“Between the Veil” – January 2024

There is a kind of quiet that doesn’t hush the world, but hushes you.

In January 2024, I had been lost into it… lost for over a year.

I don’t have photos from that month. No saved texts. No bright-eyed selfies.

Just a blur of pillows and prescriptions.

I was on bedrest, caught in the heavy in-between—

half in this world, half somewhere else.

I’d open my eyes just long enough to zoom into a 7 AM AA meeting… the DayOpeners of Wallingford CT. The meeting that saved my life, and I credit to my sobriety. I made lifelong friends. People cared. People saw me. Years later… this is the group that would ensure I got my puppy.

I’d listen to the meetings, sometimes speak, sometimes cry.

Then I’d lay my head back down and drift away,

into a sleep so thick it felt like tar.

There was no time. There was no space. I haden’t eaten in months.. my jaw hurt too much to chew. I was 83 pounds.

That month, I didn’t just think about dying.

I measured it.

I imagined what life would look like without me—

My mom, my dad, the quietness I’d leave behind. How they would fair. How they would grieve, and hopefully move forward and move on with their lives. Hopefully, they would use what happened to me to inspire them to do the things they never had the time for, or the money for. I left my mom my savings, so she could experience something special with it. I imagined it. I thought of ways to make things easier for them. I tried to put together letters, a notebook with where my assets were. Who I wanted my special, favorite ruby ring to go to.

I grieved Nicole so much, best friend I’d already lost. I missed Lenny. I missed all my friends who passed. I wondered if they could see me, if they’d know how much I wanted to come visit, but how my body just… wouldn’t move. I tried to talk to them, ask them for help, Id ask them to bring me there to be with them.

I remember the feeling of helplessness.

But somewhere in that dark—maybe not a spark, but a thread.

Gold. Fragile. Real.

I followed it.

I started dreaming of a van. Not just any van—a home on wheels. A conduit to bring me to my dreams. The dreams I could still dream.

I wanted to see the Redwood Forest.

The Grand Canyon.

Yellowstone.

Every hole-in-the-wall diner with a dusty jukebox and kind eyes behind the counter.

I wanted to LIVE—not big or flashy—just fully. Even if it meant living slow. Even if it meant healing one hour at a time. I want to see the things Ive seen in movies. I want to feel the water rushing through a waterfall. I want one really great cup of coffee.

That’s what this piece is.

Between the Veil is not the darkness. It’s not the dream.

It’s the moment in-between,

where grief met grace,

where silence met hope,

and where a black canvas began to shimmer with threads of gold.

If you look closely, you’ll see it.

The Dreamcatcher.

The black engulfing fog.

The golden line that dares to say: “Maybe not yet. Maybe not like this. Keep going.”

With Love,

Dana & Nicky