel pain and be embarrassed by it.
the mentality of truly caring for all is something I cannot say I’ve adopted.
but seeing that, feeling that, care of someone who loves like that was something I’ll never forget.
it was powerful.

[and if I recover, will you be my comfort?]

[I'm so glad you're going to be okay, friend.]

something beautiful.

Wish I was keeping up with you more.

I don’t even know what I’m music I’m listening to lately, otherwise I’d share.

I’ve been working on a lot this semester; loving school.

This is a video I made for a work blahg post:

And I’ve been doing this social media study:

Oh! I can’t stop listening to this:

That’s it.

via le love.

sixty-five percent water.

It’s been two weeks now and I had hoped to talk to you about something other than my accident.

The good news is that I’m looking good for a woman who tried to take out a tree with her face…

It even looks better than that, but I can’t get myself to take photos of myself lately. [i know, maybe there is something wrong with me.]

With this second lease on life, I’ve made the vibrant need to take life by the horns a priority. And then I sit at a desk all day and crop photos and type emails. It’s a funny feeling.

There are so many feelings that have been rushing through me these past two weeks. It has been a rollercoaster ride for sure. While I mainly feel lucky and so deeply feel loved and feel love, this real fear has set in.

I’m so scared to ski again, but it doesn’t stop there. A climbing trip Evan and I had planned for July suddenly seems terrifying. I can’t get myself on my bike to ride the simple journey to work.

At my lunch break today, I went for a short run. It was my first time exercising since the accident and first off – I’m completely out of shape. And I expected that; I’m not asking too much from myself physically. But fear unexpectedly crept in. Am I now just afraid of moving faster than a walk? Being out there? Being in the elements?

I know it’s not crazy to be afraid of adventures like these after a traumatic experience adventuring, but I feel so lost. There’s never been a time in life where I was so defeated that I didn’t want to pursue another physical adventure. These trips and climbs and skis and runs have been leading the muscles of my life for so long. And this fear has found me lost.

Something I didn’t expect.

But even when I’m lost, my friends, my loves, my family, find me.

A radio dedication last week from my DJ friend in Jackson has become my anthem. As much as I hate to admit it, a comeback is needed. Things beyond my face have taken a hit and I’m looking forward to shaking it all off and coming back.

At work today, a friend left a sweet poem on my desk. I don’t know how she knows what my soul needs, the words it’s craving to say or yearning to hear, but I am every so grateful for her.

[you are going to find yourself again.]

I want to be here.

It was a week ago today that I was in the ski accident. The ski accident where I lost control. Couldn’t gain control.

The ski accident where I hit a tree. With my face. Whiplash. Lost consciousness. Blood everywhere.

The ski accident when I broke my nose and cheekbone and bit through my lip.

The ski accident that gave me my first IV. My first CT scan. Two CT scans. The first when they thought there was bleeding in my brain. Where they might have to drill.

The ski accident where I was taken down on toboggan, driven in an ambulance to the hospital in Bozeman, driven in an ambulance to the airport in Bozeman, flown to Missoula, driven in an ambulance to the hospital in Missoula.

Right after the accident, there is a lot I can’t remember. There is also a lot I do not want to be reminded of about that day. That accident. The ski accident.

But there are some moments I don’t want to ever forget.

G E T T I N G   T W E N T Y   S H O T S   I N   M Y   F A C E

The pain of the actual accident was actually surmounted after the fact. After realizing what had happened to me, that it was serious, that I wasn’t going to make happy hour, that I needed to get about 40 stitches in my face; I waited for the plastic surgeon to come sew me up. A man walked in and looked at me. Just stared at me. Turned around.

– Hi, I’m Rachel. Who are you?

– I fix things like this. [stares at me again.] I think I can fix this.

And then he turns around again.

I give Evan the WTF? hands and he just shakes his head in confusion. The doctor prepares the needles and adjusts my bed so that I’m laying down flat.

– I’m going to numb up the area and then I’m going to stitch you up.

– Okay. I’m very scared of needles, but I think I’ll be okay.

I am scared of needles. When they put morphine in my IV, I asked, “Will this make me less scared of needles?” It didn’t. I don’t think it did anything, really. My adrenaline was too high.

This doctor did not care about my fear. He was so cold, he felt heartless.

He started putting the needles in my cheek. I tried to be brave; I really did, but it hurt so bad. And there were just so many needles in my face. So aggressively.

It wasn’t long before I started crying and it wasn’t long after that, when he started putting shots in my nose, that I started bawling.

He stood there silently, relentless, and stuck me over and over. It felt more aggressive with each needle.

By the time he got to my lip, I was begging. I was pleading with him to stop. It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt and it felt like an attack.

Blood and tears streamed all over my face and I begged, screamed, as I sobbed, for him to stop. And he wouldn’t. Not for a second.

– Please, No, No, No, Please stop. STOP! PLEASE! NO MORE! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, please, please, no, no, no, no…

As I cry now, remembering it, I try to figure out why, why exactly, I want to remember this. Why do I want to remember?

Do I want to be able to compare every little pain I complain about to it? Remember what real pain feels like?

To realize that it was all worth it? In the end, the doctor did an incredible job stitching me up. His work was beautiful and those shots were ultimately a part of that.

To find faith in compassion? As I begged, he pressed on silently. As I bawled, he didn’t flinch. A hand on the shoulder or a “there, there, I promise it will be okay” would have beamed a bright light into my life. Empathy. Compassion. Something I want to remember.

T H E   S T A R S   I N   B O Z E M A N   T H E   S T A R S   I N   M I S S O U L A

The bathtub keeps bringing me back. I can’t take showers right now, to keep my face dry. So I take baths. To wash my hair, I have to lay my body down, my head horizontal, to dip it in the water. I’m rarely ever that flat, with nowhere to look but straight up. But recently, I was like that for a very long time. And these baths bring me back to the stars.

In Bozeman, they told me that there might be some bleeding in my brain and they were going to fly me to Missoula to get checked out. I cringed as they brought the backboard in. They put a neck-brace on me, they rolled me over onto my side, slid the board under me, rolled me back, and strapped down every part of my body, including [especially] my head.

The ambulance was ready in a parking garage, so it wasn’t that cold, it was nothing to see [upwards, at least].

When we arrived at the Bozeman airport, they opened the ambulance door and the cold took me over. After wheeling me out, I could instantly see the fog of my thick breath. But beyond that were the beautiful stars. So gorgeous in their perfect, comforting placement. It was like they were the only ones really [really] looking at me, understanding. We stared at each other with a pumping vein of tenderness and then I was lifted into the small plane.

The plane ride was almost miserable. I couldn’t move any part of me and every part of me hurt. Claustrophobia set in quick. A man who was flying with me, making sure I got everywhere safe, noticed my tears and rubbed my arm. When I told him my head hurt from the board, he loosened my head-strap and massaged the back of my head. I would have never guessed that the reassuring touch of a stranger would be so comforting, but it saved me.

We landed in Missoula. As they opened the plane door, the cold consumed me again. When they lowered me down and started rolling me to the ambulance, there they were. In the same exact place, the same exact pattern, like they had waited to make sure I arrived safely, the stars were there. And I realized that this was the same sky, these were the same stars, that shine on everything, everyone that I love. Everything can look up at these stars and find the encouragement of love, hope, and beauty.

This huge world filled with so much that I love, so much that I don’t even know yet, can all be united under this gorgeous blanket of stars. As they put me in the ambulance, my third ride of the day, I realized I want to be a part of that world.

Something I’ve never had to worry about wanting before, something I’ve never had to question, something I’ve had the privilege of being a given, suddenly became a question. And I answered with a feverishly adamant, “YES.” I want to be in this world.

I want to be here.