2life+

I’ve written and deleted the opening line to this post four times because I don’t think there’s any good or right way to start it. I shouldn’t be writing it. I shouldn’t have to. I’m still working on accepting the fact that what I’m writing is real.

A year ago this weekend we were in Folly Beach, SC, celebrating my bachelor party and my upcoming wedding when a drunk driver named Andrew Robert Lanzaro swerved off the road and hit two of my friends. My friend Ryan was seriously injured and my friend Justin Plumlee was killed.

Man, I miss him. I don’t talk about him on social media much because I can’t bring myself to put those kinds of feelings out there with the other stuff we cloud our feeds up with every day. This is so much more important than any of that and so much bigger. But I think about him every day. All the time.

The feelings that come from missing him aren’t what I would have expected them to be. You expect to cry. Sometimes it doesn’t happen. And sometimes it catches you out of NOWHERE, like when you hear a song or you start to laugh over an old story and your laughter turns to sobs, or you do something as simple as open your phone and TimeHop reminds you that two years ago you were hanging out with Plumlee.

Sometimes I go on autopilot. It’s the worst. It’s not fair to my family or my friends or Amanda. My body becomes a shell and I float off into the distance without realizing it until way later. Sometimes days. It’s like when you drive your car and you realize that you haven’t thought about the action of driving in hours and you wonder how you even got to your destination, but hey, you’re there, right?

I tell stories about Justin whenever I can. People that knew him love it. People that didn’t know him or that don’t know how to react to someone telling a story about someone that tragically passed get uncomfortable. But I keep telling them.

Justin was living laughter. I try to live my life in a way that asks “what would Justin do here” or “what would Justin think of this?” There have been moments in the last year where I’ve been disappointed in myself because I feel as if I’ve made decisions that wouldn’t have checked out with him. A self-loathing vibe that I’ve never experienced and that I know is exaggerated in my head and my heart.

I’m really, really good at putting on a face. Those of you that know me know that I’m a positive guy. I try to preach the half-full life and I try to go into situations with an easygoing, open heart. I can get away with this most of the time, but honestly, I’m crushed. I’m fucked up. I’m heartbroken. I’m in repair.

Ryan called me out about this in February. Words can’t explain how thankful I am that Ryan is OK.

It was the first time we’d seen each other since my wedding day, and THAT day, of course, was beautiful and lovely and the brightest spot in the past year. I’m the luckiest guy on the planet to be married to someone as amazing and supportive as Amanda, and I’ll talk more to that later.

We got dinner with Ryan and Kellie and Kevin and caught up on life, recovery, everything. I was on autopilot without realizing it. Ryan called me out a few days later. He told me to go talk to a therapist.

I told him I would.

I didn’t.

He kept bugging me about it. I told him I would. I Googled people and support groups.

I didn’t.

My family told me to look into it. Amanda told me I should. I caught up with my friend Daniel in early April and he asked me if I was OK.

“I’m good, mannnnn. I’m good.”

“No, really. Are you OK?”

I thought I was a good bullshitter, but the people that know me best can see right through it.

On April 11, Quaker Lake Camp held a day of service for Justin called “Paths for Plumlee.” It was beautiful and nostalgic and you could feel him there with us, in the place where we first met, a place that was so important to him where he touched countless lives.

On April 16 I went to my first therapy session.

Ryan, thank you.

I’ve been going once a week since. Sometimes it’s awesome. Sometimes I don’t feel anything. Sometimes I tell stories and jokes the whole time because I like to talk and it’s a defense mechanism.

Sometimes we have breakthroughs and I cry my face off.

I’ve been finding ways to cope with the pain the last year. Sometimes I drink too much. Sometimes I find other distractions that are just as harmful. It’s stupid and I know it is. I get mad at myself. The self-loathing comes back.

I read a To Write Love On Her Arms blog a while back that talked about the BEFORE and AFTER that you experience through trauma. You become someone else. The BEFORE is gone and the AFTER is who you will be for the rest of your life.

The thing I’ve been fighting the hardest is accepting the fact that I’m living life as an AFTER now.

The BEFORE version of me was on top of the world. I’d just started a new job at my alma mater, I was on a trip with my best friends, my BROTHERS, and I was about to marry the most beautiful girl in the world.

Then the accident happened. It sent a shockwave through SO MANY PEOPLES’ LIVES. I think about and look at how it’s affected all of us. We all heal differently. We all handle things differently. None of it should have happened.

Everyone’s AFTER is different than the BEFORES of August 30, 2014.

I’m working on accepting mine. I’m working to be more like who I was BEFORE. I recently asked my Mom if I seemed different than I was BEFORE. I told her to be blunt. She was.

“You’re cynical now. You have something snarky to say about everything.”

I asked for it and I knew what she was going to say, but I needed to hear it. That’s what Moms are for. Moms, Dads, wives, husbands, siblings, good friends, they call us out for the stupid shit we sometimes don’t even realize we’re guilty of.

Mom, thank you.

Amanda’s had to deal with my AFTER more than anyone. She’s been on the front lines with me since the accident. I told her not to drive down to Folly Beach after it happened. She didn’t listen.

Seeing her that day was like seeing a sunset after a storm. She was the best sight I’ve ever seen. Shoot, though. Her on our wedding day. When I get really sad or start to see the mental pictures of the violent images from the accident in my head, I close my eyes.

I close my eyes and I SEE her at the end of the aisle. I see my boys to my left and our families in front of us and the walkway. I see the sun shining behind her and I SWEAR to you there’s an AURA of LIGHT around her. Golden rays from Heaven or somewhere like it. Maybe from her heart. That keeps me going. That light in the dark.

There’s always a light in the dark, I promise.

Amanda is my brightest light.

Our first year of marriage hasn’t been easy. No one said it would be. I check out sometimes and it’s selfish and I don’t realize it but I’ll coast and all the sudden it’s a new month. Amanda has been a lighthouse through all of this. She’s stood strong and been there and helped me find my way. Even though it’s damn hard, she understands that healing takes time and she’s been my ROCK.

Amanda, thank you.

I still look at pictures of Plumlee all the time. I listen to old voicemails that I have.

“Hey, man. Wanted to see what you were doing for the game tonight…” is one of them. It’s from 2012. I don’t delete things, and I guess I’m glad for that.

I watch old videos.

I wear a University of Florida hat that was his. His parents gave it to me with a collection of his stuff. I don’t even like UF, but it’s one of my most prized possessions. I made sure to wear it on our honeymoon.

Besides going to therapy, I try to find light in other things. Jamie Tworkowski’s book If You Feel Too Much couldn’t have come out at a better time. I’ve never smiled and cried so hard to a book before. He talks about love and loss and hope and it’s so relatable. I encourage you to read it if you’re feeling down or lost about anything in life. It’s another light.

He talks about coping and he talks about second chances and finding your way again. He reminds you that you are not alone. One of the most powerful passages came in the end of the book, originally from a blog post he wrote. Here are a few of the points that, in my mind, were written in bold, all caps, and a really large font.

If this world is too painful, stop and rest.

It’s okay to stop and rest.

This life – it’s not a contest, not a race, not a performance, not a thing that you win.

It’s okay to slow down.

You are here for more than getting by.

You don’t have to fake it.

You do not have to fake it.

Other people feel this way too.

If your heart is broken, it’s okay to say your heart is broken.

If you feel stuck, it’s okay to say you feel stuck.

If you can’t let go, it’s okay to say you can’t let go.

You are not alone in these places.

It’s okay – whatever you need and however long it takes – it’s okay.

My book is bent and highlighted and underlined and stained with sand and saltwater from the beach and my tears. You can borrow my copy if you’d like. You’ll see “Plumlee” in so, so many of my notes among the stories.

Plumlee is everywhere and it makes me smile through the tears. Ryan is alive and recovering that makes me smile through the tears. I know that we’ll talk about all of this when we’re old and in rocking chairs and we’ll tell our kids and grandkids about Justin and we’ll ALWAYS raise a toast to Plumlee.

To Plumlee, forever.

I wanted to get through the year anniversary of this. I know that there’s not an on/off switch for our grief or our recovery. I know that this will affect us for the rest of our lives.

But I also know that the first day after the anniversary is actually the second time that we’ve lived that day after the accident. And we’re doing our best to move forward and embrace our AFTERS.

I know I can’t be the person I was BEFORE. I’m an AFTER and I can’t change it. So I’ll keep working on this embracing the AFTER thing.

Thank you all for your support. Thank you for your love. Thank you for putting up with this new guy and for knowing that I’m still in there somewhere.

There’s always a light in the dark. Plumlee’s lives on in our smiles and our laughs.

There is always a light in the dark.

Peace to you and yours.

D

2015.

Hi.

Drew here. I’m a grown up now. Blame 2014. Heck of a year. Blur of a year. Aren't they all? 

A year that hit every possible emotion from one extreme to the other. A year of love. A year of loss. A year of growing up.

I’m sitting on the floor of our living room in front of our stereo, blasting music and going with it. Writing to write.

I don’t know where to pick back up with this. You know those friends you have where you go through life by their side, and then life HAPPENS, and you don’t see them for a while? Those friends that you haven’t seen for six months or a year or two years or more, but as soon as you see each other or talk on the phone, you pick back up RIGHT where you left off the last time you were together? Those friends are the best friends.

Writing isn’t one of those friends. It’s more like working out. Spend six months in the gym and get your shit together and feel good about yourself. Take two months off and BOOM, it’s gone. THAT is writing. But you always want it back. You want that groove and you want that confidence and you want to be the “beach body” of writing.

I’ve got a long way to go to get it back. I read my old shit and it makes me smile and it makes me cry and it punches me in the face with nostalgia.

One of the most common things I see in my old writing is the promise to WRITE MORE. Might be one of the most broken promises I’ve ever made. Happens though, doesn’t it. LIFE, eh? Is that an excuse?

Nah. It’s life.

But life is good. It is.

I’m thankful that a lot of my pieces are together. I’m thankful for my wife. I’m thankful for my family and my friends and my job and my dog.

I miss the hell out of my friend Justin.

Writing is a resolution. It’s gotta be a HABIT. It’s gotta be your version of nail-biting or knuckle cracking or obsessively working out.

I saw an article yesterday that said we need 66 days to gain a new habit. It was written as a way to break free of your bad habits and replace them with better habits. I’m more of a cold turkey guy if I can swing it. And trust me, I’m not making any promises about how often I’ll be writing in the near future.

“Why not, Drew?”

Because of TIME. Man, time. Time is money. I believe it. Time is FEAR, in a way.

Think about how our fears change over the years - The boogeyman. Thunderstorms. That big hill you don’t really want to skateboard down, but you will anyway to impress your friends. Saying “no” to something you don’t want to do in front of people you think matter. Choosing a college. Figuring out what you want to do when you get out of school. Choosing a place to live. The fear of being alone.

They change. They change like the SEASONS.

And now? My fear? TIME. Finding time to do the things I love while spending time with the people I love while we’re all HERE.

Gotta pocket that, though. Gotta pocket it and put it in your wallet or in your heart. Can’t let it control you but you can’t forget about it, either.

Time is nuts. The fact that it’s 2015 is nuts. But you’re here. I’m here. We’re all HERE, together.

TOGETHER.

The holidays were a blur of travel and family and love and traditions, but one of the biggest insights I had over break was that no matter how you feel, please, PLEASE, embrace the time that you have.  

This one came to me, and I want you to run with it:

Life is ridiculous in so many ways. Tragic and beautiful. Enjoy every second, including the ones where you wish you were asleep.

Hold on to it. I’ll do my best to do the same.

Happy New Year.

Justin Plumlee was my brother.

I met him at staff week at Quaker Lake Camp in 2003. We bonded while washing the chairs behind the old lodge with a hose and washcloths. Our friend Jay was there, and we laughed over conversation about Umbros and future wives.

We called him by his last name. Plumlee.

Plumlee and I laughed. He was the funniest, best guy. It didn’t matter if you went on a road trip with him or spent two minutes with him. Laughter and Justin were a package deal.

Plumlee was the biggest sports fan. We watched games together and we talked trash about our rivalries and screamed about the teams we both loved. Our State/Carolina rivalry was almost as strong as our friendship.

I’ll never forget the 2004 State/Carolina football game because of Plumlee. I was at home listening on the radio because it was blacked out on TV. State scored a touchdown at the last second and I flipped. But then the unthinkable happened – they put the score up on the board and took it back DOWN. They claimed it wasn’t a touchdown. It was blasphemy.

A minute after this 180 of emotions, I hear my phone ring. It’s Plumlee. I knew exactly why he was calling.

“What the HELL do you want, man!?” I yelled into the phone, knowing he was calling to rag on me about the game.

“Dude, I was calling to say “hey”.”

He’d been leading the Quaker beach retreat, and he honestly had no idea what had happened. As much trash as Plumlee liked to talk about our rivalries, he cared more about our friendship and how I was doing in my life. This was an innocent coincidence that still makes me smile. Of course, I know that if he had known about the game, he would have been calling about that.

We took road trips together. We went to Braves games in 2004, 2007, 2008, and 2012. We sang ridiculous songs in the car rides and always pointed out the “Peach Butt” in Gaffney, SC, on the way.

We drove around Greensboro and scared people. There was a while there where we’d go to Hams once a week, catch up on life, and drive downtown scaring anyone we could find. One time we scared a dude so bad he dropped his milkshake in front of his girlfriend. Another time we scared a couple and two minutes later my car died. Karma.

We also blasted “Separate Ways” by Journey and air-played instruments like in the music video as people stared at us at stoplights. We would text each other whenever we heard the song on the radio. I always smile when I hear it, and I always will.

We chatted our way through relationships. Plumlee and I both got stuck with that “hopeless romantic” heart. Sometimes it paid off and sometimes it didn’t. We got each other through the heartbreak and we celebrated the love.

Speaking of love, Plumlee loved Amanda. He was the first friend of mine Amanda really got to know. He and Ben and Kyle moved in nearby when we first started dating, and we hung out all the time.

I hung out with Plumlee the day after Amanda and I had our first date. We went mountain biking and he left me in the dust. He was an amazing mountain biker and outdoorsman. We finished riding and I told him about “this girl” I’d hung out with the night before, and how I had a good feeling about her. He was stoked, and hoped it worked out.

Years later, he was one of the first people we called after I proposed. Amanda and I were outside in the parking lot of the Cat’s Cradle making calls. We woke Plumlee up to tell him the news. He was in Atlanta for a Braves game and the first thing he said to me was “It’s about time.” I could hear the smile on his face.

We took him out to Grays Tavern to ask him to be a groomsman in our wedding. He said “of course,” and that he’d be honored. The Panthers beat the Bucs that day. They beat them again today. Plumlee is everywhere.

He brought his groomsman suit to my bachelor party weekend at Folly Beach. He wanted to make sure it was the right color. He was so excited, and I was so happy for him to be a part of our wedding. I’ll never forget the smile he had on his face when he showed me that suit. Of course it was the right color. It was perfect.

Plumlee and I took a walk on the beach on that Friday. We walked to the pier and talked about life and old times. He asked about my friends and I asked about his. We laughed over old memories and talked about things we wanted to do in the future. We pointed out the fact that, no matter how long it had been since we’d seen each other, we always picked up right where we left off before.

Those are the best friends. Friends like this are the family members we get to choose.

Justin Plumlee was my brother.

We celebrated his life this weekend. It was a beautiful service and it was so crowded that it was standing room only. There was so much love and laughter in the air. He was celebrated with tears and stories and music and smiles.

It was perfectly Plumlee.

So thankful for being fortunate enough to have him in my life. So thankful for his family. So thankful that my friend Ryan is going to be OK. So thankful for the people that were there and so sorry that this happened. So thankful for love and for hope. So thankful for friends and family. So thankful for hugs from loved ones and strangers. So thankful for laughter and for taking life one step at a time.

So thankful for the example that Justin Plumlee set by the way he lived – a life of love, laughter, and kindness. A life where you leave a positive impact on everyone you come into contact with. A life we should all strive to live.

Plumlee, we love you.

Gary, Terri, and Morgan, we love you. Mark, Gray, Evelyn, Ben, Kyle, and Sara, we love you. Quaker Lake family, we love you.

Ryan, we love you.

Kathy, we love you.

Thanks to everyone for being who you are. Thanks for reminding us that we are not alone during these times. Thanks for love and hugs and laughter.

Thanks to Mom, Dad, Carra, Debbie, Stan and family and friends and TWLOHA. Thanks to Jess and Phil and Daniel and Nate and Badders and James and Barry. Thanks to Brooke and Bea and Kellie and Cate and Meredith.

Thanks to Amanda for being the best friend and love a guy could ever hope to be with.

We celebrated Plumlee this weekend, and we’ll continue to celebrate him by striving to be our best, because that’s what he taught us to do.

And the next time we see each other, we’ll pick up where we left off.

Love you. D