Dear LeRae;

  I opened the box today – the box you made for me for my birthday. The box you decoupaged the picture of the barn on. The box I keep our special messages in. The box I love, because it’s from you.

  There are so many memories in that box. Not all are tangible, but precious, special memories just the same. All I had to do was open it, and the memories came flying out like butterflies floating on the breeze. There’s a letter in there I wrote to you a few months after you left, and even though I knew better, I read it anyway. And my heart bled.

  I still miss you so much. Most people don’t understand it, and I think a lot of them are tired of hearing it, but I don’t care. I will talk about you and our adventures until the day I die, and then you and I can share the memories all over again.

  We packed a lot in those few, short years, you and I. Memories enough for a lifetime, because they have to be. They’re all I have. And even though they hurt (a lot), I love those memories as I loved my friend. As I still love my friend. And yes – I’m sitting here feeling sorry for myself today because we’ve missed so damn much. It’s just not fair. I miss not only our travels, but our birthday dinners, and the birthday drinks – my margarita, and your strawberry stormy. I miss those late-night talks when we both knew the other would still be awake, because we always were. And God I miss the laughs. Those side splitting, eyes watering, pull-to-the-side-of-the-road laughs. No one has ever been able to make me laugh the way you did.

  I wish I could talk to you right now. There’s so much going on, and I’m handling all of it so badly. I need your words of wisdom. Maybe a kick in the pants. I need your ear, your shoulder, your friendship. Tell me what I should do. Please. Because I’m so lost right now I can’t see my way through. I’m trying so hard not to let the hopelessness, and the despair bowl me over, but it’s like this big, black fog all around me. I can’t see how to go forward. I'm stuck. And I’m sad. I’m just so fucking sad. I’m sinking, and I need your advice. You always had the best advice.

  If nothing else, please let me know you’re ok, and that you’re happy. Tell me the place where you are is really a better place. Tell me all of this is really worth it. Just talk to me. I miss you. 

A letter to my son, on his birthday

Here it is again. It’s your birthday. One more year with you gone. One more birthday without you here to celebrate. How has this much time passed with you not here? How have we managed to live a life without you in it? When we started this awful, unplanned journey, it certainly didn’t seem possible, and it hasn’t been easy. Nothing can prepare a person, especially a parent, for this kind of loss. It’s like losing the rhythm of our heartbeats.  We lost the tempo in our steps. We lost an anchor that helped to keep us tethered to the earth.  But each day, we get up, we get dressed, go to work, take care of business, and do what we do to keep moving. Keep moving forward. Breathe. And that’s the part most people don’t think about – the breathing. How hard it is to catch your breath when all the air is gone, and you’re flailing, and you’re drowning, and you have to remember – in, and out. In, and out. Keep breathing. Keep moving forward. Then you wake up one day, and your step seems steadier. The load seems a little bit lighter, and it’s easier to breathe. It gets more bearable. There are still those days that knock us flat, like we’ve been run over by a boulder. And again, the air is gone, and we have to remember to breathe. But there are good days, too – the days we think about something you did that made us smile, or laugh out loud. We think about jokes you told, and the stories you told about your friends. The ketchup on the living room wall, and the liver on the ceiling fans. . . The poppers you tied in every conceivable place in the house – every door (and even the toilet lid) was a booby trap for months. We remember sitting down at the pond with a good fire going, and fishing poles in hand, and how much you enjoyed that – how much we enjoyed that - so many times. We think about your smile, and your laugh, and that ornery twinkle in your eye when you were thinking up some more mischief to get into. We remember your kindness, your work ethic, and your honesty. But mostly we remember your love. Those are the good days, and I’m so thankful we had that time, and all these memories to help keep you in our hearts. Those memories keep you in our lives, every day. And it’s the knowledge that you’re in Heaven, and that you’re waiting for us there, that makes it all bearable. We know in our hearts we’ll see you again, when it’s our time to go. And what a reunion that will be! I can’t wait to hear your laugh again – see that big, beaming smile of yours, and feel the warmth of a big hug. So, until we get there, we’ll keep celebrating your birthdays here, because we know the greatest gift of all is coming. Not today, but it’s coming, and it’ll be amazing. Happy birthday, Charlton. We love, and miss you so very much. 

Oh how I miss you today, my friend.

I wish. . .

Oh my friend I miss you so. I always think of you, but so much more so lately. The road has been calling, but I can’t seem to answer, for missing your presence on the ride. There’s a big, empty seat where you should be, riding shotgun, and making me laugh so hard I cry. There’s also this big hole in my heart that no one else will ever be able to fill, and it aches so much that at times I can barely breath. And I know it’s only those of us left here on earth that carry this sadness, and this sorrow – this ache, and the grief. I know you’re happy in Heaven. I know you’re rejoicing, and singing, and taking pictures, and loving every minute of being back with John, and your parents, and the loved ones that went on before. I rejoice in that, too, but there are times, like today, when I miss you beyond words. When the ache in my chest threatens to explode, and obliterate what’s left of my heart. When the tears are hot, and seemingly endless, and the memories are so clear I can almost touch them. When I want to call you on the phone, and talk about nothing for hours. When no one but you would understand how I feel. 

There are so many things I want to tell you. So many things I just need to talk about. I need to hear your voice. I need my friend. 

There are those who think I talk about you too much, or miss you too much, or that I should have moved on with my life. And I have, for the most part. I have moved forward. I’ve made some new friends, and there are days I’m sincerely happy, but you are never far from my thoughts. There are those who will never understand our friendship, and how much it meant to me. I hope they never have to understand it through my eyes. I hope they never have to lose someone who was such a huge part of their lives. I hope they never have to grieve like I’ve grieved for you. I wish no one had to lose their best friend. Their sister at heart. I wish. . .  oh I wish. I wish you were here. 

One year today. My tribute to my friendship with LeRae.

I've really dreaded today, because I knew how hard it was going to be. The first year is definitely the hardest - I know this from past experience. Losing LeRae has been exceptionally hard for me. She was like a sister to me, and there was never a limit on what we could, or would talk about with each other. There was really no limit to what (or who) we wouldn't laugh at, or about, either, including each other. . . . I got to thinking yesterday, how I don't want today to be so sad, and somber, so I started going back through a lot of the photographs from our wanderings - most of which I haven't really been able to make myself look at, until now. At first, I was afraid they'd make me sad, but the more I looked, the more I found myself smiling, and even laughing out loud. We girls did have us some fun, there's no doubt about it. And while I'm so sad that my friend is gone, I'm so very thankful we got to have those few, short years together. I know, that in those few years, we had more fun, more laughs, and saw more places than a whole lot of people get to see in their entire lives. And that's saying something. I wouldn't trade one minute, or one mile, not one dirt road, or one spooky old house - not one second of it. Not for a million bucks. I have LeRae to thank for all those miles, and memories. Without her in my life, I'd still be doing the same ol' nothing I was doing before. Without her, I never would have had the courage to do portrait work on my own. I always wanted to, but, believe it or not, I'm still kind of shy sometimes, and she always knew the right thing to say to get me motivated, and make me believe I was good enough to get out there, and do it. Having her for a best friend was beyond awesome, and having her as a business partner was the icing on the cake.

I remember the day I bought my first brand, new truck. LeRae went with me, and I think everyone at the dealership thought we were nuts (they were right). We had half the staff in that place cracking up, but I'm sure some were grateful when we finally left. LeRae was kind of quiet afterwards, and I knew exactly what she was thinking - that since I'd just bought a brand new truck, we weren't going to go to some of the fun places like we had before. Two days later, we were off roading (very literally) out behind Ft. Cobb lake. We were pretty bored, because the lake was super low, and there hadn't been much to look at, much less take pictures of. We were about ready to call it a day, when LeRae spotted a dirt road, and said, "Let's try that one." I was game, and off we went. It didn't take very long to realize this wasn't your typical dirt road, but once started, we were pretty much committed to going forward - there was no turning around, and no backing up. What we realized, a little too late, that it wasn't really a "road". It was a fire trail, leading to places around the lake where most people really weren't supposed to go. Well, we went. We had a few close calls, and actually got a few scratches on my brand new truck, but oh my God did we have fun! I kept saying how my husband would kill me, if he could see where we were taking that brand new truck, and she kept finding more trails for us to follow. Thankfully, we always found a loop at the end, so we could get back out. When we finally found the blacktop again, I looked at her and said: and you thought we wouldn't have fun anymore!

Another great day, was on our way back from Roosevelt, and Cooperton, Oklahoma. We had gotten some really great pictures that day, but of course, were still looking for cool old barns, and houses on our way home. I spotted one, and started slowing down, then saw something else. LeRae says: I see what you're looking at!, and I said: no, you don't - there's a snake! I want that snake! (meaning I wanted pictures, not the actual snake!). I pulled into the drive leading to that old house, and started towards the snake, who was sunning itself in the middle of the highway. I got about half the way there, and realized it wasn't just a bull snake - it was a rattlesnake! I hollered at LeRae, and she came running. She crossed to the other side of the road, and we proceeded to snap away. The snake wasn't really being all that interesting, as he was just laying there, so LeRae looks at me, and says: Make it do something. . . . . Do something? What do you want me to make it do???? She says, I don't know - just make it do something! So me, being the really intelligent person I am, starts picking up rocks, and chunking them at the snake. The next few minutes resulted in LeRae laughing her ass off, while I ran for my life. . . .

If I could actually string two sentences together, and not make myself sound like an complete hillbilly, I'd write a book about our travels. I'm not sure many people would actually read it, but it would be interesting, to say the least.

We two girls had fun. That we did. And that's what I want to remember today, and every day, when I think of my friend. I will remember her smile, I will remember her laugh, and I will remember her super wicked sense of humor. I will remember I had the best friend ever, and that even though she's gone, she'll always be here with me. I hope that's the way you'll remember her, too.

Just one phone call. . .

Twice this past couple of weeks, I've been rudely reminded my friend is no longer with me. The first time, I was asked to display some of my photographs at an arts festival. I was so excited, and the first person I wanted to call was LeRae. I wanted to share that with her, knowing she'd be excited for me, as well. I also knew she'd be there with me, the day of the showing, supporting me, and making sure, in her not-so-subtle way, everyone knew who took those particular photos. The second rude reminder came when I was looking for a certain picture - taken on one of our road trips - but I couldn't remember which trip it was. I knew she would remember (she always did!), so I picked up the phone to call her. Only after I had started to dial her number did I realize, she wasn't there anymore. I could call her number all day long, and she wouldn't pick up. That hit me like a train. Even when you know, it's hard to break a habit like that. The habit I had of being able to call her, and share fun, and exciting news, or to ask her a question. The habit of having her there.

What I'd give to have one last phone call. Just to dial her up, and hear her voice on the other end. Even if it was just to ask her, "Are you ok? Are you happy?" While deep in my heart, I know she is, to actually hear it from her would make such a difference. Yes - I know that's not possible - at least not in this life. I'll have to wait for the next. . .

Missing my friend

I lost my dearest friend on earth on May 4, 2014. It's been one of the hardest things I've ever had to deal with, second only to losing my son, and my grandmother, in 1993. LeRae was more than just a friend - she was also my business partner, my confidant, and a sister I had always wanted. We were so much alike, yet different in so many ways, but we both had a love of photography that not only cemented our friendship, but took us on many fun, and amazing adventures (amazing to two country gals, like ourselves). 

It's hard to lose someone you talked to every day. Someone you looked up to, counted on, and loved. Before LeRae, and I became such good friends, I had spent most of my time alone, as my husband works oilfield (as did her fiancé), and is gone the majority of the time. I was used to being alone, and I was ok with it. But after having such a good friend to hang with, being alone is hard. I've forgotten how to do that. I sometimes find myself wandering aimlessly around the house, wondering what I'm supposed to do with myself. I want to text her, call her, hear her voice. I want her to take road trips with me, give me advice, tell me to suck it up when I'm feeling sorry for myself, or just sit, and listen when I simply need someone to talk to. I want to share my joys, my fears, and sorrows, and the pictures I took with her. I miss that so much. So very much.

It's really hard to put into words the depth of this loss for me. It's like losing half of myself. Probably my better half. LeRae always had a way of making me feel better, no matter what was going on in my life, and I'm pretty sure I did that for her, too. We had so much in common with our kids, our oilfield life, and our photography. We both knew loss very well. We both knew loneliness, but we both had a toughness that comes from those losses, and that aloneness. And we had fun together. I've never had anyone make me laugh as much as she did - laugh hard enough I'd have to pull over to the side of the road to wipe the tears from my eyes, and wait for my sides to quit hurting. That, I will miss forever. 

Not a day goes by I don't think about my friend. There are days I miss her so much it makes me ache physically. You can't lose someone that special, and not have it affect your every day life. You just can't, because there's a hole in the middle of your soul nothing else can fill. But I know she's still with me in many ways. I can feel her presence around me, and at times, I think I can faintly hear her voice telling me to keep going. Keep moving forward. So I try to do that. 

So. . . . for however long it takes for me to get my head right again, I'm going to use this blog as an outlet for my grief, and as a place to share the memories of my dear friend. I have several letters I penned to her in the weeks following her death, and I may, or may not publish them here. I may not write often, but I will when the need arises. I hope ya'll don't mind.