Calling Josh

Calling Josh

5/23/2017

I picked up my phone to call Josh today.

He would have known just what to say.
He would have made me laugh.
He would have called my husband and made him laugh too.

He would have told us stories about his new life in a new place, and invite us to come visit him.
He probably would have told an hour long story and then asked advice about a girl.
He would have called me "G".

Part of me can't believe that I forgot for a moment that he's gone. But I guess that's how it happens.
Time changes things.
But this new, fresh wave of missing him and mourning our friendship feels like I'm starting all over again. Like the grief scab has been picked off.

I sat there with my phone in my hand. "Josh Baumann" on the screen. Ready to call him. Then the realization washed over me, and the agony was fresh again. All my breath forced itself out of me, like my lungs were trying to dry heave the grief out of my body.

And then there's the selfish part:
Josh is the only one I can go to in times like these. He's the only one who ever helps. And now we've lost him. We can't just replace him. No one else will do.

My heart just hurts.
I still can't believe I'll never see him again.
Who else will call me "G"?
​

I feel cheated.

I feel cheated.

4/27/2017

My heart is broken.
My soul hurts.
i still can't believe it's true.

some days are easier than others.
today has not been an easy day.

I keep wanting to text him, forgetting for a moment that he's not there.
I wonder how long I'll still pick up the phone to text him.
I finally deleted the last text message I sent him today. It was the one where I was asking him if he was ok, because he wasn't answering his phone, hadn't returned Eric's message, and I saw some strange Facebook posts from his mom and niece.
It hurt every time I scrolled past it. So now it's gone. No longer reminding me of the first moments when I feared that my friend was gone.

I've been here before. I know I'm strong enough to survive this. But right now, today, it just doesn't feel like it. There's a hole inside of me. Some days it's easier to ignore that hole. But not today. Today the hole is swallowing me up.

Iwill always miss Josh.
I will always be sad at all the things that he's missing out on.
i will always feel cheated that I'll never hear his laugh again.
That he'll never tell me another rambling story about a girl he met.
That our summer plans will never happen.
That our youngest kids won't remember him.
That I'll never get to meet his kids.
That we have to live in a world without him in it.
That the world is missing out on Josh. 

A writer needs to write

A writer needs to write

4/21/2017

Part of me is afraid.
Im afraid that if I start writing again, really writing, that the floodgates will open and I won't be able to close them.
That I'll be too overcome with emotion and grief that I won't be able to pull it together to function for my kids.

This fear is not unfounded.
I've experienced this sort of debilitating grief twice before.

The first time was in 2003, when my 18 year old sister, Cassie Brown, was murdered. I covered my agony with anger for months. And once I started crying, I couldn't stop.

The second time was when I was pregnant with our third child, Ellie. Third child, but fourth pregnancy. When we lost Hadassah around 12 weeks gestation, I distracted myself so that I wouldn't have to feel the loss of my baby. It wasn't until we become pregnant with Ellie six months later that it really hit me and I came to a halting stop while I mourned my baby that I will never meet here on earth.

It was then that I started to write.
And it was healing, and it was hard.
I threw my guts up into my blog until I was inside out and nothing was left by dry heaving emotion. And then I wrote some more. I was real and raw and honest and irreverent. And I healed.

Now I find myself in that place of denial and distraction again, instead of facing my grief.

An author friend of mine, Amber, told me, "For people like us, writing is cathartic. Maybe that's what you need! Emotional release. You'll be a better mom after you take care of yourself. You have to allow yourself to feel all the feelings."

So here I am. Dipping my toes into my own feelings and writing again.

​If you've ever been here, you're not alone. If you've been through this already, I'm thankful for you and for people like Amber who will show me the way to the other end of this excruciating tunnel. So thank you for your patience as I bare my soul to you, and for joining me in this painful journey through mourning. 

My friend is dead.

My friend is dead.

4/21/2017

I can't remember meeting Josh. It feels like he just showed up in our living room one day, and had simply always been with us. Eric said we met him at a Church Home Community back when we were having people over every Tuesday for coffee and brownies to get to know the new folks at church. Back when we had a church home. But I just remember this tall kid with skinny legs and ankle socks, and a military haircut, with an easy smile and contagious laugh. He would sit in our recliner and when he would tell a story, he'd throw up his arms and legs animatedly, making the whole chair rock, and all of us laugh.

Josh soon moved into the apartment upstairs from us with Ron, Eric's old roommate. They were family, in and out of our apartment like Joey and Chandler.

When people leave Portland, we usually only stay connected on Facebook. But when Josh left Portland, he stayed family. He was still "Uncle Josh" to our kids. He was still welcome to drop by the house on his random visits to Portland. He would still call us at midnight for a 3 hour phone conversation that I would have to charge my battery in the middle of, or hand Eric the phone so I could use the bathroom. We talked about so many things. God, girls, plans, music, culture, people.

He was still the person we wanted to talk to when things felt heavy or dark. And when he would visit, or when we went to visit him, we would pick up right where we left off, like no time had passed at all. We had even made a road trip, considering moving to a small town in Washington called Omak in order to be closer to our friend.

But Josh never stayed in one place for very long. Adventure was inside of him. He needed to immerse himself in a new culture and become one of its people. I loved hearing his stories and observations, and seeing the photos and videos he'd take of his experiences.

The last time he called, I was in the middle of something and didn't have time for one of our marathon conversations, so I declined the call. I will regret that for the rest of my life.

On April 4th, 2017, 11 days before his 34th birthday, Josh was a passenger in a car that hit some ice in a snow storm, and rolled over three times.

Josh died on impact.

I saw a Facebook post by his mom that didn't make sense to me.

I tried calling his cell, but it went to voicemail.

I texted him, asking him if he was ok. No response.

i called Ron to see if he'd heard anything, but he hadn't.

I messaged his niece and his mom.

They confirmed my fear.

My friend is dead.

His memorial service is today in Omak.

I won't be able to be there.

Im scared to be in the car for that long.

Anxiety pulls me under, trying to drown me, when I don't feel safe in the car. I concentrate on taking one breath at a time when that happens. And then I'm on the other side of the bridge.

When my my sister was killed, I wouldn't leave my parents' house for months. I know I'll get through this too. But not in time for the service.

My grief will never stop.

But with time, it will change, and I will be able to breathe again.

And I will find a new normal.

And the world will be a little bit darker.

@flannellegs