Eventually Got Home

A speaking event in Virginia and dinner in Asheville and then things took a turn.

This post is dedicated to my friend Angie in St. Paul, who said goodbye to her beloved pup Buddy last week. I was Team Buddy in a major way and I’m sending love to Angie as she grieves.

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I started feeling sick last Friday, took a COVID test, and that was that. After five days mostly spent in bed in a Nashville hotel room, it sure feels good to be sitting at my desk in Florida. But some special stuff happened at the start of the trip and I’m excited to share here. If you want to help me pay for five unexpected days in a hotel surviving on Uber Eats, upgrading to paid goes a long way.

Wednesday, August 2

My brother Jesse was born 46 years ago today. He died the day he was born. This photo was taken back in March. It’s the place where my parents scattered Jesse’s ashes, in Emerald Isle, North Carolina. That’s the Bogue Inlet Pier in the background. My mom and dad owned a surf shop called Salt Creek a couple blocks away. As I shared in the piece “Back to the Start,” I didn’t know what I was looking for when I went to North Carolina a few months ago. The trip ended up bringing me closer to my parents. I felt like I was able to meet them in their grief, to join them at their first baby’s funeral, nearly 46 years later. Today that number is precise. The best day became the worst, and then over time the wound became a scar. My parents aren’t haunted by the loss. They ended up with three healthy children. My mom always says, her dream came true. We know that isn’t the case for everyone. Life isn’t fair and much is mystery. We’re all dealt such different cards.

I’m typing this on a layover. I happen to be flying to North Carolina today, for tomorrow’s event in Virginia. I didn’t even realize it was Jesse’s birthday until my mom texted my sisters and I a little while ago. I suppose I’m sharing this mostly to honor my parents, to tell them I love them. On the anniversary of an impossible day. But they survived. Like I said, the wound is now a scar. In choosing to tell the story here, on behalf of my family, I’m sending love to anyone who can relate. If you’ve lost a baby. If you wonder if your dream will ever come true. If you’ve had to let a dream go. If the wound is not yet a scar. I promise you’re not alone. May you experience connection. May healing find you. May peace and someday joy.

Thank You to my dear friend Eric Brown for capturing this moment, and for being with me that day. I could not have asked for better company.

Friday, August 4

Since the beginning of the year, I’ve spent most Sunday evenings with the people you see here, meeting for three to four hours at a time, choosing to be vulnerable, choosing to share what’s going on in our lives, everything from mental health and career to self-care and relationships. Bono says that laughter is the evidence of freedom. We’ve done a lot of laughing. And of course some crying too. Ultimately what we’ve found is safety and connection and friendship. But all of those conversations, for the last seven months, took place on Zoom. Last night we got together for dinner in Asheville. Bri, Catherine, Charis, and Colleen happened to be meeting there for a few days, on the same day I happened to be speaking a couple hours away in Virginia. My original plan was to drive to Nashville after yesterday’s event, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to spend a few hours with this crew. So last night it happened. And it was truly great. They’re like sisters to me now. What a gift to be known. What a gift to feel like someone truly sees you, truly hears you, truly cares.

I believe connection is possible. And the formula might actually be somewhat simple. If two people are willing to be intentional about spending time together, if both are willing to be vulnerable, if both are willing to talk about the real stuff, and if that vulnerability is met with presence, with attention, with listening, with empathy and kindness and compassion, I believe this is how connection happens. If you can experience that with one other person, you find a friend. If you can experience that with a group of people, it’s something truly special.

I want to note that there are other names and faces connected to this group, people who have journeyed with us, for one month or six or in between. Brittany and Janelle are two of those. Angie and Jaden are two more. I’m so thankful for all of them, and for all we’ve been able to share.

In between Jesse’s birthday and dinner with the Sunday crew, I had the honor of being a keynote speaker at the HELP HOPE HEALING Conference in Abingdon, Virginia. Attended by youth-serving individuals from multiple states, the event was for those who work in and around mental health and suicide prevention. As tends to be the case, I really enjoyed the Q&A after my talk. It’s always special to hear from the people in the room, and to see where the conversation goes. It’s different every time and tends to be the highlight. One man shared that his son and I were both born in Morehead City, NC. He said that they had always tried to find a celebrity who was from there. I joked that they needed to keep looking, but thanked him for the sweet comment. After that I had the chance to meet a bunch of kind people, including a few who were happy to tell me how much TWLOHA meant to them growing up. Those stories continue to be special to me, because I’m no stranger to remembering the people and things that helped me find hope in junior high and high school and in the years that followed.

A woman named Jordan invited me to sign her “Love is the Movement” shirt for the third time since 2009, which of course made me smile.

Another woman shared that her mom had passed away recently. They used to visit Emerald Isle on mother / daughter trips. In a couple weeks, she would be heading back there to scatter some of her mom’s ashes, along the same stretch of beach where my parents scattered my brother Jesse’s ashes. It was a full-circle moment and one that reminded me of the importance of telling stories. Because I talked about my recent trip to North Carolina, and how it allowed me to meet my parents in their grief, this gift of a story was shared by a stranger who is grieving her mom. Choosing to tell our stories allowed us to find the sacred common ground we share. I hope this woman feels less alone when she stands on that beach remembering her mother, a few days from now. Emerald Isle will forever be part of their stories. It is forever part of my family’s and mine as well.

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Upcoming small-group conversations: Join me next Thursday, August 17 for “I Wish I Had More Friends,” or Wednesday, August 23 for “I’m in a Season of Change.”

I’ll be speaking in Monroe, LA on Tuesday, September 26. Because of September’s connection to suicide prevention, I’m really hoping for a busy month. If you’re curious about making an event happen, please reach out to Collective Speakers.

To learn more about working with me one-on-one, please visit JamieTworkowski.com.