Leaving Virginia
A Bike Ride across America in Memory of Jeremy
By Jennifer Herbstritt
A Bike Ride across America in Memory of Jeremy
By Jennifer Herbstritt
About the book
Some might call life an unpredictable drama. And I can't disagree. But on more optimistic days I like to think of it as an open road overflowing with infinite natural wonders for the curious mind to explore and reflect upon.
I rode my bike across North America to remember. And initially I began writing Leaving Virginia for this same solitary purpose. My big brother was dead and I didn't want to forget him. I couldn't forget him. I wanted to remember everything I could possibly remember about my life with Jeremy, who he was, silly phrases he said, gestures he made, and memories we shared. At the time, I thought these memories would disappear with time. I didn't trust my mind, but I did trust the power of the written word. So I wrote everything I could possibly remember down in words, on paper, in the format of letters written to Jeremy. I typed these letters and saved them on multiple computers, on multiple flash drives and in multiple formats. I wasn't going to lose these memories. Eventually, I realized the more I wrote, the more I remembered. By the time we made it to the west coast on our bikes, I realized my memories would be with me for the remainder of my days, excluding some sort of injury, damage or disease to my brain. No one could ever take my memories from me.
Now, I hope others who are struggling through grief, no matter what its cause may be (the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, a divorce, the loss of a pet, whatever your reason), will be able to find hope in my words, and the inspiration to live this life once again.
Life may not be a bed of roses, or maybe it is depending upon how you analyze this phrase. (Ouch, stupid thorns!) But it's life, and mark my word, there's a lot of life out there worth living. So, savor the moment. Embrace the open road ahead of you. And put your best effort forward to live this life fully for those who cannot.
Take a walk to the mailbox and appreciate the clouds in the sky for their simplicity and size. Dust off the spokes to your old bike and take it out for a ride. Trade in TV for the night for S'mores made in excess over the gas stove with family. Snuggle up with a good book on a dark rainy day or, what the heck, go for a run and stomp in as many puddles as you can. Be a kid again. You won't melt! Walk into town to pick up some milk. Yep, leave that gas-guzzler at home. You might be surprised by who or what you run into along the way. Whatever you decide to do, LIVE! This is the only life you've got!
I rode my bike across North America to remember. And initially I began writing Leaving Virginia for this same solitary purpose. My big brother was dead and I didn't want to forget him. I couldn't forget him. I wanted to remember everything I could possibly remember about my life with Jeremy, who he was, silly phrases he said, gestures he made, and memories we shared. At the time, I thought these memories would disappear with time. I didn't trust my mind, but I did trust the power of the written word. So I wrote everything I could possibly remember down in words, on paper, in the format of letters written to Jeremy. I typed these letters and saved them on multiple computers, on multiple flash drives and in multiple formats. I wasn't going to lose these memories. Eventually, I realized the more I wrote, the more I remembered. By the time we made it to the west coast on our bikes, I realized my memories would be with me for the remainder of my days, excluding some sort of injury, damage or disease to my brain. No one could ever take my memories from me.
Now, I hope others who are struggling through grief, no matter what its cause may be (the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, a divorce, the loss of a pet, whatever your reason), will be able to find hope in my words, and the inspiration to live this life once again.
Life may not be a bed of roses, or maybe it is depending upon how you analyze this phrase. (Ouch, stupid thorns!) But it's life, and mark my word, there's a lot of life out there worth living. So, savor the moment. Embrace the open road ahead of you. And put your best effort forward to live this life fully for those who cannot.
Take a walk to the mailbox and appreciate the clouds in the sky for their simplicity and size. Dust off the spokes to your old bike and take it out for a ride. Trade in TV for the night for S'mores made in excess over the gas stove with family. Snuggle up with a good book on a dark rainy day or, what the heck, go for a run and stomp in as many puddles as you can. Be a kid again. You won't melt! Walk into town to pick up some milk. Yep, leave that gas-guzzler at home. You might be surprised by who or what you run into along the way. Whatever you decide to do, LIVE! This is the only life you've got!
