48 M a r i n o c t o b e r 2 0 1 0 m a r i n m a g a z i n e . c o m

first person

Thisiswhereitallstarted—Tennessee

ValleyBeach.ThedayafterErikand I

movedfromFloridatoCalifornia—both21

atthetime—wehikedtwomilestoreach

thismagnificentNorthernCaliforniacoast-

line,andIwasimmediatelyfilledupwith

thepowerofauniversalforceIhadnever

experiencedbefore.

WefellinlovewithTennesseeValleythat

day.Then,aswemarriedandbeganbuild-

ingourfamily,wefellinlovewithourlifein

MarinCountyevenmore.

My children’sphotographybusiness

quicklygrewtoinclude2,000BayArea

familiesandworldwidepublications,while

Erik climbed themanagement ranksat

IndustrialLightandMagic.Wefoughtlike

mostcouplesdo,butwehadfinallyreached

thepointinwhichtheplayfulgestureofa

middlefingercouldendmostarguments.

Isn’tmarriageaboutlearningtoseethe

perfectionineachother’simperfections?

OnEasterSunday,2003,Ireachedover

myseven-month-pregnantbellytohelpour

one-year-olddaughter,Tatiana,findcolorful

eggsinthebackyard.Ourgirlswouldbe19

monthsapart.

AsIcaughtEriksmilingatus,Isaid,“Do

youthinkabouthowluckyweare?”

“Yes,”Erikreplied.“Ithinkaboutitat

leastfivetimesaday."

Wehadeverythingwehadeverwanted.

AfterourcasualEasterdinner,Erikgot

uptomakethecoffee,andTatianaandI

watchedinhorrorashesliddownthekitch-

encounter.

“Erik,getup,”Isaid.

ThenInoticedthebloodonthesideof

hismouthfromwherehe’dbithistongueon

thewaydowntoourwhite-tiledfloor.

Oneminutehewas laughing,and35

minuteslaterhewaspronounceddead.

Heartattack,at29yearsold.

Justlikethat.

Istoodoverhismotionlessbodyinthat

sterilehospitalroom,kissinghiscoldeyelids,

asheavingsobsrolledthroughourunborn

daughter.Mymouthtracedhislips,wishing,

morethananything,thatIcouldblowlife

backintohim.

ButErikhadtakenhislastbreath.

Iwantedtolieontopofhimanddie.

HowcanIdothiswithouthim?Howcan

ItellTatianathatherdaddyisdead?

Do you have a story to tell? Submit your own First Person narrative for consideration in a future

Marin Magazine issue. For word count and guidelines, e-mail nwood@marinmagazine.com

My Drop Dead Life

By Hyla MolanderGustsofwindshoutthroughthefogover

TennesseeValley, slappingmy long brown hair in all directions. I

holdmylegssteadyonthecliffsideandwatchthe10-footPacific

wavesdevourbitsofredearththreestoriesbelow.Thebushesmake

arustlingsound,suddenlyremindingmeoftherumoredmountain

lion,butwhenIturnaround,twodeerspringdownthehillinstead.

m a r i n m a g a z i n e . c o m M a r i n o c t o b e r 2 0 1 0 49

Careforanotherbaby?How?Why?

Theonlywaytogetpastthis, Iknew,

wastowalkstraightintomypain.Ivowed

totakeholdofmysadness,wrestlingitlike

awildrattlesnake,sothatIcouldeventually

beagoodmotheragain.

Ididn’twantmyhearttobebrokeninto

pieces.Iwantedtobebrokenopen.Ineed-

edtofindmeaninginthistragedy.

Aftershuttingdownmyphotography

business,Istartedeverypossibletypeof

therapy:traditionalgriefcounseling,mas-

sage, energywork, a spousal loss sup-

portgroup,hypnotherapy,EyeMovement

DesensitizationReprocessing forPost-

TraumaticStressDisorder,andvigorous

exercise.Allofithelped,butIcontinuedto

searchforanswers.

Wordspouredthroughmyfingers,de-

scribingthehammeringangst.Againand

again,mymindreplayedthatEasterSunday.

Iwroteabouttheblood,Tatiana’sscreams,

andthenherfrequentreenactmentofher

daddy’sdeath.Eachexcerptpeeledback

anotherlayer.

SixweeksafterKeira’sbirth,Erik’smoth-

ersaid,“Sweetheart,youneedtogetback

outthere.Erikwantsyoutofindloveagain.”

Shesawmyloneliness.SheknewIlonged

forwhatI’dhadbefore.

So,even though I felt likedamaged

goods,Ienteredtheworldofonlinedating.

IwroteandrewrotemyMatch.comprofile,

whichfinallyread,inpart:“Thereisaplace

wherehappinessoverwhelmsyou,where

youfeelyoumightburstbecauseitfeelsso

good.Ihavebeentothatplace.Ihavebeen

thereandtasteditsrichnessandIknow

thatIwillreturnthereonceagain.Ihave

tobelievethatthosecapableoflovingwith

suchintensity,oflivingeachmomentcom-

pletely,mustdeservetoloveagain.”

ThenextmorningIhad10e-mails.The

mendidn’tevenseemtomindthatIwasa

30-year-oldwidowwithtwobabies.

I starteddating,butknew Iwouldn’t

settleforlessthanErikwouldwantforme,

forlessthanIwantedformyself.Icouldn’t

bringhimbackorreplacehim,butErikhad

taughtmehowtolove,andIknewIwould

recognizethatfeelingwhenIfounditwith

someoneelse.

Timepassed,andafteracoupleofsix-

monthrelationships,twoyearsofworkshop-

ping sections of my

writing,andtheeven-

tualresurrectionofmy

photographybusiness,

alongcametheseren-

dipitouse-mailthrough

Match .com. A long

cameEvan.

WhenIintroduced

TatianaandKeira to

Evan and his eight-

year-old son, Jason,

theconnectionwasinstant,andinlessthan

twoyears,weweremarried.Soonafter,at

thecourthousewhereEvanlegallyadopted

thegirls,Tatiana,fouryearsoldatthetime,

said,“Mommy,doyouthinkDaddyEriksent

Daddytous?”

“Yes,mylove,”Itoldher.“Ithinkhedid.”

Erikhadalwayspromisedtotakecareof

us,andIbelievethathesentEvantousso

thathecouldkeephispromise.

OnlymonthsafterImetEvan,he’dsaid,

“It’sallrightifyouneverlovemeasmuchas

youloveErik.”

ButwhatI’vediscoveredisthatbecause

oflovingErik,becauseoflosinghimwithout

notice,IamabletoloveEvanevenmore.

I’mabletoloveTatiana,Keira,Jason,and

ournewbaby,Julian,evenmore.

Now,onthisTennesseeValleycliff,where

IscatteredErik’sashes,Ihavefoundthe

meaning inmytragedy.Erik’sdeathhas

taughtmetolivelifewithtwicetheinten-

sity.Throughmymemoir,Drop Dead Life: A

Pregnant Widow’s Heartfelt and Often Comic

Journey through Death, Birth, and Rebirth,I

hopetoremindotherstodothesame.

AsIadmiretheseundulatingmountains,

Irealizethatevenbehindthemysterious

fog,thereisalwayslight.

The only way to get past this, I knew, was to walk

straight into my pain. I vowed to take hold of my

sadness, wrestling it like a wild rattlesnake, so that

I could eventually be a good mother again.