The fanny pack impact

So in this post, I'm going to attempt to explain the name of my blog.

You see, my brother was the epitome of what you would call "charismatic".

He had wild hair. Bright eye drawing clothes. Loud laugh. Attention seeking behavior. The life of the party. Broke the rules. Didn't care. And he wore a fanny pack.

I don't know why, of all the things I remember about my brother, I keep going back to this dang fanny pack! I think perhaps because its a single tangible item that best embodies the essence of who he was.

We all know that fanny packs are soooo not in style, right? We make fun of people with fanny packs. We question why in the hell are they wearing one? But my brother did. He always chose "function over fashion" as my dad stated. He got tired of packing his cargo pants full (well, often he just wore pocketless gym shorts!) so he had to have something to carry all of his crap. So he dug through our house and chose my dads old, worn out, black leather fanny pack. And he wore it all the time, no matter where we went or what he were doing. Because he simply didn't care what people thought of him! I loved it then, and I love it now :)

So that explains the fanny pack part. Now about the impact part.

By impact, I simply mean legacy. I want to eventually explore my brothers lasting legacy. What he brought to this earth, and what he left behind. How he inspired others, and his lasting impact on us all.

So I'm seeking to tie the tangible remnants of him {the fannypack} to the intangible {his lasting impact on our lives}. In doing so I hope to find that hope and healing I claim to be seeking under the title of my blog.

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Here's my brother to the left, with his
fanny pack and his friend Tyler.

I think this picture pretty much captures who my brother was. Going grocery shopping
in the middle of the night, renting a cart, and looking at a red box from it.
Goofy, did what he wants, and totally didn't care. :)

Behind Closed Doors "Poetry"

I don't consider myself a "poet" in the slightest, but sometimes my feelings are so heavy on my heart I just need to write in raw form, forgetting syntax and conventions, just letting it out however it comes out. That said, I scratched this down on scrap paper on the way home this weekend:

Behind Closed Doors

You see me

so well put together

You see me

as if nothing ever happened

I tell myself

"I'm okay"

"This isn't so bad"

Then I leave

and I'm ambushed by these feelings

You see me

with a smile on my face

and its genuine,

then.

But then I leave

and I'm ambushed by these feelings

"What was I thinking?

I can't do this any more

I can't play two faced games

I can't be dishonest with myself

Tell myself I'm fine one minute

then guilty the next"

I think its helping being with you

but I'm not so sure

because these feelings remain

behind closed doors.

You see me leave

but behind closed doors

I'm breaking apart

tearing down

and numb,

tears streaming down my face,

which is wretched in pain.

I put up a good front

with you

for you

for me

but behind closed doors...

I can be me.

Behind Closed Doors

I'm realizing that hanging out with others is not necessarily beneficial to my recovery. Maybe theres a fine line to it. But this weekend I went from hanging out with one crowd to the next the whole time. I was around people constantly.

In the end, though, I only ended up hurting even more.

Like I was so busy I couldn't let myself process my grief. I held it at bay, because of:

the elephant in the room
I didn't want to "go there"
time limitations
social conventions
{just to name a few}

People don't like talking about death, you know? So I can't talk about it but its still there.

Holding these feelings at bay, days on end is NOT healthy, and in the end its more painful than just letting it out as it comes.

So what if I cause awkwardness?

Its MYSELF and MY recovery I have to deal with.

For the first time in my life I get to, no, NEED to, put myself first.

So if that means crying in my friends bathroom at their house or crying myself to sleep at night, then I'm going to.

Because in the end that is better than never identifying those feelings in the first place.

From Heart to Hand

People say, "I'm so strong"

"I'm holding up so well."

"What an inspiration you are."

Well, f--- that. 

It's B.S.

I know the truth,

the rawness of reality.

Truth is, I'm barely holding on.

I'm hanging on by a thread.

And its [I'm] starting to come undone.

One strand at a time.

Little Things

Little things in life are unnerving me. Little random things that wouldn't phase most people, unless they've lost a loved one too.

Like yesterday. I was in the shower rocking out to those old 80's rock songs, and Knockin on Heaven's Door came on (the Guns N Roses version). I mean, how many times had I heard that song before? Sang right along? But when it came on this time, I just stood there, contemplating those lyrics and how much they applied to my brother. I just stood there crying in the shower.

See, I have this philosophy he was knocking on heavens door his whole life, well, maybe more like, God was trying to take him Home his whole life, because he had had MANY other close calls, but he made it 21 years in this life before he went home. In those three minutes he lay lying on the roadside, he was knocking on heavens door. I couldn't help but visualize the whole thing when this song came on.

Another little thing happened. I was watching Deadliest Catch (i know i know) and this one fisherman died from...what else...but...head trauma. A cable line snapped in two and went reeling into his head. He was dead within 10 minutes. Evan was brain dead with 3 minutes of hitting that damn pavement. I was sobbing, tears STREAMING down my face. This guy died from the same injury my brother did. And both died WAY to quickly, no chance to say goodbyes, for last loving parting words, no chance for rescue to come. It was too late.

For how long will these little things bother me? Will I ever be able to handle them again without breaking down?

I imagine myself in a bar 10 years from now, out with girlfriends for a night out on the town, and all of a sudden one of Evan's songs come on. Will I drop everything and run? Will I cry there or hide in the restroom? Will I even notice at all?

I guess only time will tell...

Number

I was scrolling through my contacts list on my phone today and my finger slipped right on your name. it pulled up your name and number and asked if i wanted to call you.

that unnerved the hell out of me.

its like, you are still stored in my phone, but you are not even here anymore. how can that be?

they say you can't control grief. i think thats becoming very apparent.

like today. for the first time since you passed, i was able to tell someone that i lost you without breaking down into tears. i was very proud of myself. it was actually quite easy to talk about you.

but then, when i see your name in my contact list i break down.

you definitely can't control grief.

of that i'm positive.

Why

I'm sitting here. Crying. Tears streaming down my face. Watching news footage about the shooting at the Colorado movie theater. Wondering why.

Why do bad things have to good people?

Why do they have to happen to people so young?

Why can't everyone just live a full life, why do some lives have to get cut so short?

Why are things like this allowed to happen?

It isn't fair.

{and don't give that "life's not fair" bullshit. I ain't looking for generic, cliche, and overused mantras here}

I heard the oldest person killed was only 45. Most of them were young adults. My brothers age. He died tragically too. Like them, his life was cut way to short as well.

When will I be able to watch tragedies like this without sobbing?

Will I ever be able to watch things like this without thinking of my brother?

Meet my brother

Meet my brother, Evan Scott Poteet. Age 21. 

Wild [awesome] hair. Unkempt facial hair. Tie die shirt. Piercing eyes. 

Here he is as a toddler. He is the cutest thing, isn't he? 

Here he is as superman for Halloween one year. He was that superman for several Halloweens in a row :)

Here he is just this last football season, with my parents, watching my husband coach his high school football team at Lucas Oil Stadium. This picture captures his pure goofiness and zest for life :)

Here he is just this last Christmas, with me [middle] and my niece [holding] and my sister. Don't we three just look like peas in a pod. Little did we know...

Here is his latest timeline photo on Facebook. It was taken at Napa Valley, CA on our latest family vacation together. Little did we know...

It would be used as the opening segment into his funeral service on May 10, 2012.

Here is his high school senior picture. Little did we know...

It would be the picture in his obituary, funeral program, and memorial service card. 

This is my brother, Evan Scott Poteet. He was tragically killed in a car accident around 10:30 pm on May 3, 2012. He was 21 years old.

This is my brother, Evan Scott Poteet. And he is now in heaven, surrounded by angels.