Amanda van Scoyoc

Baby X is now Annabel Wren Haynes.

She arrived today right before noon today. She’s 5 weeks early but a healthy 4 pounds 12 oz. And of course, she is lovely.

A celebration for Darius and for all who loved him.

A celebration for baby X who will be arriving early Wednesday morning.

These last few days have been very difficult. I have hardly wanted to leave the apartment and it’s made me nearly hate it here. It wasn’t good timing to move here when we did. If we had stayed in Durham maybe Darius would have stayed on our couch. If Eli hadn’t just started working his new job he would have gone over earlier in the day. I feel like this moment in time, all these changes were more significant than we realized, and the world is out of control. 

As a kid I always used to think about all of the decisions that we make in life and how they define our life path. Just as the brain’s neurons are constantly changing how we experience the world, each small moment changes every moment of our future. And some small decisions can change everything. It’s too much to think about all that could have been, and I had stopped thinking about it as an adult. But since Darius left us, I just can’t stop thinking about all of the tiny decisions that could have changed this outcome. I’m stuck on the question of inevitability. Was this suicide inevitable. If it had been stopped, would he have succeeded in the end.

Darius’s death has made me feel both out of control and in awe of this world. When I wake up in the morning, I stare at Eli knowing exactly how much I could loose. I’m amazed by how much we humans are capable of feeling. Having talked to so many people, it’s comforting to know that there are expectations of grief. This feeling of being really depressed about 40% of the time and callus about 60% of the time… sometimes feeling that everything is OK and thinking that I’m inhuman and have no emotions and then suddenly breaking apart into sadness… this is the path that grief plows. I saw Maya Angelo speak a few years ago and she said in her singing voice that in life you can always take comfort in knowing that everything you experience, every emotion you feel has been felt before. We are built of common threads. Grief is personal, but every thought, every feeling is a part of grief’s repertoire.

Today has been a better day. Today I painted some small paintings of Darius for Eli. I had been planning this for the past couple of days, but didn’t have the momentum. Today I did.

 

Darius Poteat

Darius Poteat

One of Eli’s closest friend’s took his life today. Eli found him. He is there with police and I am at home waiting, not really sure what it will be like when he opens the door. We’ve never been through anything like this before. A part of me wants Eli home now, and another part is dreading not knowing how to react.

I didn’t know Darius that well. I never knew his sadness. I only knew him when we got breakfast or hung out for birthdays on our front porch. He’s never seemed a dark person, not a hard person to get laughing. Eli knew deeper parts of Darius, but I don’t think he ever thought Darius would truly take his life. I am angry that I didn’t figure this out (I study this don’t I?) and I don’t want Eli to have been there. I want him to have stayed home tonight with me, or arrived earlier, much earlier.

I work with these kids who are nearly there, attempted to be there, and the hardest thing is to know that in some way they don’t mean it, and Darius didn’t mean it either. There’s an article in the NY Times about people who survived attempting suicide by jumping off the Golden Gate bridge. The journalist tracked down these survivors and they all had the same story–the feeling of wanting desperately to live on the way down–suddenly understanding that this is against our very genetics, our beliefs. It is anti-evolution and religion. Their soul kicked in at the last minute, and having survived, they didn’t attempt again. That’s the worst part of suicide. It happens at a point of maybe, uncertainty, apprehension, but too often there is no turning back. The indecision, is also suicide’s saving grace, it’s why it is considered a preventable disorder.

Recently, I have been plagued by people like Darius who have low lows, but are normally steady. It blows my mind that he could get that low when a couple of weeks ago we had breakfast together and laughed about wedding cakes. It’s intollerable to think that Eli was on the phone with him making plans, joking around at one this afternoon, and he was gone by the time Eli made it to Durham after work. What do you do when it’s not predictable, when they are there as usual and then gone.

I had a conversation with an adolescent over the phone, who already has suicide attempts on record. I asked how long the she had debated before each attempt, and she responded in a light adolescent tone, “Never more than a minute.” She went from not thinking about attempting to attempting in under a minute? This happy sounding kid on the other end of the phone in less than a minute could be gone.  What do you do when someone is there, and that possibility exists.

After this I will take all who have attempted, no matter how normal they may seem, much more seriously. Darius had attempted before. I don’t think he was on medication, and I don’t think he had a therapist. Darius, we as a society did not support you well enough. I should have known better. Even though I didn’t believe you would, I should have known better, read more, understood, and taken this moment in your life much more seriously. The past is the best predictor of the future, and this time you stepped across the boundary in an uncertain moment. I wish I had told you about the the Golden Gate bridge and how the girl on the phone made me terrified that you can loose someone so quickly. It would have been an awkward conversation from your friend’s girlfriend, but I still wish I had told you.

Eli and Darius at Locopops. Photography by Mark Schueler.

We’ve moved into our new house. It’s a townhouse, but so much more of a house than anywhere else I’ve ever lived. In our new house Eli can be upstairs and I can be downstairs and we are not forced into continuous interactions. I have a feeling that this is the beginning of getting older and I’m having a bit of a hard time letting go. I like our new house. I like that all of our shit fits into the closets and that there is the potential for not having piles of stuff everywhere. This house can stay clean. This house doesn’t have holes in the wall or so many mice that everyday we have to check mousetraps and clean up mouse droppings. It’s functional and that’s just a little weird for me. 

You have to understand that our old house was Eli’s bachelor pad. It was there before I existed to Eli, and when it became my house, we became a couple. I’ve always liked that Eli found a house that I would love before we knew each other. I like that the old house reflects who he was before me, but ended up reflecting us as well. 

But the era of our heat leaking crappy house came to an end. Eli is not sentimental the way I am, and he wanted out a long time ago. I pushed him to stay there for as long as I could, and then at some point the mouse droppings piled up, the stove started to smell like burning mouse droppings every time we turned it on, I made scones and had to drive them to Erin’s house to bake them, and I converted to his belief that the house was pretty crappy and that we had to get out. 

But yesterday was the last day and I went back one last time on the very last day that it was ours. I loved that house. The light. The corner where we first kissed on the crappy couch that I certainly will never let Eli be rid of. The porch where I’ve watched baby birds with delight (they’ve watched me with complete terror.) It was hard to leave.

Eli on our old porch, leaving for his first day of being a full time employed web designer.

 

IA final meditation in the mouse droppings kitchen.

 

Up against the wall where we had our very first kiss.

 

The windows that let in the light that woke us up for the past three years. One final thought and I then I shut the door.

I’ve wanted to go strawberry picking for years. I am proud to live in an agricultural state with fertile soil and plentiful sun, and I feel that I should partake in agricultural activities as much as possible from growing our own food to taking advantage of locally grown foods.

Picking strawberries seemed like a romantic Saturday afternoon adventure into the fields. As it turns out, strawberry picking isn’t the feel good agricultural experience that I had envisioned. It’s backbreaking and exhausting. Also, I just had a mole removed from my back and don’t feel up to bending and stretching the broken skin right yet. For me and my sewn up back, strawberry picking was an exercise in squatting and waddling along the aisles. For Eli it was an opportunity to constantly compare my measly collection of misshapen strawberries to his overflowing flat.

In good news, we found an apartment that we LOVE! In bad news, 3 other couples love it too. We’ll find out tomorrow if we get it. I’m hoping, but trying to not worry about it too much. 

 

Eli Picking Strawberries.

 

The Farmer Who told Eli to "Take Care of that Little Girl Now."

Just some photos of the two men I spent today with. 

 

 

 

It’s Memorial Day and Eli and I are recovering from Greg and Shawna’s wedding weekend. We spent this morning looking at another possible house to rent. As we have come to expect, once again this house had a fatal and unexpected flaw. The walls were pink. Not a little pink, but pepto bismo, bubblegum, breast cancer ribbon pink. We were very polite and said we would call, but all the while I was thinking, “Come on! Do you really consider bright pink to be a color most people would want to wake up to every morning? Is this why you only described the house instead of posting interior photos? What is wrong with people? How can home owners be this misguided?” Eli said he could live with it. This makes me out to be the particular one once again.

But let’s backtrack to what I’m supposed to be writing about. The wedding. It was lovely and I took some photographs. Perhaps my competing camera kept the professional photographers on their toes. Until those photographs arrive, here are a few of my own.

First… Some photographs from the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner.

Greg and Shawna during the rehearsal.

Pretending and practicing once again.

Joe sings along with the piano player.

Erica and Penn.

Greg puts on Shawna's Indian marriage necklace so that Greg will never perish or at least not perish soon.

The four brothers singing. This has a tendency to happen as more drinks are served and the party plots onward into the night.

Mom and Barb dancing.

After the crowd left a couple of last songs for the family.

Erin and Rusty share a dance. I think this may have been to their first dance song "moon river" but I'm not sure.

Greg and Shawna.

Now some photos from the wedding and the wedding reception…

Ale as the flowergirl.

The bridesmaids and flowergirl.

The maid of honor walking up.

Reunited and married.

I may have caught this moment but Ale totally missed it.

In the limo leaving for the reception. This is one of my favorite images. Who says you can't shoot into the sun.

Just a darn nice photo of my parents.

Erica and Penn.

Ale. A little bored.

Greg, Shawna and Ale.

I'm running out of novel things to write here. Why did I decide to tag all of the photos?

Some cousins, second cousins... Anna is is looking particularly lovely.

Ale with her eight year old fans behind her. I always was very jealous of flower girls as a kid and certainly can identify more with her slightly jealous friends than with Ale's look of pride and accomplishment in this photo.

The parents of the bride and groom.

Mary and her children and grandchildren.

Maria and Ana. Looking more twin like than usual.

Obligatory. It's late at night and the brothers start singing to some pretty lady.

Hmm. This is new. Down on one knee and singing to the pretty lady.

Have I missed this part of Penn's personality all these years?

One last photo of Greg and Shawna for the night.

And now some obligatory pictures of the next and cutest Van Scoyoc generation. Ale is a part of this generation, but we've seen enough of her today haven't we. This is Sam.

Sam and Anna playing.

Sam and Alex playing.

Sam has already learned to recover quickly after a total wipeout.

Last week Eli and I returned from a road trip to New Orleans and back. My last moments before full time employment were spent researching a bit of Eli’s past life. From meeting his first girlfriend to walking around the neighborhood he left during the reign of Katrina, I felt we were revisiting important points of Eli’s history and so I took pictures of Eli in the spaces that are his.

Some highlights of the trip were seeing whale sharks for the first time at the Atlanta aquarium, severing my ties with mangoes forever- I had hives all week from this last taste, learning how to avoid being eaten by an alligator late at night in a Mississippi bar before camping next to a swamp, seeing snakes and alligators in the Bayou, driving around the ninth ward, and going to Hale county Alabama where Walker Evans took his famous photos for Let Us Now Praise Famous Men.

Fish and the underbelly of a whale shark awe some kids at the aquarium.

Eli being eaten by his tent.

The sun setting sweetly in Mississippi.

Eli in front of the home Katrina forced him to leave.

Cypress knees in the swamp. This was before we saw a big snake and I dug my fingernails into his left forearm.

We walked the graveyards on mothers day. Someone else loved their mother too.

An angel and a lizard watched over me.

Stuck on the bridge overlooking the ninth ward.

On our drive home we stopped by Hale County, Alabama to see the place Walker Evans and James Agee visited so long ago. This is the downtown of the city of Greensboro. I felt a bit overwhelmed being there. I don't think Eli felt this importance.

The last photograph of Eli from the trip. A photo in Hale County against a wood whitewashed wall biting his lip as we thought about Allie May Burroughs and what it means to bring a camera to this county.

It’s been a blissful couple of weeks of relaxing, getting some work done for my friend Rebecca Herman’s exhibit at Duke, and spending time with as many people as possible before I start full time work. I took a job with Dr. Mitch Prinstein at UNC investigating how adolescent peer relationships can affect depression longitudinally. I worked with him before three years ago and am excited to be a part of the research team once again. I’ve been spending a lot of time meeting with people working in public health, psychology, documentary studies, and feel as comfortable as ever with my decision to pursue a clinical psychology PhD. I’m getting ready for the brutal application process.

Eli and I are about to go on one last road trip before the inevitable full time job kicks in. We are off to Athens tomorrow, then Atlanta, then camping on the gulf coast, then to New Orleans where he can show me what his life used to be before Katrina and Amanda van Scoyoc ever existed to him. We are also going to make a special trip to Hale County Alabama to see where Walker Evans shot the photos for Let Us All Praise Famous Men. I’m quite excited.

Here is a quick photo rundown of some of the happenings of the past couple of weeks.

My all time favorite professor from Penn, Paul Hendrickson came down to Duke for the weekend and I was able to convince him and his wife Ceil to come see my exhibit. He will be a visiting professor at Duke this fall, and I have a good feeling that I might be able to collaborate with him on something amazing now that I have photography skills to compliment his incredible writing.

Erin made her annual caramel cake for Rusty's birthday. Silo eyed it as well as the beer.

 

Erin and the cake. Last year it was thick and crusty. This year it started to melt and weep as soon as it hit room temperature. A tradition of excellence.

 

Just for Rusty.

Our friend Matt convinced us to take photographs with him at night. I love the way Eli is so intense about photographing. The way he finds his element.

 

Matt's photo of us.

I just like this photograph.