I'm thinking of you as you go, did you make it home?

Is it a time? Is it a place?
Is it a person or a change?
Are you safe on the road you chose?
Did you make it home?
Is it where prayers go when you pray 'em?
Is it the turning of the page?
I'm thinking of you as you go
Did you make it home?

Dearest Erin. It's been a week now processing the loss of you. Knowing you're no longer here is something my brain is having a hard time grasping. I was preparing for the tidal wave of grief that would hit as I was prepping for honouring Sonja's heavenly birthday last week and then got the phone call that you were gone, too. I had been in the shower that very morning screaming the lyrics to this song:

If that cross gets a little too heavy

If one night gets a little too dark

If the demons you've been fighting get the drop on a worn out heart

I ain't saying I can make it all better

But when it feels like it can't get worse

And you're thinking 'bout calling it quits

Call me first

Call me first

You ain't gotta beat around the truth

Never know, I might've been there too

We really ain't gotta say nothing

We ain't gotta know what to do

Make it in the middle of a work day

Call me 'round 2 a.m.

I'd rather hear "sorry I'm calling"

Than to never hearing nothing again

I had no idea that two hours later I'd get a phone call that would have me searching up old texts, going through my hard drives- looking for memories, moments, pieces of you that I could hold onto. Erin you've been part of my life since 2013, part of our Coronation Park Ward family. You looked after my boys in nursery, earnestly serving the sisters in relief society. I got to see you every week from 2013-2019 and I'm recognizing now what a privilege it was to have seeing you every Sunday become such a part of my normal weekly routine. You are radiant, beautiful, kind, gracious, timid, sweet, caring, compassionate, smart, and brave. In 2019 we moved, had Hudson, and then 2020 COVID turned the world upside down for everyone. I am just so grateful that in 2024 we were able to reconnect and that I have memories of you fresh in my mind. 

I'm so sad we never got that walk, and never got to take that trip to the mountains. I had so many questions for you, so many things I wanted to talk to you about. So many things that were on my heart that I knew would be safe in your company. I'm being reminded again and again what a gift time with people is. What a gift it is that as human beings we are little mosaics made up of the influence and attributes of those around us. 

What a gift it was to know you, Erin. You are so important to so many people. Your time here mattered. You will be loved and missed by so many. I can't wait to see you again one day. I hope heaven has mountains, because I want to go on that mountain walk with you and have that heart to heart we didn't get to have from last summer. In the mean time, can you please give Sonja a hug for me? There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about you both. You have both taught me to love harder and serve greater. Processing the loss of two friends so close together has given me so much perspective. Thank you for always treating me and my family with kindness. Thank you for helping us renovate our kitchen this past summer, and for helping me clean my house to prep for our home appraisal. Thank you for taking moments out of your earthly journey to show your love to me, even though you were carrying so much. I will hold onto my memories with you and cherish them for the rest of my life. I will never forget you.

My mind for now is going back to this warm summer day when I took these photos of you. I've been feeling grateful more than ever for my camera, and that it has allowed me to document so many people I love who are no longer here with us on this earth. I believe documenting and preserving our memories are so important. The whole point of photographs are the people in them. I will forever be grateful that my camera has provided me some of my most treasured, tangible memories of loved ones no longer with us. I look at these photos and they transport me back to this time, a warm summer day in July of 2019. I will forever remember you like this. Gracious, beautiful and radiant. Rest easy, angel. Until we meet again. 

- Jenny

A letter to grief:

Grief. I feel I've been holding your hand the past few years now and I've wanted to let go. The more I try to outrun the grief the more it seems to keep catching up to me. Grief can be all consuming, all encompassing, and life altering. Grief. It can bring you to your knees. It can feel heavy on your chest. It can feel twisted in your stomach. It can feel like your heart is literally breaking. Grief. I've wanted to let go of you. The older I get the more I see how grief is intertwined in our world. Not just my world, but in the world of everyone around me. Going through my Social Work degree I studied grief and learnt how it impacts peoples lives on so many levels. The awful experience of grief that we have to go through as human beings can feel torturous sometimes, but at the same time it's connecting. Grief can feel isolating but I'm often reminded how universal grief is and that you don't have to shoulder it alone. 

When I'm grieving I process my emotions through music, writing, and walking. I've done a lot of walking over the past few years processing grief. Walking has become my favorite form of medicine, but music and writing have always been a passion of mine. Music reminds me that grief is universal and that no matter how hard things feel, you can listen to music and know you're not alone. Music describes these universal human emotions that the masses can relate to. One of my favorite things in life is going to a concert and hearing everyone scream songs in unison... you're in a room full of strangers connecting to something so universal. Grief, love, joy, heartbreak, happiness... whatever it may be. I think music is one of the coolest forms of art because it's basically getting a deep dive into someones journal; a melodic journal of written poems that transforms words into this beautiful, relatable auditory experience. I love music. I remember quoting Taylor Swift lyrics in my high school papers and my L.A teacher would leave notes like... "this is cute but maybe don't do that in university." Though, I've heard now that universities are teaching about Taylor Swift and her business savvy, so maybe quoting her lyrics in academic papers would be more acceptable these days? I digress. Back to grief. I don't like it. I try to avoid it, actually. I try to postpone it. Ignore it. Numb it and outrun it. Happiness on the other hand? Love that. Happiness, love, joy, laughter, safety and connection. Love those feelings. Grief? Not so much. 

One of the things I've been trying to do the past couple of years is to come to a place of acceptance... accepting that grief and joy will forever walk hand in hand. This past month I was brought to my knees with grief losing a dear friend of mine to suicide. Sonja was acutely familiar with grief. Sonja was a mental health advocate, bravely sharing her experience with suicide and depression. Sonja was someone I admired because she fought every day to make something beautiful out of her pain. Whether that was a beautiful piece of jewellery, or a beautiful painting, drawing, musical piece on the piano, or a beautiful tablescape for her family dinner; she was always leaving the world more beautiful then she found it. Sonja left a lasting impact on me and my life is more beautiful because of her. 

Sonja was always saying that she learnt joy and sorrow walk hand in hand. She would say its because of her sorrow that she could come to know such great joy. She used her grief to relate, love, and serve others. She used her joy to spread beauty with her many creative talents. A few years ago when I was in the depths of a really painful experience in my life, Sonja showed up to my front door with pizza in her hand and a smile on her face. We had scheduled plans to hang out but I had totally forgotten- I opened the door in my robe with no make up on and my hair a mess. She just looked at me with a twinkle in her eye and said: "you totally forgot I was coming over today didn't you?" I absolutely did forget but was grateful she showed up and loved me as I was in that moment. A mess. She spent the entire afternoon with me and my family. She brought us pizza, played just dance with me and the kids, and we just talked about life. Sonja truly knew what it meant to mourn with those who mourn. Sonja built an entire jewellery brand with the message that each and everyone of us is worth more than gold. I want to honor Sonja's message by sharing it all with you here:

"If there was one message that I could shout from the rooftops, it would be this:

YOU are precious
YOU are of value
YOU are worth more than gold

Perhaps I am so passionate about this message because I need to hear it more than anyone else. A sense of self worth does not come naturally to me, yet I see worth and value so clearly in every soul that I meet. My friend, you are of infinite worth.

Because I battle daily with deep feelings of insecurity that at times causes debilitating anxiety, I created this simple, yet intentional line of rings to be worn as tokens or reminders of the worth and value that is always there…a worth and value that exceeds anything of this world. Truly, each and every one of us is worth more than gold.

In those moments where you may doubt or question your worth and value, it is my greatest hope that you will find the inner strength to redirect any feelings of self doubt and negativity towards this one eternal truth: The treasures of this world are not diamonds and gold. The treasures of this earth are you and I.

My friend, you matter. You matter greatly."

Sonja made everyone she met feel precious, of value, and worth more than gold. Sonja was a helper. Sonja inspired me to want to be better. I admired Sonja. I looked up to her. I would watch and listen to her play piano in awe. I was mesmerized by her talent and last year when I got a piano my goal was to one day be able to play like Sonja. We would do styled shoots together all the time in the wedding industry and Sonja would always show up and stay the entire day. She could have just dropped off the jewellery and left, but she never did that. She always stayed the entire length of the shoot, offering to help in any way she could. She would even travel to venues outside of the city and offer her time in service and support. I always wear dresses or skirts to work and Sonja would always be my dress holder while I photographed flat lays. I always giggle thinking about this, but Sonja would always say, "Jenny I got you!!!! I'm coming!! I'll hold your dress." 

My last memories of Sonja are on her daughters wedding day. Sonja hired me to photograph her daughters wedding and this is something that I will cherish for the rest of my life. Part of my job as a wedding photographer is to be intentionally observing and documenting human emotion. Because Sonja is my friend and we had a personal relationship, I was even more in-tune to her that day. I have been replaying that day in my mind a lot because I have this fear that I'll forget those memories. I don't want to forget her voice, or her laugh, or the way she played piano, or the way her beautiful ring looked on her hand. I don't want to forget the way she adored her family, or the way she lit up with joy when she saw her daughter on the dance floor (they had the most epic dance EVER). Minute by minute I was documenting these moments in time... How blessed am I to have these moments etched into my mind.

I never knew this would be the last time I got to hug Sonja. I wish I held on a little longer, and a little tighter. Losing Sonja has brought to the forefront of my mind that I cannot escape grief. None of us can. We can learn to live with it, walk beside it. But if you try running from grief, it doesn't work. You have to feel it. While I haven't enjoyed feeling this emotion, I have been filled with an overwhelming amount of love and gratitude for my family and friends. I have felt connected to others also walking through grief and loss. Many of my close friends have been walking hand in hand with grief as well- many of those close to me have been coping with their own personal losses and I've been reminded that there are angels here on earth and in heaven. The community of people I'm walking beside on this journey of life right now are my earthly angels, and I know I have angels like Sonja in heaven cheering us all on as well. 

I live with this huge anxiety of wanting to tell everyone how much I love them because I never want people to question their importance to me. I'm scared that any moment could be my last with someone that I love and that thought terrifies me. My life mission is to let everyone in my life know how important they are to me. I am so blessed and so lucky to call Sonja my friend. Loving people deeply is beautiful and what life is all about, but missing those you love can be excruciating. 

I've been going to a lot of therapy sessions over the years, and one of the things my therapist has walked me through is the "Container Method" for processing trauma. This is a visualization practice your therapist walks you through to process really intense feelings. The whole idea of the container method is to think of a safe place in your mind and to visualize it. For me, my safe place is a beach anywhere on the north shore of Oahu, at sunrise. I went to my first year of university on the North Shore of Oahu and I visited the beaches in this area often. I remember sitting on the beach many times being reminded that my worries really were just a drop in the ocean. The ocean always gave me perspective. I'd close my eyes and visualize being on the beach at the beginning of a new day, with pastel colors in the sky, a soft glow from the sun and warmth wrapping around my skin with the sounds of the ocean and feeling of sand between my toes. The container I visualized in my mind was this black volcanic cliffside cave. The cave has an opening that I could open and close with a big moss covered rock. Once you have your container visualized in your mind, you then you name your emotions, the things that are bothering you, your traumas, and you put them "in the container" or for me, I put them in "the cave". Then, one by one, you begin to process these items intentionally- with a plan to build emotional resilience.. things like meeting with a counsellor, journalling, self care practices, exercise, meditation, mindfulness, healthy friendships, pursuing your hobbies, etc. Over time, item by item, you can process these things with support and begin to heal. 

Healing isn't linear and healing takes effort. You can't just put things into your box and keep them there. That would lead to emotional hoarding, which, if you aren't aware- isn't very healthy. You can't leave things bottled up or your container will explode. So, even when I don't want to... I remind myself that I have to go up to that volcanic cave, push the big moss covered rock to the side, and get to work on healthy healing. To the people who have stood by my side as I move that heavy rock and process my grief; thank you. To those currently in the process of moving their own, big, heavy rocks- I want you to know that you're not alone. In the words of my dear friend Sonja, YOU are precious. YOU are of value. YOU are worth more than gold.

Grief. I feel I've been holding your hand the past few years now and I've wanted to let go. But I now understand that I'll never fully be able to let go of you because you're an integral part of this human experience. Grief, love, pain, joy... It's all part of it. I wouldn't be me if I didn't quote a song right now, so... I'll leave this blog with one of my favorite songs by Jordan Davis. "That's part of it. Sometimes you're gonna hurt like hell and have some scars from it. Leave you with a story to tell. You live and learn and good ones go, you find out on down the road.. and when you lay it all out and get down to the heart of it, man that's just life and that's all part of it."