Grandma Great

4 months seems like it would be time enough to start the healing process. 4 months seems like it would be ample time to get over the tears and the mood swings. More than enough time to familiarize myself with the loss, the hole in my heart.

BUT then the other shoe falls. The bottom falls out, and the world is looking more bleak than when my brother died.

4 months to the day- and it seems eerily close to the time (within a couple hours)- that my brother passed away, my paternal great grandmother, Grandma Great, went home to Heaven. She was 94 and lived a full life, spreading her contagious joy across the span of 5 generations.

I am not grieving her passing with as much ferocious sadness as I am my brother's, but I am suddenly thrown back into the unstable trenches of death and dying.

I am found a full five paces backward from the progress I had made along this journey through healing, and I have no clue where to go. Or what to do.

 

I am functioning in a habitual state of overwhelmedness.

 

I wish so much that my brother was here, to reminisce and share memories with me. I have no one, in my immediate circle, that shares memories of Christmases past, rope swinging adventures, and bird shootin' with bb guns.

I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that some of my memories would die, with my brother gone. But I had to idea that this notion would be thrust to the forefront of my thoughts so quickly.

And I don't know what to do about it.

 

Here is my Grandma Great's obituary - I wish I could share her love with everyone. She was a treasure, for sure.

 

Lillian Lauchland (1919 - 2013)

Obituary

    

Lillian Lauchland passed on August 25, 2013, after a long, loving life. She was born in Borden, Sask., Canada on January 31, 1919, to Henry and Lena Sawatzky and moved to Lodi, California when she was 4 years old. She attended Garfield, Alpine, Harmony Grove and Live Oak Schools as well as Lodi High. She married before she graduated, but in 1970, she earned her High School diploma. In 1935, she married Ronald Lauchland, which was followed by the birth of 6 children over the next 11 years. She and her husband enjoyed many local organizations and clubs over the years including Woodbridge OES, First Methodist Church, San Joaquin Historical Society, San Joaquin Farm Bureau, Past Matrons and Patrons of OES, N.R.A., and Life Membership of American Angus Association. Lillian was also a member of the White Apron Club, Woodbridge Whist, Lodi Trailer Club, and Town and Country Women. Watercolor painting, writing, card playing, cooking, camping, fishing, and traveling were among the many things she enjoyed. Most importantly, she was happiest when surrounded by her family. She is survived by 3 children, Henry Lauchland, Stevenson Lauchland, and Ronda Mettler. Loving her in-laws as her own, she leaves behind Georgia Lauchland, Patty Lauchland, SherAnn Lauchland, Barbara Lauchland, and Jerry Mettler. Her 11 grandchildren include Peggy Nicholson (Dave), George Lauchland (Lorrie), Bart Lauchland (Jennifer), Cindy Gnos (Craig), Matt Lauchland (Tammy), Sandy Lauchland, EmmyJo Heng (Eric), Cody Lauchland, Cara Lauchland, Greg Mettler (Sandy), and Jennifer Mettler-Hall (Duane). She was blessed with 16 great-grandchildren and 5 great-great-grandchildren.
Preceding her in death are husband, Ronald (1983), three sons, Mark (2002), Clifford (2003), Jeff (2006), and great-grandson, Ryan Lauchland (2013). Lillian will best be remembered for her loving heart, sense of humor, and warmth. A memorial service will be held Friday, September 6, 2013, at 11:00 a.m. at First United Methodist Church in Lodi. There is no visitation, and committal is private. Contributions in Lilllian's name may be made to Shriner's Hospitals, 2425 Stockton Blvd., Sacramento, CA 95817, or San Joaquin Historical Society, or Ryan M. Lauchland Memorial Fund, 1819 Jackson Street, Lodi, CA 95242 Lodi Funeral Home is assisting the family with the arrangements.



Rest in peace, GG. I'll see you in Heaven, too.
--Julie--

 

Julie, you're a CEO??

I don't think that I have really shared with everyone - via the blog- what I am doing with the nonprofit that I started a couple of months ago, the Ryan M. Lauchland Memorial Fund.

 

This non-profit corporation's specific purpose is to be proactive in eliminating the negative stigma of  mental illnesses, to raise awareness for mental health and mental illnesses in San Joaquin County, to raise funds to help and support those living with a mental illness as well as to distribute those funds to other nonprofit organizations who render service to the community, and to provide a network of support for bereaved families.

 

I am excited that things have gone so quickly with the set-up of this nonprofit. Within two weeks of filing with the Secretary of State, we were approved. I am in the process now of filing with the Attorney General, and the IRS.
As of right now, we are an official 501(c)3 nonprofit corporation, with a board of directors, and a great vision to see the community and world changed.

 

A group of 30 people are currently signed up to participate in the Modesto Out Of Darkness walk for Suicide Prevention, on Sept 14, on Team Ryan M. Lauchland Memorial Fund. I am thrilled that this seems to be a cause so many people can rally around.

I have designed T-Shirts, and we have presold 50 so far!

Our fundraising efforts have been successful so far, and we are hoping to make a substantial donation to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention in Ryan's name at the Walk.

Dozens of people came out to support us last night at the first Fundraiser, held at Rick's Pizza in Lodi. Again, I am blown away by the sheer volume of people who came to eat, visit, and smile through the tears with us.
 

I also want to take this opportunity to publicly thank each and every person who has contributed to this Fund with their time, energy, and resources.

I am humbled at the generosity of this group of people who love Ryan so much.

Thank you for supporting my efforts to help people who are suffering.

This is not about me.

It's about US.

 A community of people who are committed to stopping the negative stigma of mental illness.

If you are interesting in helping in any way, or if you know of someone/another charity that can benefit from our support,  please contact me at ryanlauchlandfund@gmail.com

ps- I am still taking T-Shirt orders! Email me ASAP - you won't want to be one only one without an awesome shirt!!!

Thanks!


--Julie--

I'm just one big jumble of emotions [mobile post]

Tonight was the first ever fundraiser for the Ryan M. Lauchland Memorial Fund. I don't know what to think. I am humbled and overwhelmed by the support from family and friends, and at the same time I am angry with people who didn't show up. I don't want your money- I just want to know that you believe in this cause too. 

In some ways, this whole thing just seems so wrong. It is wrong. Ryan, you should be here. I shouldn't have to be doing this. WHY COULDN'T YOU SEE HOW IMPORTANT YOU WERE? This silence torments me down to my core. 

I hate bipolar. I hate it. HATE. I struggle to even find the word 'hate' appropriate. Maybe loathe. Despise. 

I want to murder it. I want to kill it so forcefully, that it will take the rest of the mental illnesses with it to the pits of hell. 

I guess that's what I am trying to do with the Ryan Fund. I want revenge on the mental illness that stole my brother. My best friend. My Bubbo. 

I need so badly to hear him say that he is proud of me. 

So often, growing up and even until this past April, Ryan was a source of true validation. He would never criticize my efforts. It didn't matter if I was puking during a Half Marathon, completing another Bible Study or learning a new craft. Ryan was proud of me. If I lost a pound, or could eat 12 Taco Bell tacos. If I wrote an essay, or finally figured out how to lock the screen rotation on my iPhone, Ryan was proud of me. 

I know my mom is proud of me, but sometimes unconditional love and support is a little lackluster. It's like a failsafe. It's always there, unchanging and unwavering. But this support was different. Ryan never HAD to say it. He chose to, to make me smile. He wanted me to know that he loved me for me. For what I was doing. For who I am. For what I want to be, someday. 

To everyone who came out to Rick's tonight, thank you from the bottom of my broken heart. I wish I could show you all just what it means to me that you were there. 

Sincerely. 

--Julie--

Going on the Offensive

What is the difference between being defensive and taking offense to something?

Is it pride that wells up within me, every time someone "suggests" counseling?

And just what will a counselor do for me?
Most people, let alone counselors cannot identify with the situation that I am in, and will give me textbook psychobabble about grief and being kind to myself during this process, about the journey to "recovering" and "moving on".

After all, this is uncharted waters...
I am a Christian -although that label is vague in this Babylonian culture- I believe in Jesus as the perfect Son of God, Savior of my soul from an eternity in Hell by graciously taking my punishment for sins on Himself. So, I believe that there is nothing that I will ever go through, that my God has not experienced, and He is the best Counselor. In fact, one of His names/attributes is Wonderful Counselor.
I relive those moments, from that day, frame-by-frame. Who knows why? I am not consciously searching for something I could have done differently. I am not replacing what is true with imagined memories. I just think about it. What I felt. What he looked like, laying there while my mom labored in CPR. What I was thinking at the time. How I cried those ugly tears of shock. How I yelled and lamented. How I wished it was untrue.
Why can't people seem to grasp that there is no going back to "normal"? That there is not ever going to be the 'old' Julie again. I will forever be an altered version of myself. A new self. Changed.
Why are people so accepting of changes in the lives of others- when they meet that special  someone, get married, move away, lose a child, lose a husband, or have been through a trauma like rape, kidnapping, etc.?
Grieving is a process. And losing my brother has forever altered the person I am. My personality is different. I am still in the process of this grief. It's only been 3 1/2 months. August 25 will be 4 months.

Why is this the most difficult part of the process - the loss of friendships because there is no compassion or embrace of the 'new', altered me?
Why can't people be more sensitive? Why do I expect people to offer me grace to become who I am? Why can't I wrap my brain around people's extreme selfishness?

So please, if you are reading this, don't suggest counseling- unless you have experienced what I have, and done the counseling thing, and have a positive takeaway.
And if you have already suggested that I "talk to someone" or see a counselor, I forgive you your complete lack of understanding for this experience. I'm not mad at anyone. I just wish that everyone would understand that there is no going back. Things can't be 'fixed'. I'll never be who I was. And as I withdraw into myself and bare down in my grief, if you cannot extend me grace while I heal, please just bypass any communication with me at all.
I will emerge from this season of lamenting. It probably won't be soon- it could take years.
But I will have joy again, I will laugh again, and I will move past crying all the time. Or maybe not. But whatever happens in the future,  I'm ok with it. And if you truly cared about me, as a person, then you should be ok with it too.

--Julie--

Here goes nothin'

If we are being honest, I should say that half of me really doesn't care. Truly. I don't care if I wake up in the morning. I don't care if my kids eat cookies for breakfast, make it to school on time, or make it to school at all. I don't care if we stay in our pajamas all day long, and zero chores get done. I don't care one single bit.

I have no patience for the drama of daily life. People. Responsibilities. Drama with a capital "d".

I wish I could just sleep it all away.

I hurt.

On so many levels. It's hard to get one thought straight, let alone a strand of thoughts - enough to make a person appear to be assimilated in their own life.

Life.

That word seems so generic.

What is "life"? Breathing? A pulse? Does breathing in and out all day while my heart pumps make me "alive"?

Do you cry when you are sad?

Do I have to cry for the world to know that I am sad, so they will stop asking me how I am? Will I live in a perpetual state of sadness until I die? If I don't cry, does that mean that I am not sad?

If I don't cry, does that mean that I didn't love my brother?

 

Something that I don't tell people is that after I had Justice, over seven years ago, I was diagnosed and treated for G.A.D..

Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

I was on medication for nearly 18 months, then I weaned myself off and I haven't had many flare-ups since (with the exception of the rare family event that required a Xanex to participate in).

 

I am acutely aware of my emotions and anxiety levels at all times, and I would be lying if I said that I am "fine".

 

Let me try to explain where the myriad of emotions and thoughts is coming from:

Last night I had the worst panic attack I've ever experienced. And part of me is terrified that #1- I'm forcing myself to 'relapse' to gain credibility (is that even possible?!) and #2- I don't know what  to do with this. It feels like my body is being crushed by this heavy weight, but I am still able to function and have high-level output. Do I see my doctor? These thoughts in particular cause my heart rate to spike.

It is so ingrained in me to "get over it", and that scares me. On the other hand, am I subconsciously overreacting to gain power or attention, when, on the surface, I care less and less about these things every day? In fact, I despise pity and the attention that goes with fake empathy.

I am supremely adverse to even sharing these thoughts, so if you are reading this because I was brave enough to click 'publish', then consider it a stab in the face of stigma.

My panic attack has a very specific trigger.

I can see my solidarity, and I feel so very isolated by these thoughts and emotions. I recognize that not everyone can comprehend what I have gone through or what I am going through, and that causes me to shut down and internalize everything. I had a commonality with my brother. He shared experiences, and so much of our connection was unspoken, which has left a silent hole in my heart that I cannot fill with words or explanations.

Also, I am task-oriented. In my previous life (ie-life before Ryan died), I lived in a perpetual state of overwhelmedness, due to my ability to maintain quality output and my desire to earn affection through works. But now I have determined to prioritize and purposefully NOT overwhelm myself.

See my issue?

I am not performing, on my previous levels, but it is by my own design. I am trying to give myself a break, but the break is the very thing that is causing the most stress.

So what do I do with the stress? I ball it up inside and I say to myself "I don't care".

(see the cycle I have going?)

 

Thanks for letting me get it all out. I don't feel any better, or any less stressed. In fact, I feel more panicked that I am going to be judged harshly for this post.

If I post it at all.

 

--Julie--

Transparency

This life is full of the mediocre and the mundane. The tough questions and the complex answers.

This life is messy.

Ryan always challenged me - he knew my tones and could interpret my inflections. When I said things like "I'm fine", he heard that things are not 'fine' and called me on it. He held me accountable to the transparency I claimed as a way of life.

And I miss that.

No one else is willing to sort through the garbage of pleasantries and formalities, and really get to know me - or anyone else - on a real, true level.

Ryan wanted to know what was bothering me. Whether it was his genuine compassionate nature, or his desire to know that he was not alone in the tumult of trials, I don't know. I'll never know.

But I do find myself constantly questioning the sincerity of people, gauging by their posture and tone whether they truly want to hear how I am.

This juggle between 'putting on a happy face', being fake, and strangling my constant tears for fear of judgment, and being real, open, honest and authentic in my grief is slowly killing me.

Slowly.

Slowly.

From the inside out.

I don't want people's pity, but I want the freedom to cry when I need to. I just can't stand that we are such selfish beings that we are offended by other people's misfortune.

I don't want to be accused of raining on someone else's parade - and that's a feeling that I know Ryan could relate to.

Am I morbid to think that I understand his battle with bipolar so much better through the eyes of grief?

 

The question is WHY? Why can't we be real and genuine? I will have bad days on your good days, and vice versa. I will cry while you celebrate with laughter and smiles. And vice versa.

We will get on each others' nerves and offend each other. That is the result of a sin-filled earth. If our hearts are truly tuned to love, and unconditionally loving, then we are less offended. More sincere. More compassionate. More empathetic and sympathetic. More open, humbled and -dare I say it- honest. More genuine.

Why can't we all live out loud, exposed?

I long for the freedom to be the person God is molding and shaping me to be. And I pray for the courage to accept that freedom, when everyone else is content in their coffin of status-quo.

 

Oh, Heaven.....COME!

 

--Julie--

Color Run [mobile post]

Last year, I participated in the Color Run. I bragged to Ryan about all the fun and he promised to run it with me this year... 

Right after Ryan passed away, Justice and I signed up for the Color Run, in Sacramento. Race day would have been today, and we had been training for the 3-mile event over summer. We were determined not to let our grief keep us captive, and looked forward to the fun... Then, 2 weeks ago today, Justice fell and broke her leg. 

Again, we felt knocked down and held back. 

Yesterday we went to packet pick-up, so that we could at least collect the t-shirt and bib from what would have been a fun time. The sweet and sympathetic people with Color Run put out race bracelets on Justice's cast as an anklet, and gave us a color packet in every color so that we could enjoy some variation of color festivities at home. 

With Ryan on our hearts, we threw colored chalk at each other this afternoon. 

We will not sit back and let life happen to us. We will be active participants. Doing God's will for us regardless of satan's attempts to knock us backward.. 

We love you, Bubbo. And today would have been much more fun if you could have been physically with us. But we know we have a cheerleader in the grandstands of Heaven. 

We miss you. 

--Julie (and Justice)--

the Ryan M. Lauchland Memorial Fund

http://afsp.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=donorDrive.team&teamID=48801

 

This is the link to the Out Of Darkness walk in Modesto on September 14, 2013... I have organized a team, called Ryan M. Lauchland Memorial Fund, and is comprised of friends and family that want to join in, in honoring the memory of my brother while bringing awareness to the epidemic that is suicide...

 

There is no cost associated with the walk - you can choose to donate to the American Foundation of Suicide Prevention, or not. You can also contact me directly if you wish to donate to the Ryan M. Lauchland Memorial Fund, which is a registered and fully functional 501(c)3 Nonprofit corporation..

 

I am trying to get t-shirts made for the team, which should be available for purchase at or before the walk.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Today is a rough day. I am burdened with my own pride, as I strive for excellence with this Fund. I want so badly for it to be successful, and I want the world to see that I did it.

Which is awful. My heart truly isn't this proud. It's all about Ryan... But there are moments, for sure. Like now... That I want people to see - and I mean truly SEE - that I am capable of this assignment.

My baby brother, if you can hear me in Heaven,

I want you to know that no amount of paperwork or checklists could ever fulfill me like being a sister does. You are not replaced. Never can be. The memory of your struggles propel me to help people. I want someone, somewhere, to see that they don't have to end their pain the way you thought that you had to. There is not a magic pill, but there is hope. Always hope.

I love you.

~Duie~

#5milebikeride

 

--Julie--