Help Annie and her kids while they heal

Annie lost her boyfriend to bipolar disorder on May 22nd. She needs support from her community. The nature of Annie’s photography business is that she needs to be emotionally and physically present. She can’t do that right now while trying to grieve and figure out how to heal. She owes deposits from June photoshoots that have been missed. There have been traveling expenses that need to be paid for. Annie also is trying to find a trauma therapist and doesn’t have health insurance that will cover it. We want to help her get the healing she needs, as losing a partner to suicide is debilitating beyond belief. And meanwhile, she also has to take care of her sweet kids.

 

Annie also plans to buy back Peter’s most beautiful and whimsical work, ‘The Walkaway Cabinet’, from a client in NY who has agreed to sell it back at cost. She will need the funds to purchase it back and transport it from New York to Texas. Her intention is to keep it in her home for the time being and then pass it on to his children.

 

 

Here are some words from Annie about Peter:

 

As I sit here wrapped up in Peter’s flannel, I am struggling to find the words to tell you about my boyfriend Peter, who passed away two weeks ago as a result of his bipolar disorder.

 

Peter isn’t someone who can fit into words on a page.

I could tell you that he did so well in high school that he got accepted Westpoint, but didn’t end up attending.

I could tell you that he traveled and found himself in Guatemala in 1997, after the civil war, teaching the new rights under the peace accord.

I could tell you that he then got accepted into UCLA where he would get his undergraduate in Linguistics. Or perhaps you’d rather hear about how during his time there, he created a woodworking space in his college apartment. Bringing lumber in on a city bus. Or maybe you’d like to hear that his apartment won ‘messiest apartment in the country’ and he and his roommate went on over a dozen talk shows and radio shows, and won $10,000.

Perhaps you’d like to know that Peter then went to Law school at Ohio State University, where he met the mother of his three children and wife of over a decade, Michelle.

Peter wasn’t motivated by money, but had a deep desire to be a helper. And so he practiced Labor Law.

In 2013 Peter gave up law to make furniture.

But his heart wasn’t for just creating his own art. He had a deeper passion for helping others create theirs. And so, he founded SoulCraft woodworking shop in Cleveland.

Perhaps you’d like to hear the story of when Peter’s second wooden bicycle was stolen, and he went viral for making a post that said ‘keep it, but let’s talk’.

 

Or maybe you want to hear the other side of Peter.

The years of struggle with his bipolar disease.

The shame around trying to hide it, with ‘disappearing acts’. The way he learned to self medicate with alcohol. The disease of alcoholism. The years of DUIs and sobriety and relapse.

His time in jail or in prison because of the DUIs. The deep shame surrounding him that he couldn’t always be the man and the father he knew himself to be in his heart, and that he wanted so badly to be.

 

But these are not Peter. Peter’s accomplishments and Peter’s illness were not who he was.

The kernel of Peter, his humanity, his person, his heart. Well, it was precious.

Peter was a gentle soul, wise beyond measure. Peter was curious. Peter was feminine. Peter was masculine. Peter was sensitive. Peter’s chin quivered when he cried. Peter did a skip when he got excited. Peter waved his hands around wildly when he talked. Peter told his puns slowly, so that you wouldn’t miss them. Peter was often the most brilliant person in a room, and definitely always the most well-read, but you wouldn’t have known that. Peter believed that he could learn something from everyone, no matter how small, no matter how young. Peter was humble to his core. Peter made everyone feel seen and understood.

He was a community builder. A furniture maker. An artist. A philosopher. A poet. A tinkerer. A son. A brother. An uncle. A friend. A father. And a phenomenal boyfriend.

 

Peter and I met in 2019. We shared a similar upbringing, we shared a love for art, experience with divorce, a love for our children, and a deep desire to ask the hard questions.

 

Our relationship became romantic in the summer of 2021 when I visited Guatemala and he shared his experience there with me. Two weeks later I found myself walking out of the Cleveland airport to meet Peter in person for the first time and there he was holding a sign that said ‘Annie, Welcome to Cleveland. I’m Peter’, waving excitedly.

 

Peter’s vulnerability was disarming. Although Peter had experienced deep deep pain, he had not become hardened. Quite the opposite, Peter allowed his struggles to continue to soften him towards others. The recurring theme at his funeral service, echoed from everyone, is that Peter was their biggest cheerleader.

 

We marveled at the serendipity of our lives, that every experience we had felt like it led us to each other. And that I lived in the same city his children and ex wife had just moved to, where he was eagerly awaiting to move, after wrapping up loose ends with his business and getting off probation in May of 2022.

 

To be Peter’s lover was remarkable. He poured himself out and opened himself up. He didn’t shy away from critique, learning, and disagreements. Quite the opposite- he loved to dive in. Everything for Peter was an experience for growth. ‘A rich unfolding!!!’ he would exclaim.

Peter held my face tenderly when he kissed me, and the few times we fought at night, he would hold my hand tight as we fell to sleep, agreeing it was better to discuss it in the morning, not letting go of my hand through the night. Peter wasn’t scared of me, my moods , or my complicated past. Peter saw me for the complex person I was and was ready to dive in.

 

Peter, like most people who suffer with bipolar, didn’t like his medication. He felt dull and unmotivated. But he took it daily like it was his religion ‘i’m going to go take my little pill now’ he’d say every night as he walked to the bathroom. To him, that pill gave him the door to be constantly present for his children, which was far more important than losing his ‘spark’.

I would try to argue with him, telling him he was the sparkliest person I’d ever met. But he didn’t need that, he just needed me to listen as he processed who he used to be and who he is growing into.

 

I am gutted. My person, taken too soon. My future, cut short. This was just supposed to be the beginning! What about our van? Our roadtrips? Building bunk beds in Mueller and buying a home in the country? And Guatemala. We were going to take the kids and show them what we found there. We weren’t going to have any more kids (‘Thailand. Mexico.’ I told him to remind me anytime I forgot). We loved our five kids and just wanted a lifetime with them.

I miss Peter with my entire being and am trying to mourn our life that we were creating. I am unsure where to put the love for Peter that fills me to the brim.