The thread I normally posted in is locked to new replies. Maybe that's for the best. It was a bittersweet journey through my mid and late twenties, even my early thirties. What a help this website has been to my life and this wonderful community, friends I've made that are lifelong and friends I keep in touch with here and there...it's all so magical. I feel like I can't get into character, however, the character I used in that thread. The person lost and stumbling through the forest. The person who was and still is lost in the wild.

Maybe my story now belongs in a journal instead of haunting the boards now and again, since I don't post as often as I used to. But my friends, old acquaintances, I am still here and I still think about you all that helped me along my journey. And I still have a story to tell even if my thread is buried and long gone. I'm wondering if I should still write as though I am still lost in the wilderness. It seems I still am if I find myself here again. Nothing is horribly wrong or anything. I am still getting married and am no longer coping nor do I need to post a thread in that forum. I remember the desperation that day, to find the answers, to heal my sadness, to find out how I can move on. It took years, many years, to figure it all out. 

And to be honest, I never did figure it all out after the breakup. I fumbled my way through being young and dumb and made so many, so, so many mistakes. I screwed everything up at one point and I still feel the destruction I tend to cause lurking below the surface of my daily interactions with everyone. I have become more of a recluse these days because I just like being alone. I don't really want to go out and do things except for anything that grounds me and brings me closer to nature. I breathe her in, I hike through her, and she touches my soul in the darkest hour and always brings me to where I need to be. Now there is a virus out there killing people and we have to be careful getting too close. 

I still remember my first hug from our friends. Strangers, really, if you think about where they might have been. But masks off, we threw our arms around each other and hugged. And it felt so nice and like humanity was reaching around me reminding me why we are here and why we do the s*** we do in the first place. It just was one of those moments in life that you just keep with you. After so much pain you feel the weight lifted and remember the load isn't just for you to bear anymore. 

This year I change my last name to my husband's. We just got a new puppy alongside my dog I might have mentioned in previous posts. They all mean the world to me.

Let's discuss pain. The pain I mentioned had nothing to do with what is going on in this world right now. No, it hit way closer to home. It was way more painful than anything I have witnessed since the death of my grandmother. And it was the death of my future husband's father. I barely got to know him since we live states away. Again, if you don't know me, they have the purest love I have ever seen in a family. It isn't at all dysfunctional the way mine is.

It didn't feel real at first. When my husband came home, he was quiet. Then he told me what happened during his phone call. And I reacted by saying, "Why didn't you tell me?" But he had just found out and I didn't know that. I rightfully got screamed at for that one and then tears followed and then a trip ensued.

I realized when I got to the funeral home that I do not ever want a funeral. Just chuck my body in the pit and turn me into my purest form of carbon. At least I'd be a help to the world then.  But this one isn't about me, it is about him. And when we walked into that room, there was so much sad energy radiating from the coffin. And I could see his hair and then his face. There is nothing like seeing someone one day and looking at them still, lifeless, the next. And everyone cried, except for me. And we stayed for hours.

The saddest part was the next day when we put him into the ground. It was a dreary day, a perfect day for a funeral actually, just what you'd expect. The hard part was watching his wife struggle to put him into the ground. Watching my husband cry, I then cried. I selfishly thought, will I have to do this? Will I struggle to put someone I love into a cold, black, oxygen-less hole? How much time do we get? How do we spend it? How can we make the most of it? How can we be at peace when we have to part ways? We are all on our own trajectory, so how will I be able to accept that I might be the last one standing? Since we aren't planning on having children, how will I manage? And my husband says he will be okay and I believe him in that if I die first he will be able to move on because he is stronger, but am I? No, no not at all. I do not like seeing people pass away. And so the widow threw her rose down into the hole and bid him farewell, off to fight her own battles and look after her children. And she is a wonderful person and mother, thank god, and her precious son is the best person I know. So, his father did the best things he could and it all paid off. I love them all because they are all amazing and wholesome and fun. And his father will be missed so very deeply.

And so we are here today, where I found myself lost in the wild. Me, my husband, our precious puppy and our aging dog. Let's talk about our almost 8 year old dog. She is amazing as well, of course, and losing her will tear my heart to pieces. I don't know what life will look like without her; I just hope I get to hold her in my arms as she passes and that will be a fitting ending, wrapped in the comfort that I showered over her all these years. I can't miss that moment, she just has to be in my arms. 

Sorry, a tangent, but anyway, into the wild we carried our kayaks. Through the mud, through the bushes, down a hill, and then we made it. The bow of the kayak drifted smoothly through the water and the sun shone on us all. Brightening our little puppy and it made our dog glisten in the sun. It highlighted our love for each other and danced across our paddles as we stroked. Nature surrounded us, but, if I'm being honest, finding the way home was much easier. It was easier because we have family. We are a family. And we look out for each other. We floated along and finally made our way home where things just fell into place like they always do.

My dress doesn't change color anymore. It stays the purest white that it was supposed to be before I couldn't find my way out of the wild. Now when I go through the thicket, it is almost like my dress knows the way and avoids the damage. It is safe now and is no longer etched in and weighed down by the pain I carry. As we went down the river, my dress billowed out into the breeze and created a sail so that we would all make it home. And we did.