Not Your Average Love Story

Britton and Jen

Last week a wonderful man proposed to me and I happily accepted. WARNING: this is NOT your average "boy meets girl" scenario. I've been told on more than one occasion that our story resembles a Hallmark movie. I'm not sure exactly what that means, but I think it implies tragedy, heartbreak, growth and a slightly far-fetched happily-ever-after. Personal experience has taught me that you can never know when or how a story will begin or end. Bad things happen to good people. Wonderful things happen to good people. Ever-after is fictitious, but fairy tales are real. Allow me to share a bit of our prologue.

Let me begin with the summer of 2009 - when monumental events altered our paths forever. That July in Denver, Colorado, Britton Thomas received the news that his wife of four years, Jaqueline "Jax" Arcaris, was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. Suddenly what seemed like a future guaranteed to last well into old age together was not as certain. Around that same time, Ruben Garza was on a trip to Washington, DC to represent cancer survivors at a White House event. And I (Jen Snavely, back then) was adjusting to a new life in Austin, Texas and wondering why, at age 32, I still hadn't met "the one." Until August 30th... the day I met Ruben and our love story began.

Many of you know this part. We both fell hard and fast. I knew he was a cancer survivor but learned on our second date that he was not actually in remission. He had been fighting Hodgkin's Lymphoma for about 12 years at that point and the goal was to "keep a lid on it." We had a few months of the cancer staying in check, unaware that the roller coaster was slowly and steadily climbing to the summit. Then a set of bad scans sent Ruben down the familiar path of appointments, treatment, illness, and uncertainty. This time with a girlfriend who loved him in tow.

Jen and Ruben

About ten months after we met, Ruben asked me to marry him, and on November 6, 2010 we became husband and wife. I've said many times, the arc of our cancer narrative never lined up with the arc of our personal story. I'm sure Britton and Jax had a similar experience. We would go straight from chemo infusion to a concert. They would go from a round of radiation to the ski slopes. While on separate paths, the four of us packed more laughter, life, travel, love and adventure into a few years than most will in decades. 

Many of you may recall that after Ruben entered into hospice care in June of 2011, we turned to MyLifeLine.org to keep our friends and family updated on our needs and to share some of our highs and lows. Less than two months after Ruben passed away, at the end of 2011, I had the opportunity to meet Marcia, the founder of MyLifeLine, and thank her in person for the invaluable support her service provided. We shared a strong connection and stayed in touch. 

Britton and Jax met Marcia shortly after Jax's diagnosis. MyLifeLine was a powerful outlet for Jax to share her journey through the honest and candid writing that their large network came to rely on. Marcia, living in and operating out of Denver, soon became a close friend and was, like so many others, devastated by Jax's death in early 2012. 

Britton and Jax

Fast forward a few months. I received an email from Marcia asking me if I'd be open to corresponding with Britton, a young and recent cancer widower who desperately needed to connect with someone he could relate to. I was in dire need of the same thing and could hardly wait for the first email. Correspondence was slow to start, but we reached out to one another for advice during the hardest times. "How did you get through the first wedding you attended after he died?" "What was I supposed to wish for when I blew my birthday candles out when my only wish couldn't come true?" It wasn't long before we were a lifeline for one another. 

One of Ruben's primary passions was live music. Red Rocks Amphitheater outside of Denver is one of the ultimate live music venues and one he had always hoped to get to, but never had the chance. I once overheard someone ask him, "If you could choose any show to see there, what would it be?" and after giving it some thought, he answered with certainty: My Morning Jacket. One random day I had the urge to look up the Red Rocks schedule and my heart stopped when I saw MMJ on the lineup. I immediately bought two tickets and told myself I'd figure the guest out later or just go alone. Living in the moment was the only way I could function back then. 

Soon after booking the tickets, I decided I should really make an adventure out of the trip. I had always wanted to go skydiving, and the Rocky Mountains seemed like a better backdrop than the Texas Hill Country. A few weeks later when I was trying to figure out who I knew in Denver who I could offer the extra ticket to, it occurred to me that my "widow pen-pal" (as I'd come to affectionately refer to Britton as) lived somewhere near there. Imagine his surprise when I posed the question, "want to jump out of a plane and catch a show with me?" 

The first time I actually heard his voice was on the phone a few hours before we met up in person for dinner the night before our big day. I was in the parking lot of the MyLifeLine offices after visiting with a few of their staff members and sharing more about my journey. They assured me that Britton was one of the nicest people they'd ever met - the words "a gentle teddy bear" may have been uttered. Friends back home couldn't believe I was going to have such an intimate experience with a "stranger" who I hadn't even spoken to. I kid you not, at least two different people said, "he could sound like Mickey Mouse." ??? Luckily, he didn't. His voice was perfectly normal. And hugging him when I first stepped out of the car felt like I was reuniting with a long lost friend.

We spent a few minutes in his living room where memorial collages still hung before we ventured out to dinner. A little nervous at first, we quickly opened up and began pouring out our hearts, talking about things that would make the average person extremely uncomfortable. Sometimes we'd catch ourselves delving into topics like chemo side effects, end of life concerns, saying goodbye forever - then we'd glance around at surrounding tables and observe people who seemed to be without a care in the world. What would they think if they could actually hear what we were saying?

After dinner we walked all over the city of Denver. Sometimes in conversation, sometimes silently lost in thought, but always comfortably in stride with one another. No pressure to be someone we weren't. No need to put on a brave smile just to put the other person at ease. No need for sugarcoating or editing. No chance of a romantic interest because neither one of us were even remotely ready for something like that. We finally said goodnight and made plans for the next morning: breakfast, lunch, skydiving, dinner, and the Red Rocks concert. You know - your average first non-date.

What can I say other than that August 4th, 2012 was a magical day? Allow me to share a few highlights:

Just before skydiving we realized we were terrified of losing our wedding rings, so we went out to the car to nervously lock them away. And we shared an understanding.

Skydiving in Longmont, Colorado - 8/4/12

We overheard an older man being asked why he wanted to jump and he said, "it's as close to heaven as you can get without dying." And we both knew exactly what he meant.

When our cameramen interviewed us separately about why we were doing this, we answered in our own ways but saying the same thing. We had people we needed to get closer to up there.

Britton pointed out to me that any other summer day in the mountains it would have stormed right around the time we stepped onto the plane. But on this day, it never rained. The sky was perfectly blue. And we thanked Ruben and Jax for giving us a beautiful day.

Later that evening we had dinner and ventured over to Red Rocks Amphitheater midway through the opener. One of the first things we noticed were two large crows circling overhead. A symbol of higher perspective, fearlessness, and magic. Messengers of foretelling, seers of souls, and teachers of change.

Just as My Morning Jacket walked on, a full moon began to rise behind the stage. I was overcome by how much Ruben would have loved every last detail. At one point we turned to one another and I said, "the only thing missing is fireworks. He loved fireworks. But it's the beginning of August. Pretty unlikely." I kid you not, a few moments later we saw fireworks off in the distance. His presence was undeniable.

My Morning Jacket - Live at Red Rocks - 8/4/12

For those of you who are MMJ fans, the 3.5 hour show had a phenomenal set list. They did a 17 minute version of Dondante (a song about loss) during which Jim James whispered "everything changes" over and over again. In those moments and during the chorus of I Will Be There When You Die, among others, tears streamed down my face. At one point I finally broke down enough to cry on Britton's shoulder. 

When we tried to say goodbye at the end of that night, we realized we couldn't let go of one another. Something very unexpected and powerful was happening and we decided to remain open to all possibilities. Neither of us was looking for love that day. But without even knowing it at the time, that's exactly what we found.

The next day I "somewhat accidentally" missed my flight back to Austin and we spent more time together. The following night we spoke on the phone for hours. And again every night after that. Three weeks later I went back to Colorado and we climbed a mountain. A few weeks after that, Britton visited me in Austin. We talked every night for months and took things one baby step at a time. Thankfully, back then and ever since, our personal low points never seem to coincide. While one is in tears, the other can be the strong one, assuring that the pain will lessen. We were never alone.

Southwest Adventures

One day we were texting about how much we each needed a break from our everyday lives where we didn't feel quite as understood as we did when we were together. Britton had been laid off from his job (talk about being kicked when you're down) and I worked for an organization who supported my need to take some belated bereavement time, so we began planning a month-long trip through the southwest. Thirty days of nature, beauty, rare cell phone service, companionship, adventure, discovery, grief, journaling, healing, laughter, tears, and stepping into the unknown together ensued. 

More Southwest Adventures

Remembering and honoring Ruben and Jax

Sometime after this trip we came to terms with the fact that we were officially dating one another and that we deserved to be happy. This is not an easy concept to grasp when you've been through what we've been through. We already had the loves of our lives. We didn't want to lose them. We didn't want to move on. We didn't want the memories to fade. We didn't want to diminish what we had with them in any way. But we faced the new territory together and we made an unspoken pact to always make space for Ruben and Jax. And we gave ourselves a second chance at love.

We both knew when I accepted the job with Texas 4000 that I was making a commitment to staying put in Austin for at least a little while. Bridging the distance seemed impossible but necessary for a long time. After making sure that the foundation of our relationship was built solidly on much more than just shared experience of loss, Britton ultimately made an enormous sacrifice. He left friends, mountains, skis, and familiarity behind and moved to Austin, Texas to be with me. Finally living in the same city under the same roof has been an incredible gift. It wasn't long before we knew we wanted to be together for as long as life grants us the opportunity and to hopefully have a family one day. And on October 28, 2014, Britton asked me to marry him.

Everyone is so quick to ask, "how did he do it?" So here's the story... the end of this blog post... and the beginning of a new chapter. A few months back we looked at some rings so he could try to better understand my extreme pickiness when it comes to jewelry. I figured the question might be coming sometime around the holidays or early next year, but really had no idea. It turns out he had ordered the ring a day after we first saw it and had been waiting for weeks for it to arrive. When he finally got the call that it was ready, he went to the jewelry store that day. As he exited the store with ring in hand, the store owner called after his dog, "Jax, come back here." Britton froze in his tracks. "What did you say your dog's name is?" To which the owner replied, "Jax." Britton confirmed the spelling and couldn't believe the sign he was receiving. His Jax was trying so hard to get his attention, to tell him that "it's okay" and "I want you to be happy," that these were the lengths she had to go to in order for him to take notice. And he did.

That night when Britton came home from work we were discussing what to do for "date night" and agreed upon a new yoga class, although he didn't want me to buy the passes online. He walked out onto our balcony, sat on top of the picnic table and I followed to join him. We sat and looked out on the Greenbelt as the sun began to set. He made some excuse to run inside for a second and emerged back on the deck soon after. He put his arm around me and asked me what I was thinking about. Neither of us remember what I said. I asked him what he was thinking about and he shyly replied, "I'm thinking about how to give you this and ask you to marry me" as he pulled the ring from his pocket. He later admitted that he just couldn't wait to do it so he didn't have a formal plan and doesn't know what he would've done if I hadn't asked him back. Sweet, simple, honest, and authentic. We could hardly wait to tell our families and friends.

We know better than most that the future is not guaranteed. That the reward is in the risk. That there is no time like the present. I try not to use the word "lucky" because it really doesn't seem to apply to two individuals who lost their adored spouses decades too soon. But we do feel incredibly blessed that our paths crossed, that the stars aligned, and that we were given just enough courage to keep saying yes. Whatever lies ahead, I know I have a partner and a best friend in Britton and I am eternally grateful to have him by my side.

More Britton and Jen

One day at a time, I will continue to live by my motto - choose love over fear - and I encourage you to do the same. And to pass it on.

I'm not doing a half Ironman just for fun

I'm not doing a half Ironman just for fun.

In fact, I don't do any endurance event just for fun. I do them so I have a platform to help out a good cause. And actually I wouldn't use the word "fun" at all to describe giving up several hours each week for physically draining activities or asking my friends and family for support yet again. It's a sacrifice and a labor of love.

I've raised thousands of dollars over the years for many cancer organizations through various races and rides. In this case, I'm training and fundraising for a half Ironman on April 13th for Texas 4000. That's 70.3 miles in a row of physical endurance for something I truly believe in.

This feat is part of my overall goal to train 4,000 miles and raise $10,000 in one year for Texas 4000 for Cancer. The race will likely be the second hardest thing I've ever done, and you all know the first hardest had nothing to do with sports and no other experience will ever come close.

I've posted, I've blogged, I've brought it up in almost every conversation. And now I need to come right out and ask. Will you help me reach my goal? I'd like to raise $5,000 by the time I get to the start line on April 13th. 

Donate $5 because every bit helps. Contribute $56 because that's how many miles I need to bike after swimming 1.2. Or perhaps $13 because I have to run a half marathon after the swim and bike. What about $70.30 to represent the overall distance? Any amount is appreciated. Please donate today.

I will be swimming, biking, and running for the Texas 4000 riders, for Ruben Garza, and for Junior Barotti.

• The riders all have deep personal ties to cancer and several have lost parents, relatives or friends to this awful disease. But they're doing something to fight back. They’re raising money for cancer research and riding their bicycles from Austin, TX to Anchorage, AK. Seriously.
• Ruben was my husband and one of the most amazing men to ever walk this earth. So much of what I do is in his memory and to honor his legacy. 
• Junior is a dear friend from high school who is literally fighting for his life as I type this, lying in a hospice facility as his wife and three young girls try to stay strong. 

Currently I'm training daily just to get to the start line, and I'm only able to do that by drawing strength from you and from people like you who provide support, perspective, and stories of their own life endurance.

Please visit my personal page to donate and/or www.texas4000.org for more information on Texas 4000.

With gratitude,

Jen

The Little Voice In My Head

There’s a video I’ve wanted to share that was edited from an interview I did over a year ago.  I wasn’t sure what context to use it in, but the connection came to me in an inspired moment tonight and this blog post is the result.  (Note: if you're short on time or interest, the video is about halfway down the page!)

This evening I was tasked with wearing a costume to my trail-running group run.  To be perfectly honest, if I wasn’t writing this blog and needing mileage for my 4,000-mile challenge for Texas 4000, I can guarantee you this is a night I would have skipped – giving some lame excuse to get out of it.  But I feel accountable, so I decided to go.  Of course I got busy, waited until the last minute, and ended up digging a “doctor costume” out of the bottom of my closet.

I had to laugh when members of the group joked, “Good thing we have a medic here.  We’re all safe now with Jen the doctor in our presence.”  The “little voice in my head” had a field day.  “Doctor?  Ha!  I can barely take care of myself, let alone anyone else.  I’m about as much an athlete or a trail-runner as I am a surgeon.  At best I’m an occasional jogger.  I’ll probably trip over my scrubs and sprain my ankle.  Then they’ll all see me as I really am.”  We passed a rock-climbing wall I’ve recently climbed and I thought, “That’s where I pretend to be a climber, kind of like how I’m pretending to be a trail-runner and a doctor right now.”

Somehow I ended up in the middle of the group, spaced out enough at one point to where I was running alone with time to think.  My mind wandered to other times when that little voice gained volume and power in the past.  Throughout various stages of my time with Ruben I heard, “I’ll make a terrible girlfriend/wife/partner/caregiver.  I’m not equipped to handle our circumstances.  I’m not qualified.  There’s no way he can really love me as much as he says and seems to.  I don’t deserve to be this happy.  I can’t take care of him.  I won’t survive the loss.  I will never get out of bed again.”

This video, a relatively raw and honest account, was filmed about a year ago after I spoke at a Seton AYA Survivorship event.  When I was approached about speaking, the little voice said, “They’re only asking me because their first five choices were probably busy.  After they hear me, they will regret ever asking me.”   Here it is – basically some reflections on being a “caregiver”…

Watching this a year later, I’m able to call bullshit on the little voice.  Participating in that day was really powerful for me, and also for those who attended.  I received great feedback. 

I’m reminded as I listen to my own words that I was wonderful at every role I played in Ruben’s life, regardless of whether or not I knew what I was doing.  You don’t have to be qualified or flawless to love or be loved unconditionally.  You don’t have to be a medical professional in order to provide exceptional care for someone who is sick.  You don’t have to allow the loss to drown you forever.  You just need to face what’s immediately ahead of you and put one foot in front of the other.  Over, and over, and over again.

Somehow I ended up leading a portion of the group during tonight’s run.  It was dark out and only my second time running at night.  The trail was rocky, muddy, slippery, and occasionally steep.  The little voice piped up, “Why on earth would anyone want me in front and pacing them?  Is my headlamp even working?  I can’t see an inch in front of me.  Which path should I take?  Am I about to run blindly into poison ivy, a snake, or a wild dog?  I’m tired, I’m sweaty, I’m lost.  I need a break.”

But that’s life, right?  The path isn’t always illuminated for us.  We don’t know what we’re walking into or if we’re going in the right direction.  Do we freeze?  Stop moving forward?  Regret our choices?  I prefer to approach life the way I approached Ruben and his illness (most days).  Without fear.  With blind faith.  With a willingness to leap every now and then.  With trust that I will be okay no matter what.  With permission to fail.  With permission to slow down if necessary to regain my footing. 

I needed to be reminded of these things right now.  That nagging little voice has been creeping up from time to time to say, “What if I’m not on the right path?  I’ll probably never have a family.  There’s no way I can hit 4,000 miles.  I’m getting too old.  I’m not good enough at my job.  Am I really helping anyone?  Nobody even wants to read this.”  Tonight I’m calling bullshit on the little voice.  I’m putting one foot in front of the other, with faith and hope and trust.  I’m choosing to believe that I will be okay.  That I’m making a difference.  That we will all be okay.

Learn more about my journey to 4,000 miles and how to support my efforts.