Heather Pacheco
The next artist I’d like to introduce is Heather (O’Leary) Pacheco, who happens to also be my niece. Dare I say favorite? No, I don’t have a favorite, they are all totally cool & equally amazing! I have some pretty awesome nephews as well, more about their artistry in a future post.
I want to share a little about Heather before I get to the part about grief and gratitude. A little bit of fun before the sad reality of why she is writing about loss. She always has a smile on her face so that’s how I’d like you to get to know her. She has a fun, creative side to her as well and makes whimsical art as gifts, which is shown below.
Heather is a fun loving, hard working & amazing mom of three beautiful kids, she happens to have a pretty cool police officer hubby as well, wouldn’t want to leave him out, he’s as much fun as she is! She is a teacher at Neighborhood Cooperative Nursery School in Winchester, MA & she brings her teaching skills home with her. Her children are happy and healthy and a lot of fun to be with. Whenever I’m with Heather’s kids, I like to try to teach them something or tell them about something that’s happening in the world. Their response is always the same, “yeah, our mom already told us about that”. So, Go Heather! Keep teaching those kiddos and keep writing and creating, the world needs you!
Smiles , smiles, smiles
Heather & Family
Family Dinner Pre Game
Her husband’s not blonde, so not sure who this is..
To say that Heather grew up on my hip is an understatement. I was 11 when my sister Alice had her. I was literally there for her birth, and we’ve been connected ever since. She and her siblings were my source of entertainment when they were little. Later, she came to college parties with me (probably not the best idea, but we had fun). We have made about a million road trips to North Carolina together. Today, we often show up to parties with the same outfit, the same lip gloss or nail polish color. I like to think we are somehow connected even when we are not physically together.
That’s how families work. Cousins, siblings, nieces, nephews, uncles, aunts: all caring for one another, helping each other grow, living, loving & laughing all along the way.
I talked her into going to a photoshoot with me 30 years ago, and now I’m glad I did.
It’s not only Heather’s mom’s side that has helped to shape her. Heather’s dad’s side of the family is big, fun and loving. Their last name is O’Leary - they are not just fun, they are really fun.
She has just as many cousins on that side of the family, but one, in particular that she was deeply connected to, Betsy.
Betsy’s parents, Michael and Cindy O’Leary, have been a huge part of her life. Their children have lived, loved and laughed together for many, many years. Their eldest daughter Besty, not only resembled Heather, but had a similar age gap to Heather and me. Just enough of a difference to show Betsy the ropes when she was young, but then welcome her to adulthood.
Betsy was about to give birth to her first child when she was killed in a tragic accident. An accident that is unthinkable, and took not only Besty, but her unborn child, Brooke. This story is horrific and affected so many people, most of all, Betsy’s parents, siblings, husband and family. But this particular story, or post, is about Heather, and her writing about Betsy and Brooke.
This story is about the worst kind of grief, the unimaginable kind, but there are so many kinds of grief and so many ways of grieving. I hope that Heather’s words give you some comfort if you have experienced loss or makes you feel peace where it is needed.
Heather and Betsy
GRIEF and GRATITUDE
by Heather O’Leary Pacheco
In college I read On Grief and Grieving by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross. She is one of the most respected authorities on the subject of death and dying. Being well versed on the 5 stages of grief, I thought I was prepared after the sudden death of my cousin Betsy and her daughter Brooke. I would be able to tuck my messy emotions into neat packages and to learn to live with my loss. The reality of grief is much different than Kubler-Ross would like us to believe. There are no neat packages, there is no one size fits all to grief - you will grieve in some capacity for the rest of your life. I don’t miss Betsy and Brooke less with time. I miss them more as the magnitude of their absence continues to set in.
Grief is messy. It shows up when you least expect it and even when you don’t want it to. In the past months grief has looked like many different things. It’s looked like silent tears on the couch at night while everyone else is asleep. It’s looked like full blown ugly crying in the car all alone. It’s looked like trying to be okay for people because you know your sadness makes them uncomfortable and it’s just easier to pretend. It’s looked like snapping at your children and then immediately breaking down and apologizing to them. It’s looked wistful as you journey with pregnant friends and celebrate their happiness.
It can be isolating as time goes on, to journey with a grief that impacts you more so than most other people. You desperately want to function, to “be okay”, and to honor the person you are grieving by living a full life, but it’s not always that simple. It’s like a pendulum swinging - some days I can do and be those things, and some days, or some moments, I can’t. I have been privileged to mourn with those who mourn. To hold space for others suffering and to allow others to hold space for me. What a blessing that has been. The power of human connection is undeniable. While it hasn’t taken away the pain, it has eased the suffering.
In my grief I have chosen to look for gratitude. Grief without gratitude or hope would be debilitating for me. Some days grief with gratitude and hope are still debilitating. But gratitude, I come back to gratitude and ground myself there. One thing I can be thankful for in any one moment. And often I can’t stop at one. It’s powerful. Betsy was always such a positive person, looking for the best in everyone and reminding others to do the same. She was the person who would remind me of all of the good things in my life just because she treasured them as much as I do. Gratitude is not a magic pill- it can’t take away the pain, but for me it balances the pain. It gives me something to fight for when I feel like I’ve got no fight left. It makes me feel closer to Betsy and Brooke, to grow with gratitude.
I know some days you don’t want to be grateful. You just want what you lost back. But truly, gratitude is transformative. It aids in healing. It is not a magical cure for loss or sadness, but it helps. So try it. Start with just one thing. Silence the inner critic that tells you that you don’t deserve things to be grateful for and focus on just one thing. That “just one thing” might be exactly what you need to take “just one more” step.
To Betsy and Brooke- I miss you. Even amidst joy, I grieve the loss of you. With every fiber of my being I wish things were different. Mostly though, I just love you. This is not the end of our story. . .
Heather teaching Betsy to cook or the other way around?
I hope that Heather’s profound writing about grief and gratitude can help at least one person dealing with loss. I love her lots and wish she never needed to write her story, but she did. I am grateful and I hope you will be as well.
XO
Coincidentally, Betsy O’Leary Ableson was born on October 10th and would have turned 31 today.
Natalie Guerrero
The first artist I’d like to introduce you to is Natalie, a sweet soul from NYC who has captured my heart. Grab a cup of tea and snuggle up to your computer, you’re going to be here for a while. Once you start reading her prose, it’s hard to stop. And she will make you think, think about your life, love, loss and where you fit in on this “giant lava cake we live on”.
Below is just a sampling of her writing. To read more, follow her @ https://www.instagram.com/natalie.says/
I’m from New York so it’s no wonder I don’t like to feel small. Like street trash or subway rats or anything besides the skyscrapers that live inside me. It’s a wonder, I think, to have made it so far while squeezing in my vastness so tight. Sucking in the uncomfortable parts. Making sure there’s not an ounce of me unaccounted for.
I have been writing about mirrors a lot and I think that’s no mistake. How I can see myself in them now. Have some clarity after lifting all this weight from my shoulders. Let myself let go. Force myself to move forward. Finally meet my own eyes and muster up the courage to call these things for what they are.
And I have been crying for what feels like four years. Laughing too, running like hell. Making my way over and under bad decisions. Flipping the script so I can make sense of the scenes. My God, what a whirlwind it has been to ignore myself for all this time. To have played the questions in my head so loud and so long that I’ve wound up sick.
Is this what happens to women when they unravel? This metaphorical awakening that makes our blood boil up until we are hissing with rage for the time we’ve spent silent? Is this what happens when we are bare and afraid and the world can finally see us? Are we pretty then, to the naked eye? Do we turn it on? Light it up like we do when we are dimming our own?
What if we’ve been taught to stay quiet because they’ve discovered our voices blow things up. Make space for the truth. Hold up those mirrors I can’t stop speaking into existence.
What if we’ve been taught to take just enough and not one inch more because they’ve found when we get cut off at the waist we still grow gardens. What if we are not the problem. Then how do we explain the ways we’ve let ourselves get walked over all these years?
The day every woman opens her mouth will be the day that heaven starts to sing. The sky will open and give us what we’ve been begging for it to give. Every door will slam open. Every war will find peace. Mountains will move. Music will play. And we will find ourselves, finally, praying to the women. Praising to the women. Asking to forgive what took us so long.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————-
Stop spending so much time looking down. Look up. Really, just look up. Look up. And don’t miss it.
So I was thinking about all the places in the world and how small that can make us all feel. Like we are peanuts. Or don’t have a place. Or like we’re lost toys or something like that. I was thinking about how this giant lava cake we live on can make us feel alone.
And then, I was looking at this picture. And I was thinking about that feeling that I get in my stomach just before the roller coaster drops. And how wretched that feeling is. And how there are no words for it. And then finally, when you’re at the bottom, you kinda crave it, because, you know, it’s over now.
And isn’t that sorta just life? Like one big fall but also really phenomenally joyous? Maybe this is not so revolutionary, or I’m not the first person to say all this, but I think that’s how it’s supposed to be if we would just get out of our own way to let it.
I have no sense here of the things that are breaking your heart. Or making it whole. Or what you’re afraid of. But what I’m getting at is — don’t miss it. Stand in it. Roll around or something.
I don’t think we’re meant to be so buttoned up. I think you can let your hair down. Even if you think you’re not ready yet. I think you should let go of that thing you’re holding so tight to. And raise your hands wide in the air. And feel the fucking sun on your skin, or the snow, or whatever. Just don’t look down. Stop spending so much time looking down. Look up. Really, just look up. Look up. And don’t miss it.
——————————————————————————————————————————————————
I’ll leave you with one more, then head over to natalie.says & see what else she has in store for you.
What I’ve been meaning to say all along is that I am sorry
not to anyone but myself
Who I have willingly sacrificed for the good of the world.
I am sorry
not for saying no
But for always saying yes
Until it stunk like it was sour
and tasted like it was stale.
What I have been trying to say is that I am first.
That I have my own skin and breath
And that is for a reason.
I have been saying that I am no mistake.
That I am the dictionary to my own sweet soul.
The key to turn my own lock.
The golden ticket to hear the song of myself.
And what I have been tired of, is the doing.
The choking that it is to put on the performance me.
The constant noise that buzzes through my brain.
The clapping that comes after the exhaustion.
What I have to say is that I am sorry to myself
and to no one else.
For filling my cup last when my body had become a desert.
Putting all my smiles on other faces.
Squeezing into shoes that I knew were too tight.
And what I wonder is who I have been looking to
in order to turn away from myself.
What I have been thinking
to wait this long to have my cake and eat it too.
Where I have been hiding
to avoid contact with my own eyes
Why I have survived on less
when I am the master of making more.
And now I say it is time to come home.
Feel my hair frizz up
and thank God that I’ve been blessed
Write until even my finger nails become wise.
Look at myself until I can see it.
Say thank you one million times.
Read every book on the shelf.
Revisit my glory.
Hug myself at night and whisper I am proud.
Forgive the sin of the forgetting.
Take my final curtain call.
Silence the crowds.
And let myself say
what it is I have been saying.
——————————————————————————————————————————————————————
The Great Big Everything
This first post is about Rick Mobbs, a great influence to me and to so many others. I found this note in a text message saved on my phone, it’s little quote from My Favorite Brother as he neared the end of his life. I’ve never shared it, but he actually asked me to, so here it is. I hope it makes you smile or gives you peace if you’ve ever lost someone.
Often, I want to call him, just to hear his voice, or to have my big brother tell me everything’s going to be okay. He was a special human. When I miss him, I think of his wife, Naomi & all of his children. They were so attentive and sweet and loving during his illness. Today, they are strong and happy. Rick’s love & strength of heart lives on in their creativity, beautiful smiles and big laughs.
“I know how to go with the flow and not resist. I also believe, from the evidence of my life experience, that if there is a way for the Universe, or the Grace of God, or the Great Big Everything to tuck me into a place of safety in a crisis, it will. Maybe you can pass that onto the others. It really is my faith.”
Tucked into a place of safety. I like to believe that place exists and that he, and so many others we loved, are there.
Rick was a talented artist and writer. He had a blog where he wrote about his life, told stories and posted paintings and asked people to write about them. It was very interactive and allowed people to express themselves and was also a great way to get to know other artists.
Maybe this new blog could be a way for others to share their art, stories or ideas? I’d love to share your fun stuff with everyone! Don’t overthink it. If you have something to share, send it. This is an opportunity for you, so use it. Hey, maybe we’ll even make a contest out of it someday! Please use the Contact tab on the bottom of my site or click here to send submissions.
Just now, as I finish writing this post, a friend texted & reminded me to light a candle this morning. She recalled the day we sat around a table and lit a candle and tried to explain to our seven children why someone would crash planes into buildings. Sometimes life just can’t be explained, but surrounding yourself with love and support always helps. Thinking of those who lost someone 18 years ago today.
I hope that we can create a fun place, a supportive place, encouraging each other along on our journey through life together.
Feel free to leave a comment below, I’d love to hear from you. Check out Rick’s art and blog when you have lots of free time rickmobbsart.com & send me YOUR work or story to post!
Lots of Love,
Stephanie
(Favorite Sister)
