Friday night, I was in my kitchen – as I often am. I was drinking my cup of coffee and had a moment. Eric has remarked from time to time that he smells cigarette smoke in the house when I’m gone. Neither one of us smoke, so it’s odd. Eric and I are firm believers of the paranormal. Things that otherwise don’t make sense to a lot of others. I am standing there thinking – what if it’s not my dad at all. What if it’s actually Dianne? Dianne smoked! After I took my sip of coffee, I closed my eyes briefly. In the darkness, I saw the billowy form of my sister Dianne in her high school class photo. I opened my eyes and reflected briefly about how strange that was. Then… it got more strange. I had a flash of a picture in my mind of what my sister Dianne looked like before she passed away when she was 22 years old.

My sister Dianne, I didn’t know very well. I was 11 years old when she died. Everything – picture wise – was from high school and before. I’m sure Dianne’s friends had photos of her, but our family didn’t. The last picture we had was from a poetry contest that Dianne placed in at Northern Michigan University. It was a polaroid, if I remember correctly. I only mention that because there was no 35mm photo with the negative that come with them upon development of said film. As far as I’ve come to find, the photo isn’t around anymore. Which makes me sad.

Part of the process of grief (and anyone who knows grief knows this very well) is forgetting the loved ones voice as it retreats in our memories. And not only that, the way a person looked the last time you saw them. The last time I saw Dianne was on July 4th of 1988. Back then she wore a brown/tan jacket, she had below shoulder length hair. Her blondish brown hair swooped to one side – no bangs. She wore the signature brown rounded glasses for the late 80s. Like me, she was a heavy woman. That seemed to happen after she gave birth to her daughter, Stephanie. Dianne had a radient smile. And she was actually who encouraged me to smoke cigarettes.

Some of those details, I didn’t remember until Friday night. It just flashed into my brain. Here ya go! Remember me? I can only see her face and her smile – in addition to the coat she used to wear. I remember the pride in her face for her accomplishment. And when that flash of memory came back to me, I cried. My husband was upstairs at the time when this memory came back to me. So upon returning back to the kitchen, all he could say was: I was going to ask you how you were doing, but I guess I don’t need to do that. And proceeded to give me a hug.

I feel like this was a visitation of sorts. And I’ll explain why. After I sat down on our couch, I felt like this relief of – you’re okay. You are enough. I approve of you and love you. The greatest gift I could have been given that I could never have offered myself. And I know this because I know me.

Prior to that day, I was so stuck in this mental rut. I was doing so well physically – trying to exercise. I was kicking ass and taking names. And then my daughter Ashleigh came back into the picture and helped muck it up a bit. I’ve had words with my therapist over it. And being that it’s through an online therapy – much of my time and aggravation was spent texting him through the app about how angry I was at him that he didn’t get how I was feeling. Nevertheless, what I realized prior to my irritation with Ashleigh being fully investigated – was that I; in my mind, could not grasp what my therapist was saying. He was leading me to something that didn’t make sense. Not in text anyway. He sent me one last message on Thursday before I got done with work. In that huge message that I digested once I got home (committed to almost firing my therapist because I was so angry at my interpretation of what he was saying to me) I started to understand what he was trying to bring me to that – in my reactive state – I couldn’t get to on my own.

So, continuing to stay on Thursday. I talked to my therapist. He was trying to understand why I was so upset about what was happening with Ashleigh and why I couldn’t let go of her. I’ll give you the short answer. What I eventually came down to was : If I give up on Ashleigh, I’m giving up like everyone gave up on me. And given that Ashleigh is more fractured than I was at the time – she needs me. She’s more vulnerable.

Fast forward to Friday now. I’m still in the kitchen and my knees are close to buckling from the weight of my memory. I haven’t had a good picture of Dianne for so very long. It was hard to come to grips with why I couldn’t remember. Now I have. As I go to sit down, I feel a connectedness that I don’t think I’ve really felt before. I felt – as I said, enough. Like Dianne was coming back to me now and saying, it’s okay. You are loved. And you are enough. You don’t have to fight so hard. And – fyi, it’s okay that you gave Ashleigh’s middle name after me. You didn’t know she’d grow up like this!

After this moment, I started to realize that I am okay. That Dianne (if that was her.. and I do believe it was and honestly – I think she’s been with me for a long time. I just didn’t understand it) was trying to tell me to give myself a break. And she’s right. I am okay. I’ve been searching so hard for something that would give me the ultimate answer about who I am and who I should be. According to me and according to the world. I don’t need permission from the world. The world is dumb. Or fractions of it is. I am me. And I don’t need permission to be different in the way I relate to people. Those people will find me. And I, them. I honestly thought that Dianne left me blindsided. Without care for me at all. I was wrong. She’s never stopped loving me. She just needed me to find the time to see her and her message for me.

You don’t have to believe that my experience happened the way I said it did. If you don’t believe, that’s fine. It still is something that means the everything to me. I will never forget. I will always know that my sister never left me. Not really. In the course of my trauma and trying to become a functional adult – I lost my way. And my ability to see outside of myself. I feel more capable now. More satisfied. Oh, and there is something even more awesome. Ready?

I’ve been listening to a podcast called “The Peripheral”. I love this podcast. Although, it’s not for everyone. Justin starts out interviewing people that try to explain some of the nuances of society and the moral or otherwise objectionable things – or even not acceptable to talk about in society. It’s taboo. I like his approach and his willingness to be open to see the other side of things. Not like someone who already has a preformed opinion and uses the guest to dig in that already realized point of view. It’s great. Justin has put out a call to his listeners to come forward with any weird medical ailments. And guess who answered his call? ME! The family “curse” of the RYR2 Gene Mutation may be heard on this very podcast. I hope I hope I hope.

With that all in play and my first Tarot card pull being the upside Temperance card – I feel like my path is open to me more so than before. And I’m so ready.

Thank you for reading,

Janet