three years ago [march 2, 2018] i sat in a bar amongst college friends i hadn’t seen in over a decade – remembering jenna. she was incredible and while we were all devastated … i admit that many of us were not entirely shocked that she was the first go.

it was depressingly fitting. the girl who was always the last one standing at the party was the first to leave the big dance.

two years ago, i received a package in the mail from jenna’s mom filled with cards displaying jenna’s illustrations, handwriting and her wonderful spirit. jenna•rosity playfully written on the back. dated 2010.

it reopened the scar on my heart.
i knew what i had to do.
i just didn’t think it would take me this long.
[i thought i was already dancing.]

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this post could be tough to get through but i hope you’ll follow my lead…

the music is blaring.
jenna is watching.
let me retrace my [dance] steps.
and re-write what i’ve learned.
in 4 simple [aka long & complicated] moves.

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step 1: do not “be” sad

my great-uncle died when i was in first grade. [yeah, we’re going WAY back but not for long…]

i don’t remember the funeral but the story goes that i was so upset in class my teacher called home to offer her condolences. my mom was confused. i hadn’t even known my great-uncle. all i knew was i was sad and it showed.

i learned early on that we don’t put our sadness on display. that is a dance you do alone. i found this while cleaning at my parents…

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step 2: do not “draw” upon sadness

moving ahead to college … my dream job was to work for Hallmark.

why did i want to choreograph designs for hallmark? two reasons:

#1 … i love cards. i love sending cards. i love receiving cards. i especially love collecting cards and pretending that i will frame them someday… AND i really love the cards that actually do make it into a frame – because they are so special i enclosed them in glass.

exhibit A – the most meaningful card at the perfect time from one of the best women in my life on a stack of unframed artwork from my past:

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[bird note: i missed shannon’s birthday last week. it sent me into a total spin this morning of panic to text, message and get a card in the mail… AND avoid finishing this post. being perfect and showing up at the exact right time w/ the exact right thing to say is one of my super powers. so when i miss the moment … i feel like a complete and utter failure.

All of this is tied to my birthday because while i never make a big deal about it (aka actively avoided telling people on the day) … i secretly wait and keep track of those that acknowledge it… bird note: this is an exhausting way to celebrate yourself.]

exhibit B – the Christmas card from my mom that actually found a frame:

why hallmark? reason #2 … it’s a company that makes people happy. i can’t make myself happy so why not stoke joy in others? all i’ve ever wanted was to make others happy…

• my senior year of high school my art teacher looked at my drawing and said “you should be a graphic designer” — > so i did.
• my family said “you have to go to the university of wisconsin.” —> so i did.
• my freshman year of college [the year i met jenna] my drawing teacher looked at my drawings concerned and afraid … and asked “you must be sad a lot.” — > so i stopped drawing that way.
• my bff said birch trees are cliché. —> so i never painted them again.
• my uncle said you should study abroad in italy. —> so i did.
• my teachers said you should get an internship. —> i got three.

dance this way.
for this long.
twirl here.
step there.
bow.
now leave the stage.
same ol’ song and dance..

but what about what i want? no one asked.
OR maybe they did but didn’t really listen.
OR maybe i never truly asked myself?
AND/OR didn’t hear the music?

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step 3: do not “dwell” in sadness

this is the one move i have NEVER been good at. feel free to prance on over this part if your heart is too heavy right now.

i have lost quite a few people in my life and i still think of them all. often. for a long time i thought something was “wrong with me” for wanting to constantly tap into the sadness.

• during college, my dad’s best friend died. my sisters and i cried so hard you would have thought it was our father. the whole time i thought … what if this had been dad?
• at the end of college, a high school friend of mine past away in the most tragic way and i got so drunk in the aftermath of his funeral that … well … let’s not talk about it.
• right after moving to chicago, a friend from our freshman dorm lost her battle to cancer and i cried so hard at the funeral that i puked outside of the church.
• while living on the chicago lakeshore, a buddy of ours drown tight outside of my apartment window and the day after the found him, i walked around for miles tearing down the missing person posters —sobbing uncontrollably.
• at the start of 2016, another friend from high school left the big dance and even though she was in my sister’s grade and i hadn’t seen her since we were at UW together, we had lived an EERILY similar life and news of her passing on facebook took my breath away. it was the first time ideas spun in my head of …. “that could have been you.”
• throughout all of this each of my grandparents left us in uniquely sad ways and i was always met with… “they lived such a full life. don’t be sad.”
• when my uncle harvey died, i felt like i had no more tears left.
• until i got the call about jenna overdosing on heroin and leaving behind a three-year-old son … i desperately searched through my photos to see her face again. to remember the wonderful times. to be with her. tears streaming down my face …

this time had a new song and dance: “that could have been you.”

but also… “why couldn’t you help her be happy?”

– bird thoughts

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step 4: do not “accept” the sadness

driving up to jenna’s funeral i told myself that i was going there to support megan. megs was much closer to jenna and had stayed close after college when our friendship had faded. megan had introduced me to jenna. megan was the one that needed consoling. not me. i wasn’t that sad.

i returned home devastated. possibly one of the lowest points of my life despite all of my smiles and dancing: a rockstar freelance design career, a brand spanking new house, a doting husband, etc.

luckily, we left for a belated two-week honeymoon in new zealand that spring [yep, an NZ honeymoon = zealand the dog. it’s all related… duh.] that trip snapped me out of it. after returning, i craved a stable dance partner in my “work life” and went back into corporate america. i breathed … back to the slow and steady waltz of life.

then i got the package with the greeting cards above from jenna’s mom.

i had no idea jenna wanted to create art …
i wish i could have helped.

and back again to, i had no idea jenna was so sad … i wish we would have talked about it.

i get sad too.

and i got sad, too.

i dashed over to my archives and found a printed picture [a rarity from those days] of the four roommates standing in our kitchen and wanted to send it to mrs. furseth [jenna’s mom] – with the story of our friendship for her son james to read some day … but stopped.

i started overthinking it. it was too painful. twirling out of control, i decided i wasn’t special enough in jenna’s life to be caring this deeply about her loss. i wasn’t suppose to be this sad. [plus, i worried about the pot leaf necklace and the alcohol atop the fridge. oops. college.]

i spiraled out of control in my grief.
i sent nothing.
i did nothing.
life went on.
i kept dancing. smiling. giggling.

i doubted sending a simple card with a picture was enough … at least, that was the “story” i started writing in my head. BUT that’s simply not true. anyone that has lost someone near and dear wants to hear ALL of the stories. at ANY time. they wants to see ALL of the pictures. this is LITERALLY how their memory lives on. how loved ones live on.

i now know my purpose [!] ... to help others surface these stories … commit to writing them … and let them dance in the sadness.

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step 4: never ever “dance” w/ sadness

i’m the queen of sitting in the discomfort. i found a career in “re”-branding because at it’s core is motivating massive change. i’m really good at walking folks through that pivotal process. i’ve gone toe to toe with leadership through huge shifts in their organization. bending over backwards every turn. i even knew all the right moves when our department was eliminated during covid.

but being “good” is no longer enough.
i want to be great.
i want to create meaningful art.
i want to sit with the sad, the hard, the pain as much as the good stuff. [maybe i’ll sprinkle some birch trees in there…]
but mainly …
i want to master the most challenging dance of all: life.

i plan to commemorate and document it all.

i’m calling it “bird therapy.”

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the encore…

most people who finally realize “their purpose” spring into action. meh. not me. i see all of the steps in front of me … but i’m still learning the rhythm.

i’m twirling.
i helped a friend dance in her grief.
i dragged my feet for two strangers.
but it was a bit too soon.
they were moving too fast.
i’m still learning that it is ok to be sad.
no one ever really taught me that.
i jumping between lighter topics.
BUT i want others to know
grief is real. AND normal.
AND depression happens
to the best of us.
it disrupts lives.
it takes lives.
SIGH…
i’m still learning to dance.

with that said, below is for jenna …

the story is more important to me than the art.
the person is more important than both.
afterall in the end, stories & people are
the whole point of this big dance.

– robin

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she wore flip flops in winter
and tie dye every other day.

she didn’t care if her socks didn’t match.
she didn’t care if you liked her.
she knew you did.
everyone did.

she had a confidence that girls envied.
she had a spunk that drew guys in.
she had a fire that we loved.

and she danced.

she danced like no one was watching.
she danced long after everyone had stopped.
she danced when there was no music.
she danced to the song in her head
and the beat of her heart.

she will always be remembered for saying
“hold me up so i can dance.”

(jenna’s dance)

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here’s what it could will look like if when i’m brave enough to knock on her mom’s door [i didn’t really know her mom in the same way i didn’t really know my great uncle] … and maybe we’ll dance down memory lane together for a while.