They don't make emoticons for this

Denver was simply a layover location on that long trip home.  A moment in a fog that held the inevitability of what lay beyond at bay.  I held on to the thinking that if we didn't make it home to Oklahoma then the terrible reality of our loss would not, could not, be real.  And so we delayed our departure for as long as we could.

The morning in Denver I woke up to numerous messages on my phone regarding funeral plans, visitation possibilities, notes from friends and family, and the only thing I could do was curl my body into the fetal position and cry.  And then I found myself doing an odd thing, and this happened from the hour we found out we lost Joey on, I pulled myself together and tried to convince Scott that I was okay.  It stopped the tears but felt like I was suffocating.  We all have our ways of coping, or pretending to cope anyway.

We left Denver around 4 or 5:00 that Wednesday and drove through to Oklahoma.  Our check engine light came on at some point in this mad dash and we made a note to get it looked at.  We stumbled into my parents' house at 5:00 AM, just before the sun began its climb over the horizon.  My mom, always on alert, saw that we were safely in, said her hellos, and went back to bed.  Scott and I fell into each other, holding on for life, until we passed out, not to awaken until well after noon later that day.

When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I found an empty house.  And I realized that I was okay with that.  I needed time to process that I was back in Oklahoma after leaving just weeks before.  I wasn't supposed to be back this quickly but here I was.  I found the obituary laid out for me on the counter in the kitchen, Joey's face in black and white next to man who had lived to be 94.

     Joseph Paul Doyle, 28, passed away suddenly on the morning of July 4, 2010, in Washington, DC.  Joseph was born on August 14, 1981, in Oklahoma City, to John and Paula Doyle.  He attended Yukon High School where he played football and participated in speech & debate, graduating in 2000.  He graduated from the University of Virginia in 2004 with a degree in English Language and Literature and was a rising third-year law student at the College of William & Mary.  He was working this summer at the law firm of King & Spalding inWashington, DC, and planned to study in Madrid this fall. 
     Joseph was an excellent student whose many activities included Model UN and the Jefferson Literary and Debating Society at the University of Virginia, as well as the William & Mary Bill of Rights Journal and the Law School's Election Law Society at the College of William & Mary.  He was also an avid traveler, a lover of books, and a great fan of baseball, soccer, and Evelyn Waugh.
     Joseph is survived by his parents, John and Paula Doyle; his grandmother, Della Fauss; his brother Mark Doyle; his loving companion, Tina Shaughnessy; as well as many friends, family members, colleagues, and fellow students who mourn his passing.  He will be greatly missed by all who knew him.
     Funeral services will be held at 10:30 a.m. on Friday, July 9, at St. Charles Boromeo Catholic Church.  Those who wish to make a donation, in lieu of flowers, may contribute to an endowed bookshelf in his name for the Jefferson Society's rooms at UVA.  
http://www.mercer-adams.com/index.cfm


As I sat, Scott began making arrangements to get the car into the shop.  It was about this point that I began to realize I had been operating on autopilot for a few days.  My internet searches began to revolve around understanding Joey's accident and trying to make sense of it all.  My phone buzzed with the occasional text message as friends began to figure out how the next day would unfold.  I spoke with my mom after reading the obituary as we wondered about the visitation; I had heard that there would be one but it had not been officially announced.  A friend, Keri, had heard that there would be one, although the time was uncertain.  My mom, never one to waffle, called the funeral home and found out that the visitation would precede the service the next day.

Scott found someone who could take the car in and so we left with plans to take care of that, get a drink from Sonic and then head to my sister's house to arrange clothing for the funeral.  After being on the road for a month, we had nothing suitable for funeral services and I had one moment of panic in Denver over this before I realized that it was out of my hands.  I could always get clothing from somewhere.

The exhaust flex pipe going to the catalytic converter had a hole that needed to be repaired.  We were leaking exhaust and, as Scott has said, we don't like exhaust leaks.*  The mechanic had to order a part and asked us to come back the next day so he could complete the repairs.  From there we headed to my sister Rebecca's house to play funeral dress up.  The wonderful thing about her house is the two small people that live there.  My nephew and niece are some of the funniest kids and they helped tremendously, as only little kids can at these moments.  Becca had a dress that fit me and she found a complete outfit for Scott.  This meant shirt, pants, socks, and shoes--like I said, we had nothing.  While one of us tried on clothes, the other kept the kids busy.  I stood and watched while my nephew tried to feed paper into the treadmill.  He would place the paper at the end of the belt and then physically move the belt until the paper was at the mouth.  After several attempts at trying to simply move the belt and have the paper go in (it wouldn't), he talked his sister into holding the paper flat while he moved the belt. In this way, they fed 4 pieces of paper into the treadmill before they realized that I was watching.  Both froze, looked up at me, and then did what little kids do when caught--they created a diversion.  Ellie fell off the treadmill, hit her head, blamed it on Owen, which caused Becca to come out and get on to Owen.  He started crying, Ellie was still crying, and Becca was in the middle of it trying to figure out what happened and make someone apologize.  I think they both ended up apologizing in the end.

From here my memory gets very fuzzy.  I don't remember the evening after this point.  My memory picks back up the next morning.  It is funny how memory works; some things are incredibly strong, burned into the memory and others disappear and there are only ghostly shadows of events left.  Memory is tenuous at best.  It serves but not always well and not always accurately. At points of stress, it becomes even more so as our minds reel, trying to find some semblance of equilibrium.  Memory has this way of providing gaps where you are unable to recall and then at other times it hits you with such force it is equivalent to a punch to the solar plexus, leaving you gasping for breath at the force of the memory.  The acute pain, as everything around you forces you to remember, to recall, to make heretofore unseen connections in your universe.  That cat on the fence compels the mind to somehow connect it to that vague memory from Halloween when you were twelve.  That smell reminds you of hanging out during the holidays. That sound brings to mind that time.  And then your body reacts of its own volition, that gasp for air, the suddenness with which the tears spring into your eyes, making you pause mid-sentence, mid-thought, and cope.  We rely so heavily on memory, on our perception of how things were, for perspective.  We cling to our memories as a way to keep our loss alive, to keep them present.  And while I struggle against the pain, I am also grateful that I have those moments.





*Scott had terrible car troubles years ago from an exhaust leak.  The car he was driving at the time was trying to kill him and he inhaled large amounts of exhaust in his drives across the city.  As a result of this, he has a sensitivity to exhaust and develops awful headaches now.

Mile high, so high

We made it to Denver just around midnight, worn out, emotionally exhausted, and (for me at least) out of my head.  I was numb.  I felt like just a little ghost of myself, shrunken in, lost, and disoriented.  It took me a while to process information and I would find myself just staring at the person addressing me.  And so, in this state, we reunited with Scott's brother, Vann and his girlfriend, T, who had stayed awake long enough to meet us.


We carefully avoided the situation that we faced, making light small talk, catching up on life in general and our trip.  Vann has this dog, Watson, that kept me together.  Dogs are therapeutic and I now understand why they use them in elderly care and therapy sessions.  Watson:

Yeah, he's awesome.  When he "works", he sits on your feet, warming them up.  T has this funny little sketchy dog that Vann nicknamed Shakes.  Her real name is Sophie but he said she reminds him of a character on Muppets from Space.  Sophie is sweet, super smart, extremely fast but very skittish around anyone but T.  I won her over eventually with treats and frisbee tosses.  Watson was less interested in the frisbee but took me up on every treat I offered him.  


We took the next day to recoup from the shock and the quick turn around from Utah with plans to head to Oklahoma that evening when it cooled down.  Vann took us around Denver to show us the new sites that have sprung up.  We ate lunch at Heidi's Brooklyn Deli.  They have a killer egg salad sandwich and some pretty good potato salad there should you stop in.


One of the newer issues that has cropped up in the years since we left Colorado is the medical marijuana industry.  Although the state began accepting and processing medical marijuana registry applications in 2001, initiatives have passed allowing it to proliferate the markets there.  The "Green Mile" has dispensary after dispensary along it.  Some interesting facts about CO and the medical marijuana registry (according to the Colorado Department of Public Health and Environment, Colorado Medical Marijuana Registry, as of Nov. 2009):

• 30, 919 total number of patients who currently possess valid Registry ID cards
• 74% of approved applicants are male
• The average age of all patients is 40
• Patients on the Registry represent all the debilitating conditions covered under Amendment 20. Severe pain accounts for 91% of all reported conditions; muscle spasms account for the second-most reported condition at 30%
• Over 900 physicians have signed for patients in Colorado

Memories and tears

There have been several times where I have reached for my phone to send a message or picture to Joey only to realize that he is no longer there to send some witticism.  Scott has caught me staring at the phone in my hand and confused and pained look on my face as I'm not quite sure what to do with myself.  My only response is "I would have sent that to Joey."  Usually Scott's answer is simply, "I thought about that too."

This trip has become bittersweet.  We have grand adventures, a big move to a new place, great food and sights but we have the loss of a wonderful person mixed in.  Now that we are in one place, my grief, delayed more by the everyday necessities that being on the road required, begins to surface oddly, unexpectedly, and with that strange mix of happy memories and overwhelming sadness.  And I always end up smiling as I remember all those memories I have; I just cannot help smiling through the tears.  Joey was just like that.

Today is Joey's 29th birthday.  Happy birthday, my friend.

Down from Zion to the plains of reality

We left Zion National Park, headed north to Bryce Canyon.  As we pulled from the park and the inevitable lack of cell service, Scott's phone began going crazy.  Mine ran out of juice while I was snapping away at all the rocks we were seeing.  Message after message and voicemails from my family along the lines of "Call me ASAP", "CALL ME OR MOM. It's an EMERGENCY", "Call me when you get a chance".

I hate these kinds of messages because you never know what news awaits you on the other end.  Messages and voicemails like this mean that you will not be the same as you were, your reality will not be the same as it was, before you make that call.  You have to brace yourself for that confrontation with a reality you don't want to exist.  And there is always the thinking of "If I don't call them back, nothing will change."

With shaking hands I called my youngest sister, Bee.  I figured if it was my grandmother or my dad (although there was a text from him so I knew that would be ok) that she would be better equipped to tell me than my mom would.

Our conversation, however, proved to be scarier than helpful.

Me:  Hey, it's me.  What's going on?
Bee:  voice wavering with tears Oh, Anna.....it's bad....
My stomach drops and I begin to shake as the adrenaline and endorphines flood my system.
Me:  rougher than I intend to be What is it?  Who is it?
Bee:  choking, sniffling  .....I can't tell you.
Me:  Should I call Mama then?
Bee:  Yeah, call Mom.  I'm so sorry...
And we hang up.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god

At this point I have enough adrenaline pumping through me and I am shaking so badly I can't hit the buttons on my phone.  It's bad.  It's really bad if she can't tell me.  I am sure I am shaking the car as we drive down the road.  Scott keeps looking over at me, trying to figure it out.

Me:  She couldn't tell me.  I have to call Mama.
Scott nods and keeps driving as I finally get the button pushed.

Me:  Mama, what's going on?  I called Bee but she couldn't tell me anything."
Mama:  Anna....I'm afraid I have some bad news...
(ohgodohgodohgodohgod.....) Now I'm really shaking, preparing myself for the awful news that my grandmother has passed away or that my dad is in the hospital or something has happened to my nephew or niece.
Me:  OK.....
Mama:  It's Joey, Anna.
Me:  sharper than I intend to be Joey....Doyle...?
Mama:  Yeah.  There was an accident...over July 4th....Anna, Joey was killed.
Me:  WHAT?!  HOW?!
(I'm sucking air so quickly at this point that I am close to hyperventilating)
Me to Scott:  Joey's been killed.
Mama:  A train accident in DC
Me to Scott:  A train accident in DC
Me:  What kind of train accident?
Mama:  He was waiting for the train and he fell off the platform
Me:  What?  Like a subway train?  How does that happen?  That doesn't make sense.  Are you sure about this?
Mama:  Yeah, someone sent a message to all the neighborhood kids on Facebook.
Me:  Oh no...
Mama:  There's an article on the William and Mary site
Me:  Services?  When is everything happening?  When do we need to be back home?
Mama:  I don't know, sweetie.  There isn't any information yet.  They haven't posted the obit.
Me:  drawing a deep breath OK, I'll let you know after I talk to some people.

My next call was to a good friend from high school, K.  I had to be the one to break the news to her.  We shared that moment of "if we don't have evidence this can't be truth moment" until she checked the William and Mary website.  I explained that I had gotten several odd, out-of-the-blue messages from people to call them even though we hadn't talked in years but that I hadn't called them because our bank account had been hacked and I was skeptical of anything odd coming through.  She had received some of these as well and would make the calls after all.

And so we sat at a visitor's center somewhere between Zion and Bryce Canyon and I cried and Scott held me while we tried to figure it out.  We finally realized that it was already Tuesday and we needed to make it back across the country to Oklahoma.  Scott began the long drive back for us.  He called his family to let them know and I was getting messages and calls from K as she was finding out more.  The funeral was to be Friday morning and we were so far from there.

Scott called his brother to be sure it was ok that we crashed with him in Denver.  His brother was living there with his girlfriend whom we had not yet met.  We drove the 10 hours back to Denver in one go, only stopping for gas.  Our drive was lovely and between my crying jags I was able to get some photos of the Utah to Colorado landscape.

You need to walk among the towering cliffs, or challenge your courage in a small narrow canyon

The day we left Flagstaff I had to track down a FedEx Kinkos to print and fax over my mid-term grades.  This was a fairly easy process once I had the attention of the workers to show me how to operate the machines.

From Flagstaff we headed out with the advice from a friend to drive through Zion National Park and camp in Bryce Canyon.

When we started out on this journey Scott and I had decided that we wanted to avoid as many interstates as possible and travel on the scenic by-ways.  The result was a continuous delight in the random, quirky little places we chanced upon.  One of the greats was the Fredonia-Vermillion Cliffs Scenic By-Way through Arizona.  These are some of the images we captured along this jaunt:

See road in the last picture?  It got pretty tight in some spots along this by-way.  As quickly as this valley opened up here at this point, we found ourselves climbing in altitude with the shrub giving way to tall pine trees that were similar to the flora we saw in Flagstaff.  After being on the road for a while  we began to see signage for the north rim of the Grand Canyon.  We were only a few miles from where that great opening was.  We decided to skip the Grand Canyon on this trip since we had been there only three years before.  Being near the rim was enough this time.

As the sun began to fall below the horizon, we began to seek out campsites.  We tried several places before we decided that Jacob Creek National Park Area would suit us for the night.

For this leg of the trip, away now from family and friends, we had to get into our stock of foodstuff.  What do you eat on the road?  For us it meant Oriental Flavor Top Ramen (the only vegetarian ramen out there, apparently) and Oreos and Chips Ahoy with iced tea.  Yeah, it's simple and a little college freshman but it doesn't take much energy, it is quick, and it is filling enough.  See Scott's happy, sated expression:

The mugs I received from one of the Philosophy students at U of C as a going away gift.  I'm sure he had no idea how much these would be cherished and used.  They are great for everything.

As it got dark we began to hear this high pitched squeaking above our heads, close and away, close and away, low and high.  It dipped and dived, always squeaking.  I finally realized, delightedly, that we had a colony of bats flying around above our campsite.  While we sat listening, an older man and his son whom we had seen drive up on a motorcycle earlier, came over and chatted us up for an hour or two before they retired for the night.  They were, as the father told us, on a father-son bike tour from Nebraska.  They were part of the Christian Motorcycle Association and were planning for a rally later this fall.  We shared pictures and adventures and finally learned that the father had grown up spending summers in Gunnison, CO.  We explained that we had gone to school there, lived in Crested Butte for several years, and found one more connection on the road.  It was nice to have company that evening.  What a neat experience for that kid, spending summers on the back of his dad's bike, just cruising the States.

The next morning we departed Jacob's Creek early because the sun comes blazing in the tent at terrible hours.  We kept to the scenic by-way and caught more pictures of rocks along the way to Zion.  There are some bizarre, alien landscapes out in the Southwest.

We also saw the first of what would become an odd phenomenon (to me, at least) of placing letters on hills.  This happens across this area of Arizona, Colorado and Utah.  

And then the landscape changed.  As you approach Zion National Park, the rocks change color and texture.  I kept blinking, widening my eyes, trying to take it all in, hoping my little camera could capture the emotion of what I felt (you can laugh at me here, it's ok...).  I had never seen landscape like this before and I felt tiny and very young.  I thought, "I get it! I understand the national park thing.  Zion, you are amazing!"

And then I realized we weren't even in the park yet.  

Now we're in the park.

The Kolob Canyons:

Ok, admit it, you'd geek out over these rocks, too.