I am posting two journal entries, one from 8/11/4, and one from 5/7/15, written nine months apart.  It's interesting for me to see the progression, the differences, the similarities.  And it's important to note that grief is in no way linear.  I bounce from one spectrum to the other, from resistance to surrender and everything in between, quite often.  But as I move forward, I find that the extremes are less so, and I try not to push anything away.  I try not to resist the resistance -- the sadness, the anger, the fear -- as much as I want to hang onto the acceptance, the love, the gratitude.  I try not to attach to any emotion or story and let it all be.  It can be excruciating, and utterly exhausting, but this is the way through.  As Rumi wrote, "The wound is the place where the Light enters you."

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August 11, 2014.  Monday.

Last night I cried.  Hard.  I looked in the bathroom mirror and saw my sad, sad face, and cried and cried.  I needed to see it, my sad ugly face.  I needed to see the pain I was in, to feel it deeply, to let it sink in just a little bit more.  I found a video of George from before I knew him, at his pirate birthday.  He looked so sweet and young and beautiful… and it broke my heart.  I asked for him to come into my dreams last night, and he did… I only remember I was sitting across from him and he was talking, and I was trying to pay close attention to the way his mouth moved.  For some reason, ever since he died, I’ve had trouble remembering him vividly.  As if I’ve erased all the details of his face from my memory, and can only experience him as a feeling now.  It’s kind of driving me crazy.

This morning I cried more.  God damn, I miss him and cannot believe he’s gone.  I don’t want this!!!!!!!  I want to go back in time, I want to see him, I want to rewrite the last 3 weeks.  It’s been 3 weeks since things were normal.  3 weeks since he worked from home, and we walked down to Miss Saigon for pho at lunchtime, and went to Park Burger for dinner that night.  3 weeks since I went to bed and (eventually) my love crawled in next to me.  3 weeks since he wore that green lion/lemon shirt that I will never wash.  

Oh my goodness.  I am beyond heartbroken.  
I am so fucking sad.  
This cannot be real life.
My life was so, so, so good.  I knew I had it all.  And now, I feel so empty, so lost, so without.
My love is dead.

George, my love, my light, you will always be my one true love.
I don’t want to say goodbye.  Ever.
Do I have to?
You are supposed to be everywhere.  But I only know you by your face, your shining eyes, your smile, your warmth.  This spirit thing is so hard to grasp.
I need you.  To hold me.  To comfort me.
Show me you are here.  Show me you still love me.  I am questioning everything.

Was it real?  Were we real?  Am I real?
Why did you love me?
Did I love you well enough?
Did you truly know how much I adored you?

You say we are doing this together from different places, but I feel I need you here, with me, in the same place.  
I know I do not have that choice.
It is so, so heartbreaking.
Love stories are not supposed to end this way.

You say our love story is not over.  
It is transformed, it is growing, it is becoming something greater.  Greater than all of us.
I say I need your arms to hold me, your lips to kiss me, your voice to say “I Love You”.
But your arms, your lips, your voice… are ashes now.  Burned like everything impermanent. 
How will you show your love… How should I show mine… How do we navigate this new love story… ?

I don’t know how to do this.
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May 7, 2015.  Thursday.
There is a tiny beacon of light, some inner understanding or soul wisdom, peeking through the darkness that helps me to see that George's death is not the end of anything, but just a part of our never-ending story.  In some ways, this is the beginning, we are still at the beginning; we still have so much to learn and discover together, so much joy to share through our hearts and minds and souls, so much to share through Nova.  George to this day does not feel dead, and it's because he is not dead.  His body is no longer the vessel with which he experiences the world, or with which I experience him.  But he is so, so alive.  So alive in everything I experience, so present in me.  In fact, he is more present in me than he has ever been.  He is always with me, and not merely as a thought, but as the force with which I move through the world, the arms of my heart embracing this life, the legs of my soul leading me forward to become my highest self.  He is, as he has always been, my Teacher.  He is immortal.  He can no longer be physically separated from me.  He is my strength and my power, my light and my love. 

He is not Dead, and I will no longer say that he died.  What do I say then?  He.... passed on?  ....transitioned?  ...became one with the beat of the Universe and is helping me become more beautiful and more amazing than I ever imagined I could be?  Truly.  You are making me into one incredible human, George III.  You are doing this with me, and together we are an incredible team, as always and even more so than before.  Wow.  Epiphany.  The tiny light just became Huge.

We used to look at each other and laugh like silly kids at how ridiculous our life was, our love, our bodies together, our deep satisfaction and contentment with each other, our wonder that we had found the thing, the treasure, the gold, that we never thought we would find.  We would recognize that it was hard to tell other people about our love without feeling shy because we had so much of what others only wanted to experience a little of.  We knew how fortunate we were. 

And the Truth is that we are still so fortunate, we still have our love, we still have the treasure.  It is not in the past, it is now; it is always.  We are One.  I am our vessel now.  Nova is our vessel.  We have not lost, rather we are constantly gaining.  We are a love that is more powerful and pure than ever before.  It is without pretense or expectation, without requirements or boundaries.  This is the love of a lifetime.  Beyond the lifetime.  The universal, eternal, infinite love.
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I created an email account for Nova shortly after she was born (upon the advice of my 13 year old nephew), so that I could write to her, and so other people could write to her.  In the end she will have a history of letters, pictures, and memories that she can hold onto forever.  Thanks for the idea, Lukey Luke.

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From: Joanne Chang 
Date: Sat, Jun 27, 2015 at 12:05 PM
Subject: (almost) 11 months!

My Dear Sweet Nova,
You are quickly becoming a toddler.  You are no longer a baby, really.  You are active and almost walking, able to stand up now on your own (without using a prop), and boy are you funny!  Your favorite expression is "ooooooohhhh!", and you put your lips together like Lao Ye does when he whistles.  In fact, I think you picked this up from him in Denver, when he whistled you tried to imitate him.  You say "ooooooohhhh!" to anything that is interesting to you, or to show someone the things you like, or when something surprises you.  It's quite charming.  You still love to laugh and be silly, and love to make everyone around you laugh.  You are a little entertainer, my little Leo.  You have also decided that it's more fun to crawl through tight spaces, rather than around them.  The other day you crawled under and between the chair legs in the dining room, just for fun.  When I sit cross-legged with one knee up, you crawl over me and under my raised knee.  You like to conquer obstacle courses.  You are bold and adventurous and curious!  All very good things.  All things that remind me of your daddy George.
​
It is almost July now, and you will be 1 year old next month.  It's hard to believe how much time has passed since you were born, and since George passed away.  It's gone by so quickly, yet here you are, already on the move and becoming a fully functional little human.  I cannot imagine what my life would be like without you, and in fact my life before you often feels like lifetimes ago, and yet it's still hard to anticipate these anniversaries approaching, marking the last time your daddy was with us on Earth, and the day you came out to join me.  He would be so proud of you, baby.  He IS so proud of you.  He made a lot of cool stuff in his lifetime, but you are by far his most amazing creation.  To think, a little seed came out of his body and into mine, and made you.  It's mind-blowing and I'm forever grateful for this miracle.  But I miss him, and sometimes it feels more and more every day.  It is good, this missing, he is worth missing.  But sometimes I can't help but look forward to the day when I start, well, looking forward.  The past is such a large part of me now, and you in the present, both so powerful and raw.  But there is another life out there for us, when I, we, are ready to embrace it.  I am working hard to fully accept that the life I thought we would have, will no longer be, without George.  I know this is possible, and I am finding my way there.  You are my anchor.  You tether me to the ground, helping me to appreciate every day that the sun rises and you are here, your wondrous "oooooohhh!"s and strong-willed determination, your ability to bounce back from falls and bonks so easily and quickly, knowing they are all part of life, and trying, trying again.  You are one incredible human being, Miss Nova.

I am going to miss your baby fat.  Already your cheeks are not as chubby as they used to be.  And you are growing longer.  You are in the 80-85th percentile in height, weight, and head circumference.  A solid child!  You definitely have George's legs.  Solid, sturdy, strong legs.  Good for biking and climbing, which I'm sure you will enjoy.  Soon mama will get up the courage to get back on one of her bikes, that daddy built.  He built those bikes for me when we lived in San Francisco, and before that I didn't bike at all.  I haven't biked since I was 6 months pregnant with you, over a year ago, and I know you would love to tour around town on the back of Mama's bike, so I will work on that.  

Big mama hugs and kisses, 
mama <3

I came upon this journal entry today.  I remember feeling scared when he left, scared that he'd be flying in the air for 14 hours, and that something could go wrong.   I remember looking at myself in the mirror, 6 months pregnant then, and the image of me losing him and raising this child on my own stabbed me in the heart.  I quickly brushed it away, telling myself that worrying would not help me, or Nova.  I remember feeling relieved when he called me to tell me he'd gotten home safely, and was snuggled up in our bed.  I was in Colorado by then, but joined him the following night.  I feel relieved now, to know that I knew just how lucky we were.  

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March 28, 2014
George left for China today.  He’ll be gone 8 days and I already miss him.  Coincidentally I’m leaving for Denver & Vail on Thursday and will be back the day after he returns.  Oh I miss him already!  It’s funny how different things are when you’re pregnant.  George and I have done a lot of things apart, for much (much!) longer periods of time, and I always miss him but this time feels different.  Much more like a part of me is gone.  The house feels very empty.  And there’s this prayer I hear myself whispering, praying that he’ll come home safely.  Maybe something about carrying his child, now having a part of him inside of me, feels his absence that much stronger.  And I realize how precious life is, what a gift we are to each other, what an amazing opportunity we’ve been given to be together and have this child, and grow old with each other.  We are so damn lucky.

Nova hasn’t moved as much today as usual.  She misses him too.

Wow!  I'm writing a book.  And I'm starting a blog.  

I never thought I would start a blog.  But I was driving yesterday, down 880 from Oakland to Saratoga, on my way to drop Nova off at my sister Judy's for the weekend.  I was thinking about the writing project I'd started last month, a book of sorts about this past year without George, and I felt like I wanted a more immediate outlet from which to share my process.  Creating a complete work about my life with George, and with Nova without George, is going to take some time.  For through it I am grieving, and sometimes only a few words get on the page before my tears call it a night.  But it's exactly the thing that will get me through this, forcing me to remember, inviting me to let go, showing me all the beauty and sadness and perfection that can exist in one moment.  

It's a little daunting to say "I'm writing a book" -- these words are filled with promise and expectation, and it makes me feel shy.  But I am, I'm writing a book.  And I don't know if anyone will ever read it.  But if you've found this site, and you continue to explore it, you'll find pieces of it here.  Entries from my journals over the past years through the present, letters and emails between me and George, letters to Nova, and the narrative that pulls it all together.  

I'm excited and a little surprised to be doing this, but it feels right.  I am now a writer.  This is for me, for George, for our little angel Nova, and for anyone who wants to learn about love, letting go, and grieving through.  Welcome.