Of Mice and Men.

I've been thinking a lot about death, and about kindness. About loss, and about our role in other peoples lives.

A few days ago, I lost a family member. We weren't super close, I didn't know him extremely well. He was my mom's cousin, older than me and in another country.

We spoke a few times a year, shared some laughs, but that was it.

He killed himself.

There is a shame associated with this, and people don't want to talk about it. They want to change the facts. But, as I've mentioned in previous posts:

They say “suicide is the coward’s choice.” I disagree. It is the “cornered’s” choice. It is the oppressed’s choice, the abused’s choice, the last choice. I use to believe it was a selfish choice, and now I believe it’s a selfless – albeit warped – choice. No one walks into the gallows unaccompanied.

Someone is always there, with the knife to their back.

He killed himself because the weight of who he wasn't was bearing down on him. His failures as perceived by others crept into the back of his mind.

Or maybe they were hammered in, and often, by the people he was most in contact with.

So I'm writing this for you, Phil, because you deserve to be remembered for who you were - not for what you lacked, and because I am not ashamed. 

Phil was a father. A Marine. He was a proud American - seriously, he really really loved the US - but loved his Japanese wife even more. So much, that he moved there to be with her, and raise their family. He was a husband.

An adoring, proud father.

He was a hard worker, and sometimes he drank a little too much. But I think he did that because he had a really big heart, and he internalized everything. It softened the blows.

Phil was the kind of guy who'd listen to you, empathize, cheer you up, share a song or two, and then check in on you the next day.

He genuinely cared.

He was an open book. Anything you wanted to know, he'd tell you.
He was a not just a storyteller, but a story itself.

So here comes the call to action, the part where you come in: evaluate yourself for a moment. What role are you playing in the lives of others?

Isn't it easier to be kind than to be judgmental and harsh?
Isn't it easier to recognize the hard work people are doing, instead of pointing out what they have yet to do?
Isn't it easier to forgive, and move forward?
And at the very least, what business is it of yours to interfere in the autonomous decisions of another?

So stop. Think.
Who are you judging?
Who are you criticizing?
Who are you trying to change?
If they haven't asked for this specifically, then just stop.

Be the kind person.
Be the supportive person.
Be the open ear.
Be the keeper of secrets.

See people for who they are, not for what you want them to be.
And be okay with that.

---

Que descanses, Phil.

Sad-urday Morning.

It's really interesting how death can put a relationship into perspective. When Jamie died, it became very obvious to me how much we communicated - facebook, phone. I hadn't ever noticed when it was happening. He became a permanent presence in my life when I was 15. I forgot what life was like without him - so when he drove his motorcycle into Heaven on his way to school, it was a huge shock.

It was then that I noticed - it was then that I remembered - what an important figure he had become in my life. 

But with my grandma - she'd always been there. There hadn't ever been a time where she didn't exist for me. I came into her life, not the other way around. My whole life is almost entirely built upon a foundation that she created for her family.  But when she passed (in August), it didn't hit me like a freight train the way that Jamie's death did. 

Instead, it's been a slow process. Slow. Painful. Jamie's death was overwhelming in a way that fried my brain for a solid year. It was such a shock to the system that it changed the way I function - probably forever.

My grandma's death feels more like I'm being starved. 

Can I call grandma and tell her about the crazy muffins I made this week? No.

I'm so excited to see grandma this October. No, you're not. She's dead.

I'm sick in the middle of the night, I'm going to text her because I know she's awake. Not this time.

I hate myself, I hate my body and I hate everything I do. Grandma knows what to say. Nope.

I ate a giant meal. I should probably let Grandma know about it. She thinks I never eat... Still Nope.

I want to sit in Grandma's closet and listen to all the music boxes play at once. Never, ever, again.

It's amazing how many times in a week I forget that she's gone. I was there. I kissed her goodbye. I cried with my cousins. I comforted and was comforted. 

But there is a part of me that seems to be inconsolable. Something that rejects the attempts at comfort and refuses to accept that she's no longer living. An abusive little part of my heart that wants me to regularly relive the loss of her.

I don't like knowing what a huge part of my life I lost. It's true - you never know what you've got until it's gone. Especially when you've had it around you your whole life. 

Mid-February Shouldn't Be So Scary

When I walk around cemeteries, I am always fascinated by the headstones. Some are modest, little plaques that say nothing more than a name and a date. Some are crazy large monuments. Others are strange symbolic figures that are comparable to abstract modern art. But, no matter what they look like, they are a very real signifier that beneath the stone - and my feet - lays a person who was once loved - is still loved - by many.

This plaque above will be on the back of Jamie's headstone.

His headstone. Did I just type that? It still feels unreal. I'm still waiting for him to send a text that says "JK everybody! Did you miss me?" I wouldn't even be mad. I had this sinking feeling in my chest as they closed the casket over him - would he be lonely? Was there enough space? Can I see him just a moment longer? When they put him in the ground, I had similar thoughts: would it be too cold for him? - It became very real. He was gone, and it was time to say goodbye. I just hate(d) thinking about him being under the ground when he belonged above the ground. With his wife. With his friends. Flying planes.

I let myself slip into denial from time to time. Maybe it's not healthy, but it's true. Sometimes, I just want to pretend he's still around. That I can send him that text. That he will still be taking my brother to lunch in the near future. That we will see him and the wife at conference and we will all play conference bingo together.

So, seeing the plaque brings me both joy and sorrow. Joy that we have all made it this far. Sorrow that we had to make it at all. It makes me sad that people may stand over his headstone, doing what I do so often when I walk through the cemetery... they will wonder what happened to this young man. Where are the people that love him? They will wonder at what his middle name was, and they will always be wrong because they won't know that it only ever was D. It makes me sad that people will pass by his headstone but not know him. They will not know his love for cherry dipped cones. They will not know his funny laugh. They will not know that he loved Firefly or Tomcat F-14s or F-18 Super Hornets. They will not know about how he proposed to his wife. They won't know about Lolita or his mission to South Korea or any of his funny sayings: Make all 100's! Remember who you are! Don't embarrass the family! Now - get out of my car!! They will not know that he achieved his dream and they will not know the pure love and joy this man embodied. His selflessness. His spontaneity. His steadfast faith in God.

Instead, they will simply know his name.

They will see his plaque. They will wonder - and then they will do what so many of us will struggle to do for the rest of our lives: they'll move on in a different direction.

I suppose that I'll have to visit him sometime. I know the story. I won't have to wonder. Not about this man. I will be able to stand at his headstone and know - remember.

And it is a beautiful plaque to be mounted aback a beautiful granite headstone that will appropriately mark the beautiful resting place of a truly beautiful human being who, to use the word one more time, brought a love of beautiful things to my life and the life of many others. So, this headstone brings me sorrow. But it also brings me joy. Sorrow that the world lost a truly righteous, honest, loving man and joy that, in this moment, I get to remember him...and Him...in such wonderful and powerful ways. Joy that I ever had such a friendship, and sorrow that it will be such a long time before we see each other again. Joy that the plaque brings a comfort, marks a milestone, signifies a wonderful life lived. Sorrow that comfort is needed, that milestones are being reached and that his wonderful live isn't still being lived.

So it is bittersweet. But it is beautiful. Just like he was.

Picture This.

If a picture is truly worth 1000 words - I should be able to write a novel about these ones - Enjoy the funny pictures I've taken in the various places I've been :)

Do these pants make my hips look big?

Ah yes, my little sister is so much like me.

It was a hard winter...

If you look closely, you will see that there are two people in this picture - and they are not being very appropriate. I was very stealthy in taking it.

Just another Hansen family portrait.

Why the heck is there a monkey in this picture? And what is a chute fall?

The thing that is weird about this is that when there was a moose in the road, the lights were blinking. How does that even happen? Did the moose push a button?

Please slow down cats. You're moving so fast....I just want to pet you....

I tricked you! You've been caught and now you are mine!

Is that dog wearing a helmet?

I've never met a bland Italian.

I don't know what this means, but here it is.

Yes, Matt. Keep paddling.

Little Sisters

When I was 13, my mom told me she was pregnant with a girl.
Up until that point, I'd only lived with brothers. Stephen? Check. Kameron? Check. Keanu? Check. All brothers, all there.
I was fully expecting another brother.

I was so surprised to hear I was going to have a sister that I told my mom to go back to the hospital and have them turn her into a boy, or else.

She told me I wouldn't always feel that way, that I'd see that baby girl and love her. I didn't believe her but, MAN, was she right.

Last night, I was getting a little annoyed with my 10 year old sister. She was talking a lot, and being similar to velcro. I've been sharing a room with her for three weeks, and had been thinking about how nice it would be to be back in my own room, in my quiet space. No clothes scattered across the floor. No stuffed animal mountains in the corner. No weird plates or rocks or things jumping out to attack me.

But, then it hit me, that would mean no more baby sister. As I was lying in bed (HER bed) I started to get a little choked up. There I was, thinking about all these things that were kind of annoying. Things that mean that my little sister is still a little girl. She's still young enough that she thinks I'm the coolest person on earth. She still wants to cuddle on the couch, and draw me silly pictures. She still tells me everything, including really strange jokes. She still likes me enough that she ditches her friends for me. She shares her favorite stuffed animals with me, and plays arcade games with me.

I kind of decided that there is no way I can be annoyed with her little antics. Her picky eating. Her sometimes awkward comments. Not when they're so short lived. She's already grown a full 10 years, and those went by in the blink of my left eye.

Who's to say the next 10 won't happen in the blink of my other eye?

My baby sister is my best friend. My mini me. My little shadow. I'm so glad she wasn't born a boy - and I secretly hope she never grows out of thinking I'm awesome. Maybe when we're 20 and 33, we can still cuddle on the couch and watch animal planet.

The Wedding Blog

I am getting married on June 16, 2012 to a really handsome fella. He's 6'2, with broody eyes and ravishing good looks. His name is Matt and he is my best friend.

But, you all already know that. This blog is not about my deep and undying love for Matt - I have written plenty of those :)
No. This is the frilly, girly, I am sooo getting married entry.

Prepare yourself.



This is the kind of invitation we want to mimic (with our own names, of course). I being a book nerd and desperately in love with this idea.



This is the center piece idea (of course, I will put my own twist on it...and I can hardly wait).



This is the bridesmaid dress (it comes in two styles)!! They love it, I love it, its practical and affordable. Hooray!



This is our venue. Yep! THIS is where we are getting married, and it's beautiful. We are so happy with our venue that we can hardly stand it.



What's that, dear reader? Oh. Yes. I know. This is not a temple. I don't care :) It is my wedding. I will do what I want. Don't like it? don't come....and I don't mean that in a rude way.



It's really beautiful, and surprisingly affordable.

These are the beads I want to wear on my head:


And this is the bouquet I will (make) have....:


As for the rest, it is still in progress....but you can bet that more is yet to come.

And now, to address the topic of my marrying a nonmember: There is a stigma that if you marry outside of the temple, you will not have a happy life. For some reason, some people who are married in the temple or plan to marry in the temple are of the opinion that non-LDS or partially-LDS families do not love each other, their kids, their friends or themselves are much as a temple-wedded couple. This stigma has always bothered me. Why is this such a common opinion in the church? I have met many a non-member family that love their kids and spouses just as much as (if not more than) a temple-sealed family.

I have seen temple wedded families fall victim to abuse and divorce, just like non-temple wedded families. I have seen eternally sealed families go through the motions of the temple marriage, without truly believing it...it's just a chore on their "to-do to get to Heaven" list.

If people don't value the experience or try to keep the covenants they make, then it isn't valid anyway. So, no. I'm not sad or unhappy that I'm not getting married in the temple.

I am marrying a man who loves and respects me, and who will love and care for our children. A man with no vices, and a man with faith. I'm marrying a great man. And, no, you do not have to be Mormon to be great.

Family - Blog 7: My Youngest Brother

I remember the day he was born. It was December 1 - his actual due date. I think he is the only one of us who was actually born 'on time.' I think that speaks volumes to his personality :) He's never enjoyed being late to anything.

Keanu was the cutest little baby. He was totally and perfectly bald. He had a wrinkly face like an old man, and long (but small) little fingers. When he finally did start growing hair, it came out white....and stayed that way for, well....forever. I think he's just now starting to get some pigment in his hair...and he's turning 14 this year.

Time. Flies.

Having a baby brother has been one of the highlights of my life. I didn't even care that I had to help change his little diapers. He has brought light and laughter and joy and all things that are good into my world. And it started at a young age. For a few years, he was my very own little shadow. He even let me paint his toe nails a few times. Even his first full sentence was just for me: "Nikki, you look pretty."

Of course, all little boys grow up to be big boys and he decided hanging out with Kameron would be way more fun. I always had some secret jealousy about that...but I knew it was necessary for him to grow up and be a proper boy ;) Little brothers naturally want to hang out with big brothers...and not big sisters.

Nevertheless, little Keanu definitely played a protective role over me...despite our 10 year age difference. When I had my first "boyfriend" in the 8th grade...Keanu would never leave us in a room alone together...even though Keanu was only about 3 at the time. He would sit between my little boyfriend and I and monitor all conversation.

The best part was...no one ever asked him to do that. He just did it.

Now this little baby brother of mine is a teenage boy. With that comes other fun things: camping, fishing, board games and silly jokes. But in my mind...he is still too young for things of the world: I want him to believe in Santa. I want him to be able to see magic in the world everywhere he goes. I want him to remain ignorant to all that is bad in the world, and live in all that is warm and good - just like him.

I love my stinkin' little brother. And his braces, too.

Family - Blog 5: My Younger Brother

When I was growing up, my parents always used to tell us that "your siblings should be your best friends because at the end of the day, when you've grown up and you've moved away, you're still going to have each other. All those other people are (for the most part) just transients in your life."

While I have certainly endured my fair share of transients, my younger brother - Kameron - has always been around. In fact, he has been around so long that I can hardly remember my life before he existed.

My father was a military man, and so we moved around a lot. With moving came this 6 month period of having no friends. My older brother kind of made his own way in the world, but Kam and I stuck together like glue. We were each others best friends. We spent countless hours building card houses, playing gameboy side by side, drawing ant houses, watching Darkwing Duck and The Wild Thornberries, riding our scooters or roller blading, playing beanie babies (and even barbies). We got the flu at the same time. We went for walks, went to arcades together, went to see bands together, went to movies together...We went to the same schools, drove the same car and even had apartments that were right next door to one another (well, mine was above his). We even worked out together.

Not too much has changed :) when we are both home, we like to do everything together. We have our own way of communicating (almost like twin talk) and we like to keep in constant contact. We like to play card games and board games...or even just make up games (only now we have other siblings who get to be involved in the festivities).

We are each other's biggest fans, and we can never stay mad at each other long (as in longer than 5 minutes). We can ask each other for help and know that we can tell one another anything without being judged.

I have always loved spending time with Kameron - and the fact that he's been gone on a religious mission for two years has absolutely killed me every day (but only because I miss talking to him every day and seeing him at family events). I am so excited for all the great experiences he has had on his mission, but I can't wait for him to come home!

I love my little brother!

The Hansen - Johnson Family Update

Well, Okay. We're not an official family.... yet! But, I have high hopes.

Anyway, Here's the news:

Nikki- That's me


I graduated college in December. I'm currently working for my dad's company part time, while also trying to find some part time work to supplement my income. I've been looking (unsuccessfully) for scholarships for my masters program. I've also been baking things, cleaning, reading new books (that aren't assigned readings, woohoo) and trying to make new friends.

Matt - The cute boyfriend


Matt has actually has a lot of exciting things going on. I'm slightly jealous. He recently attended a straight-razor shaving event. He uses a straight razor to shave, and is learning all there is to know (honing, stroping, restoring). He met a cool guy who makes knives and swords. He also got accepted into a fire-fighting (fire chasers... you know, the ones who help to put out the out of control forest/prairie fires in the summer) program. He'll be gone for 5 days to do that. He is very excited about it. He also is doing well at work.

Apollo - my serious cat

Apollo is doing well. He enjoyed a little vacation at Matt's apartment, eating plants...knocking things down, chasing toys. He spends his days laying on my heater or pestering my other cat. He won't eat his food unless I crumble dried seaweed on it, and he likes dog chews so much that he will attack anyone who gets within 1 foot of him while he eats it.

Iggy - my "special" cat

Iggy has been having a rough time. He was recently neutered (because he was spraying). The spraying has since stopped. Unfortunately, his hair eating habit has worsened. He licks and licks and scratches to the point where most of his body now looks like the image below. He has a vet appointment for wednesday, but I'm sure worried. Otherwise, he has a healthy appetite, likes to chase his toys and steal Apollo's food.


Cleo - the newest addition

Cleo is my new 6 week old panda hamster. They were trying to get rid of them quickly, because I got her for $15 (including everything I needed). I guess they don't do that often. It must have been meant to be :) She is super cute - although I don't think she knows how to use her water bottle...and that worries me. The cats are, of course, interested. They only like her when she's in her cage, though. I took her out this morning to show her to Iggy and he cried and ran away. Apollo just ignored her. She likes to run on her wheel, climb her cage, jump from her food platform, dig for food and sleep.



That's what we've got going on! I'll keep you posted on Iggy's condition (hopefully he's okay!) and anything else new or exciting that happens to come up!

Over and out. :)

We All Know Someone.

Dear Uncle

Sleep Walker
Walking over hollow egg shells
containing the air you use to breathe.
Sleep Walker
Walking over broken glass, cutting feet
deliberately, is it deliberately?
Sleep Walker
Stepping on your children’s lives
and throwing away all your talent
--- and all your influence.

Oh Sleep Walker,
Walking off the edge into the ocean,
when you drown, you hope you really drown.
And, Sleep Walker -
If you don’t...I hope they find you
I hope they bind and hide you in the room with the white and padded walls.
After walking into so many walls
You’re bound to wake up

My words for the rest of you.

I wrote my letter to Jamie.
Now it's time that I try and share the greatness that he was (and will always be) with you.

Jamie D. Patel is one of the greatest men I have ever met. He loved unconditionally, he laughed whole-heartedly and lived every moment to the fullest. He was the big brother and friend I needed, especially in those turbulent adolescent years. He was a pillar to lean on.

I met Jamie on a beautiful summer day at Dewey Park at a church function. He was meandering around with the elders (one who has gone on to become one of my dearest friends) when I suddenly approached them in hopes of guessing their first names. I succeeded quickly with the two abnormally tall elders... but I struggled with Jamie's name :) I finally settled on Andy. He didn't like that. Upon him revealing his name to me... I decided he looked very much like a power ranger ought to - and decided I'd just call him that: "Power Ranger Patel." So I did, and he liked it :) And just like that...we were friends.

Jamie quickly became one of the most meaningful people in my life. He would drive all the way from Atsugi to Sagamihara just to chat when I was feeling down. He'd demand that I take his CD's and burn them so that I could have some good music :) He'd force me to watch Seinfeld at the most ungodly hour of the night so that he'd have someone to talk about it with. He'd watch at his little barack, and I'd watch it in my brothers room - and we'd IM about it :) Haha.

Jamie was an amazing example to me. He couldn't go to institute classes overseas, so he opted to take seminary with us seminary kids. After seminary every day, he'd drive me to school. Sometimes he'd even pick me up BEFORE seminary (which was a big deal cuz that means he was at my house at like... 5 am) when I had no one else to take me. Sometimes we'd just sit in his car and talk about things. He had to write me late-notes to school several times because we'd been chatting in the school parking lot 20 minutes into school :) As I would start to get out of the car he would say "Be good. Get all 100's. Remember who you are! Don't embarrass the family..... now get out of my car!!!!" It became such a common interaction between us that we'd say it in emails, texts, over the phone...facebook.

Jamie wrote me every week from his mission. Before he left, he gave me a plant (named George) and a guitar. I loved both of those things to their end. He inspired me to compose and perform my very first piece of music. In fact.. the song was for him! I've got it stashed somewhere... when I find it... I'll post it.

I remember when he finally got home... he had the worst flight home imaginable. Apparently he kept being hit in the arm by the stewardess's cart!

We did so many fun things together... and he did so many fun things with/for my family. I feel like I could write all the stories right now... and maybe eventually I will post them all.

It's hard for me to explain exactly what this world lost in Jamie's passing. He was a light that couldn't be dimmed. He was able to share that light with a beautiful and amazing woman named Jessie. I'm so happy he was able to spend the last moments of his time on this earth with someone as fantastic as she is.

Jamie D. Patel was my brother. The best brother that a girl could have been given.

Shake Shake Shake it

So... My family (a lot of them) are doing a Hansen's Biggest Loser competition.
I have been swimming recently, and I didn't know it would hurt... haha.....either way, it's really cool to have your whole family as a support group when you need them.