Second Cut One-Year Anniversary

I made it to here. My one-year second-cut heart anniversary was May 12.

When I got the news that Leisa passed, I went somewhere in my head. I flew to Nova Scotia on a whim—autopilot. And of course, there’s a story behind how I got there. I’ve got stories for dayssss remember? Hahaha.

A friend offered to take me the day after I found out, and I was happy as fuck—still in another zone. But a couple of days later, after flying high and thinking to myself how lucky I was that my friend was going to see to it that I got there, I started re-reading the text messages because the last message confused me.

All the words I didn’t see when I was originally offered the trip were suddenly standing out, as if they were enlarged and bolded.

Nonetheless, the offer had stipulations. I felt sick.

One, because there’s no fucking way in hell I’m rolling with someone who is supposed to be better than well-off, tossing around the words, “If it’s cheap,” over and over again and telling me what I’m supposed to say. Yo, huh, what? Yeah, no! Fuck that and fuck off!

I started crying— hard because there I was, so elated that I was going to be able to say goodbye to my girl, and now I didn’t know how I was going to make that happen. I had no money. I’m just getting by, and I told him that.

Secondly, I knew our friendship had just ended—just like that, after forty years and he was more than just a friend to me.

Outside of that, I was sad because he was either full of shit all along and thought he had to carry on big to impress me, or that’s simply the person he became.

Either way, he extracted himself from my heart.

My son came into the room because once I recognized the stipulations, I knew there was no fucking way I was going that route. I was bawling, and he asked, “What’s going on?”

He’d been watching me grieve for days—grieve my girl in a way he’d never seen me before.

So I told him what happened. Ugh, I’m welling up as I’m writing this.

He gave me his credit card and said, “Here, take this.”

I booked an Airbnb and a flight right then and there. I financed it, but he paid it all off and told me to just pay him back when I can.

That whole ordeal—her death, the friendship ending, and unwanted people around me trying to reconnect—was a lot, to say the least.

I guess that's why, as soon as I found out she passed, I went somewhere. Autopilot kicked in and took over, like something bigger was protecting me, knowing what was coming my way before I did.

After the whole Scotia thing, letting go of the book, and having to be in the company of people I hoped I'd never see again in my life—the zone I was in was no more.

I was back and tired as fuck.

I started cardiac rehab back up because I felt ready and I wanted to be there. I love that place. It's like my first home, my heart home. I will always be attached to those people and that place.

But I came home one day after being there, and I was exhausted. Depleted.

I lay on my bed and fell asleep for four hours. I woke up at 7 PM and was like, wow. Sleep had escaped me for the longest time.

I was tired, and I allowed myself to be tired.

I did fuck all the whole month of May. I figured after three years of hubbub—in and out of recovery, I was entitled to rest, and rest I did. I slept in every day until noon, sometimes 1 PM, and Trent just rolled with it.

I'm the morning dog walker. That's my walk. But I was out, and Trent took over. No muss, no fuss. I didn't have to say a word, and I was grateful.

I was allowed to rest. Do nothing.

I stopped going to cardiac rehab and physiotherapy for my knee, and I was like, fuck it, to getting my blood checked. I wasn't going anywhere anyway to be in danger if my blood was too thin.

The last week of May, I was up every day at 7 AM—just like that. No effort. And here I am, three years and two heart surgeries later, one year post-recovery, and I’m a completely different person.

I have been through so much. Sometimes I feel like if this didn’t take me out, nothing can.

I have so many little projects on the go that are just forming organically. I don’t even think about what’s next because what’s next is already right in front of me. 

I was going to Nova Scotia—come hell or high water, that was happening. T’was meant to be.

Waking up at 7 AM? That’s because, yep, I’m rested now, and it’s time to continue the work. This path that I’m on—it’s guided. I don’t have the wheel. I am a vessel, and I just go with it.

What I’m doing now is the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done in my life. I’ve come a long way, and I am proud of myself. One thousand percent.

I’m in a great place mentally and emotionally for a change. Everything feels levelled out. The last three years were something, eh?

My faith is tight. My strength, resilience, and everything I’ve survived have become my foundation. And it’s rock solid. There is no going back to anyone or anything.

So much has already happened this year, and so much more is about to happen. There is no plan. There’s just a knowing, and it’s exciting.

Me freaking out about what I was going to do next, that feeling completely disappeared.

So many things are in play right now. Stay tuned and follow:

IG: @butterflyjaye

YouTube: @butterflyjaye

FB: Butterfly Jaye

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/0LwpHMx0zVV0giyqEQfQAO?si=FL2nIxoVTTqyOZ0VwdtNAg

This is where the juice gets posted first. I think I’ve got one newsletter left on here, so if you want to know what’s up, what’s happening, and what’s coming next, follow.

All those links are right below. What are you waiting for?

Go poke around—there’s stuff there and here you haven’t seen before. I assure you.

—Jaye