the zebra is dancing, somewhere


I told myself, no matter what, I’d have to publish this one.
too many posts unpublished,
too many stories left untold.
and for me, that’s not exactly normal.

Those of you who’ve been to my room would laugh, if I told you I had a book that solved my problems. But you don’t have to understand to make the connection. The Art of Racing in the Rain, is my book. It’s written by Garth Stein.

My copy is a soft-back that I purchased somewhat sarcastically from Costco a few years back. I half-assumed it’d be a cheesy dog book before I read it… but you know what they say about not judging a book by it’s cover.

writer's block

They say, writing can heal the soul.  Time mends old wounds, and some other wise words.

For much of the chaos that’s been going on in this past week alone, I’m surprised in myself.
I’ve been writing, but not publishing anything.  It all sits there, in my “drafts” folder, no one reads it… not even me.


Yesterday, when I wrote, I felt numb. I wanted to talk to someone who’d distract me, make me feel like everything was okay, like it all was fine. Talk to me about something else. I didn’t know what I needed, I didn’t want what I needed. I wanted to escape, pretend it wasn’t true…

So here I am, and if you’re reading this, it means that I’ve actually got the guts to publish it.


I got some bad news yesterday. Bad news that I refused to think would happen. That I didn’t believe, I didn’t want to believe it.

He’s gone, she said.

If you asked me, I couldn’t describe how I felt yesterday. It was more of a whirr of emotion. I didn’t know how to react. More than anything though, I felt numb.

I took a long shower last night, letting the hot water spill down my face and back.

I wanted to escape back to last year.


Or better, Christmas, two years ago. Everything was normal, they had just gotten Jake and we had Christmas at their house. Exchanging gifts, laughter.

“Memory is time folding back on itself, to remember is to disengage from the present.” – Garth Stein, The Art of Racing in the Rain

I knew I’d have to stop going back and look at now.

My family needs me, I need me.

and he said, writing is a struggle against silence

Last night as I lay in bed reading, I stumbled across the answer I was looking for.

“I know the truth, and I will tell you now: He was admired, loved, cheered, honored, respected. In life as well as in death. A great man, he is. A great man, he was. A great man he will be. He died that day because his body had served its purpose. His soul had done what it came to do, learned what it came to learn, and then was free to leave.” – Garth Stein, The Art of Racing in the Rain.

I shut my book and lay in bed.
I didn’t want to sleep.
I wanted to cry, surely it he wasn’t ready to go.

I blamed the Leukemia, the Pneumonia, the doctors who were indeed trying to help heal him.
I blamed myself. Surely I could have done something more.



David, I miss you.

I miss Hanna, Ava, Deanne… my Mom…

This is probably one of the most unorganized things I’ve ever written, and here I am, staring at the “publish” button like I’m going to keep this promise to myself.

I don’t know why it’s so important to me to write *everything* down.

it’s been that way for as long as I could write.

writing is how I express myself, me, sometimes, most of the time how I release my feelings.

it’s not good to keep things bottled up, a friend said.

grieve and release.

but I just want to cry.


10 Responses to “the zebra is dancing, somewhere”

  1. jessicavdl Says:

    awh nicole, remember i’m always here to listen.

  2. jordyquint Says:

    I’m so sorry, Nicole. If you need me, I’m here. Always.

  3. ct Says:


  4. cattledogagility101 Says:

    Nicole I’m so sorry for your loss, stay strong.

  5. I am so very sorry for your loss. :(

  6. I am so very sorry for your loss.


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