A part of my application process requires people to tell me how long ago the event was that connects them to suicide. For everyone’s safety and because I am not a therapist, one of the boundaries I have is that it has to be at least 6 months from that time before I will consider you for the project, as emotions are very tender and sometimes difficult to navigate in the beginning. 

Laura lost her husband KB less than a year from when she applied. Fresh losses have so many layers of emotions and blooms. The first year after ANY loss of someone we love, is still VERY fresh. I knew the emotions would be very close to the surface. 

When any of us connect with someone at a similar pain point, it feels like those threads from deep in our souls pull us closer to that person. And if we are lucky and open to it, we can feel those threads guiding both our emotions to the surface, trusting and supporting each other’s safety to share and get those things out of our bodies. I immediately connected with Laura and her story. Such a fierce and determined momma bear, managing the hefty first year tides of grief like a weathered warrior. 

When we started her session, she secured her hair up stating she wanted it out of the way so she wouldn’t play with it during her session. I asked if she LIKED it best down and that being comfortable was important. If having your hair down or playing with your hair can keep you comfortable and feeling safe, then let’s do it. The difference in her energy when her hair was up, vs down – was evident. 

The following are quotes from Laura’s session, along with her final portraits. After that she wrote something post session that she wanted to share, and then I will close you out with a few photographers notes. 

Laura:

*KB or Kowboy was born Bryan, but had been called Kowboy since middle school – it was so sticky that he’d start school or a job with Bryan, but someone would inevitably know him as Kowboy and call him as such. He wasn’t western, he didn’t ride horses – but he was Kowboy, through and through. 

Kowboy and I met while we were traveling in Cambodia. A new friend suggested I stay at a certain guesthouse in Kampot, Cambodia, so I took her advice and booked a few nights. I sat on my bed that first night in Kampot and told myself to go get one beer – if I didn’t make any friends, no one in the entire world would know or care that I came back to my room and hung out alone.

Instead, I walked outside – and met Kowboy. We hit it off immediately.  We realized we both lived in Seattle, and had family in Virginia.

Early on in our relationship, it became clear that Kowboy was my inner child’s best friend. He was disciplined and serious about play – constantly making puns, embracing wonder, amplifying and celebrating the silly. Walking down the street with him was like watching a movie with 3D glasses for the first time.

I felt so grateful to be a part of Kowboy’s world – there were aspects of our relationship that I glossed over or tolerated because I felt lucky to be close to him, to his life.

Right before COVID I started going to therapy – nothing was inherently wrong, but I wanted to go deeper – learn more about myself, about my relationships. Therapy, then COVID, then being pregnant, then becoming a new mother was a lot of transition within a year. I needed different things from our relationship, and wanted to work on deepening parts of our connection so we could support each other in this new paradigm.

It was difficult to share feelings or needs with Kowboy – he’d interpret them in painful ways and turn inwards, often being silent or icy. It began to feel really lonely in our relationship. We had a beautiful dynamic, but it needed to shift to support our new reality. I was committed to the evolution of our marriage – and if that didn’t work, the evolution of our relationship as Bowie’s parents.

Kowboy could get into loops, telling himself bad stories. It resulted in unpredictable behaviors and reactions . It made things feel very uneasy, unstable.

I felt dysregulated – I’d come home from work, park a few blocks away, and cry in my car. Something was fundamentally wrong. I loved Kowboy, but felt deep sadness and loneliness in our relationship.

On the day of his death, we both went to work. We texted back and forth about halloween decorations, and a dinner reservation we had a couple nights later. He coordinated a babysitter and sent a bunch of Google Calendar invites for upcoming together time. It was nice.

He went to Loretta’s in South Park for lunch, and texted me that one of his favorite songs,”If You Want Me to Stay”, came on. He told me he loved me.

When I got home from work our Halloween bins were out, ready to decorate. Our son Bowie was in the front room, and Kowboy was in the kitchen. I could feel his energy, something was off. It felt like he was vibrating. I called him into the room and gave him a hug, but his body was stiff. He had a bad story in his head, and things were very tense. We had a quick disagreement. He said “I’m sorry it’s difficult to be in a relationship with me”.

Then he walked back into our back room, and I followed him. KB took his life in front of me in that moment. While looking me in the eyes. I ran to the front room and grabbed Bowie, our dog, and my phone, then sat shaking on the steps and called 911. All I remember is saying how sad it was over and over. It was so sad. I was so sad. 

I sat on my neighbors steps (they weren’t home) until the first responders came. I don’t remember any sounds around me. Except for Bowie saying “Dada”. 

I remember reaching into my pocket and pulling out a handful of googly eyes that I was going to use for our Halloween decorations. Halloween decorations are ruined for me – I want to go somewhere with no Halloween.

That night we moved into our good friends’ basement. I called his dad, then his mom, then his brother. I couldn’t sleep for the first four days.

On day two, people started coming over – we called it our six week shiva. I sat on their couch and looked out the big front window – and the community support and love kept coming and coming. The way our community showed up was truly beautiful and humbling. 

I also learned about harmful stories people can tell themselves – this is a chaotic event, and people want to assign order to chaos. But we can’t.

It was really important in my grieving process to stay organized for Bowie. Because I can’t ever grieve to the point of letting go all the way. I can’t go on a bender. I have to take Bowie to daycare in the morning, and make him his chicken dino nuggets for dinner – I’ve had to stay present and grounded.

Kowboy’s memorial will be on his 40th birthday, which is just a few weeks before the one year anniversary of his death. We’ll have it at the Golden Gardens Bathhouse in Ballard – a neighborhood with rich Norwegian heritage.  A former colleague of KB’s built a 12 ft Viking ship, which we’ll adorn with flowers, and we’ll have dress forms with some of his most stellar outfits. It will be beautiful.

As a high capacity person, it was helpful to be reminded that I didn’t have to carry it all. A friend told me – “it’s okay to be messy right now”. Allowing myself to be cared for was an adjustment, and also so important. It was vital.

I believe that we are eternal souls that have human experiences – to learn, to feel, to experience everything. I believe our souls are the purest forms of us – I believe Kowboy’s soul is always near mine, and that he’s my inner child’s best friend.

At the memorial, we are giving everyone stamped envelopes all addressed to Bowie. Asking family & friends to share stories about KB for him to read when he’s older, to deepen Kowboy’s legacy and connection to Bowie.  – Laura

Post Faces Session:

Kowboy was a vibrant soul who left an indelible mark on the countless who crossed his path. I tried to capture a sliver of his essence in his obituary – it would mean a lot if folks would take a few minutes to read it here. 

It was cathartic to connect with M the week leading up to Kowboy’s memorial (September 14th – his 40th birthday). It’s been almost a year since his death, and I’ve worked to zoom way out and grasp the big picture. I haven’t revisited the months leading up to his death, or the day of, in a long time. It was tender and powerful to revisit that time, those emotions – to name them, honor them, and walk away from them. Our story is so much more than the hard parts, so much more than how and when he died. And at the same time – I have a lot of tenderness for the Laura who experienced that. I’m forever changed. And that’s okay.

I think about my processing, my grief, like a big, old, semi-spooky Victorian house. I’ve been slowly moving through this house for the past year – spending time in every room, laying in every bed, examining every object, making friends with the spiders in the corners. I’ve made peace with this house and all that it holds. After this weekend’s memorial, I hope to leave the house and step into the garden – the rest of my life. I don’t know what’s out there – but I know it will be big, and beautiful, and encompass more than I can imagine. The house will still be there, and that’s okay. It’s a part of me. It’s my house.

I believe we are eternal souls that have human experiences. I believe we’re trying our best – like we intend to color a picture inside of the lines, but someone keeps shaking the table, we lose our crayons and have to switch to paint, the lights cut out and we can’t see – so of course we mess up, of course we draw outside of the lines. I believe the hard parts are as important as the beautiful ones – they’re all part of this human experience. Beauty and terror. No feeling is final. I believe that we move towards our life’s highest path if we choose love over fear. 

So be kind to yourselves, be patient with each other, choose love over fear. Always, always, always.

Photographers Notes:

SO once again I want to state as I do ever so often – the photos I take and share here, are an AFTERTHOUGHT. These are snaps in time from just a few of the moments in Laura’s session. Many tender pieces I don’t capture, because I want to just be present for my guest AND myself. It’s about the time spent and stories shared in a mutual shared space, talking about really sad and hard things. 

There is an extra layer of trauma experienced when you are present and or find someone who has taken their own life. I believe an extra level of care and space need to be given to people who have had to endure them both. This session was very emotional, and I think a lot of it was because Laura communicated a lot as we went back and forth with our stories. She wasn’t afraid to ask me questions, or to correct and follow up on something that was brushed past as we spoke. There was a level of emotional maturity in her grief that I marveled at. 

When I’ve explained how I decided to name this project, and the visual I have when I see word Fortitude as a person, I often describe a warrior or viking type. Laura has that energy when you’re around her. 

KB’s memorial happened a few days ago. Seeing the photos of the big boat built by his buddy, some of the amazing KB outfits on display, and the amazing amount of people that loved him, made me so happy to know he existed on this earth at one time. The memory of him lives so bright in everyone that loves him.  Thank you Laura for trusting me with your very fresh loss, and inspiring me with your resilience. For opening your heart enough to share the memory of KB with us all.