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Until Your Love Runs Out

“With gratitude, optimism is sustainable.”–Michael J. Fox

I heard Fox say that once in a recent interview. It takes effort for his body not to shake or move due to Parkinson’s Disease, yet he’s still grateful for and optimistic about his life. I immediately found a scrap of paper and wrote this quote down because I knew I’d need it at some point. And now here I am, trying my best to embrace those words.

Your comments, messages, emails, texts and phone calls in response to my last post, was the best explosion of love I have felt in quite some time. I am not only grateful for y’all, but finding others that have been or are currently in the same situation, lightened my stress by just a bit. Thank you. So much!

Because of my blog post, my husband and I had some honest conversations, including his daily fears and what the future will bring. We added to our vision board with our own hopes and also YOUR words of encouragement.

When I asked my son what he wanted on the board, he said to win the Calvin Coolidge Scholarship. This is the one he’s been working really hard on–reading Coolidge’s autobiography, writing 3 essays and 3 short answer questions. I helped him with his resume and he got the two letters of recommendation he needed. The deadline is Thursday, so much of his life will be consumed by this for the next few days. He said, “You know, Mom, I really doubt I’ll get it, but I’m really proud of myself for trying.” I’m so damn proud of him, too. He set a goal and he’s kicking ass trying to achieve it. ❤

We’re feeling some hope this weekend. I was able to buy groceries yesterday and filled the house with healthy foods and now I’m cooking up a storm. I paid most of our bills and with a bit of juggling, should be able to pay the others around their due dates. (I know many of you know this juggling I speak of. We’re basically fucking financial experts, aren’t we?) Today my husband looked at bars for the shower and toilets that are higher than what we have. With help from one of my colleagues, I now have a short list of attorneys we may want to talk to soon about the process of applying for disability, but he’s not at that point quite yet. He has to stop working before he’s even able to apply. I really, really hope that isn’t this year.

But if it is, then we’ll deal with it. Because that’s what we do and what you’d do, too.

For today, though, we’re going to move forward and hope we can continue to keep putting one foot in front of the other. We’re going to listen to this positive potato. (My son gave this to me yesterday as my late Christmas present. I LOVE IT!)

So let’s do our thing, friends. I believe in you, just as much as you believe in me. Let’s keep chugging along until the love runs out.

Hugs for all!

Thank you, One Republic, for letting me borrow and edit your lyrics for my blog post title.

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Trying to Look Ahead…and Failing

Hi friends.

I am struggling.

There is no other way to say it.

I am trying to look to the future to give me some positive vibes. I know I have a lot to look forward to this year–a trip to Belize with four of my best girlfriends, touring colleges in Washington, D.C. while also visiting another one of my favorite humans, watching and preparing my son to apply for colleges all around the northeast. This should be an exciting time.

But while I am at home I feel…stuck? Unmotivated? Sad? Living with and loving someone who has a chronic illness and will eventually die from that illness, is incredibly difficult. There is so much anger to go around–from myself, from my son, and sometimes from my husband. Watching my husband shuffle when he walks, take naps every day because he doesn’t have the energy to do much, and come to terms with the fact that there is only so much he can now do to fix his health is heartbreaking–and honestly rage-inducing.

Here’s the thing: I want my husband to try and enjoy whatever life he has left. Hopefully that will still be 8 or 9 years, but at this rate, I doubt that figure. I know that for him, enjoying his life means he’ll watch films he loves, spend time with our little family, listen to a variety of music, and dream about winter camping. Little things bring him contentment. But to enjoy this life, it also means that he’ll eat basically whatever he wants. And in doing so, his diabetes is not under control and his congestive heart failure symptoms have increased.

This is the part that frustrates me to the nth degree.

Living our lives, no matter how we live them, brings consequences to not just ourselves, but those around you.

I am relying on my partner for not only emotional support but for financial support. And with the many days of work missed and a few unpaid hospital bills, it has created a tremendous stressor in our household.

Our son, a junior in high school, has begun applying for scholarships for college. I set him on this path because every school he’s interested in is out of state and all have hefty price tags. But now he’s become obsessed with applying for the big scholarships, the ones with full tuition that are so dang hard to come by. And I know that that is my fault. I honestly do not know how we will help pay for his schooling.

Currently my son’s main goal after college is to make sure he has a job that can pay his bills. He wants to love what he does but right now that does not seem to be his main concern. He has watched us struggle financially his entire life due to bouts of unemployment, short-term disability, or my choice of career that has never paid what I’m worth. And now that he is on the cusp of adulthood, he will do whatever he can to not live that life.

I am frustrated, scared, and just so unsure of what our future is. I tried to start a vision board for this year. I had ideas a few days ago and now I just feel lost. The one thing I wrote on it was about making and feeding my son healthy meals. Do you know why I wrote that? Because he asked me to feed him well so he could concentrate on his studies, work, applying for scholarships, and to start exercising again. 

Recently I was doing laundry and I told him I would do his laundry for him, too. But later that weekend, I fell in some kind of awful dark place. and I didn’t do the laundry. A few days later he called me while I was at work and asked where his work pants were. That’s when I realized they were still in the hamper because I just couldn’t function that weekend. So? I told him the truth. I said I had a depressed episode (I don’t really know what to call it, but that sounded accurate) and I didn’t do the laundry. Do you know what he said? He said, “Ah. Ok, I get it. That’s fair. I will just wear dirty pants to work. Love you, Mom!”

I love this child with every cell of my being.

Just a month ago I would have turned to running to help with all of these feelings. But I just don’t have it in me to do that right now. I did run one day this week and took a walk on a few others, so I’m moving at least. But something has to change.

I am grateful for my work, because that has become my sanctuary. I get to be with people I care about, I get to help others, and I just feel…useful. I feel like I make a difference. I don’t always know what I should do or how to do things correctly, but thankfully I have a team of people who support me and help me find my way.

If you have ever cared for another individual during their sickness and have felt this helpless and sometimes hopeless, I’d love to hear from you. Or if you have some wise words of encouragement, I’ll take those, too.

Thank you, friends.

Hugs to you. ❤

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Me, Myself and I

 I read a newsletter called Wondermind. It comes to my email inbox three times a week–Monday, Wednesday and Friday. They often have articles I don’t necessarily read, interviews I definitely don’t read, and TikTok videos I feel old to watch. But there are always little tidbits at the beginning of every newsletter that make me reevaluate my mental health or maybe take a step back and look at my day and figure out how to make it better. I like it. A lot.

Last week, one of the newsletters asked this question: What is one aspect of your current life that a younger version of yourself would be excited about? I read this question after having lunch with an old friend. I’ve known this man for over 40 years, but as we ate lunch and talked about our lives, I realized I really only knew the childhood version of him. It kind of astounded me the shit he went through as a young adult and the pain he’s endured as an older one. At one point we discussed how we came to where we are–how did we change our bodies, why did we get into the work we’re in, and what regrets do we have.

So when I read the question, “What is one aspect of your current life that a younger version of yourself would be excited about?”, I knew right away what it was. Or I thought I did.

Seeing this person in the mirror was the first thing I thought of:

This woman just ran 4 miles, negative splits, and had fun doing it. She’s fairly fit, runs for fun and for exercise, and looks half decent. And I love her hair. It’s really pretty. 🙂

Thirty years ago, I could not have run 4 miles or even 1 mile. Probably. I might have been able to but it just wasn’t anything I saw people doing much back then, or really anything I thought I could do. But now? After 13 years of running, I don’t want to stop. There are some days I hate it, but it’s more that I hate going out in the cold or the rain or the wind. But once that run is done? Hot damn, do I feel good!

I think my younger self would be shocked, but ecstatic to see me running. But you know what would really make that 20-year old Holly excited? That I own a house, or rather the bank owns it for another six years, but I almost fully own a house. I always, always wanted my own home, even as a kid. I used to have a dollhouse that I adored and that had a handle so I could carry it around. I used to dream about what my house would look like. A ranch style house wasn’t in my dreams, but when my husband and I bought it, this was exactly what I wanted–three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a huge basement, a living room with a cathedral ceiling, and a porch.

Of course, 50-year old Holly can’t wait for the day to come when she can sell the damn house and move into an apartment again. I want a place that someone else maintains and if there’s an issue, I know who to call. And to be within walking distance of ANYTHING? That, my friend, is my dream.

You know what, though? I don’t think I’d ever want the opportunity to say anything to my younger self. My god…the grief, the loss, the shit that is yet to come for that young woman. Yet, there are also many amazing humans she hasn’t met yet, or experiences she’s hasn’t lived.

This older Holly is hoping for more of those things, too.

But right now, I am desperate to know what YOU think your younger self would be excited to know about your current self?

I’m listening, friends. ❤

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Coming Back from the Darkness

I have been 5 weeks social media free. I feel like I should have a blue chip of some sort. I started the break because of how I was feeling–mentally and emotionally fragile. I can’t say my mental state has dramatically improved, but it’s certainly better.

What I’ve realized during this break is that I don’t really talk to many people that are not work related. I think I conversed with 27 people via text, phone or email since October 1, that I am not related to or work with. Yet I have over 300 Facebook “friends.” Do I miss some people I would “see” on social media? Absolutely. I have a cohort of lovely folks from the library I left in May that I’d like to see and hear from again. I haven’t wanted to this past month because I think I needed to cut all ties for a while. I didn’t want to know what the library was doing and to be completely honest, I still really don’t. In a weird way I left a little piece of my heart there. It reminds me a bit of a divorce. I truly love my new workplace and colleagues and the job itself is the exact thing I want to be doing, but I was hurting from not being a part of this small library community. I had to grieve in a bubble for a while and deal with changes in my life. I have embraced those changes, but still, change is hard!

But what have I learned during this month? I’ve learned that social media eats up a lot of my brain power and often fucks up my emotional health. It is a time suck and takes away from my reading and my family, and honestly? Just thinking! I’ve been observing my son as he takes college classes through his high school, reading challenging materials and I see what a deep thinker he is becoming. I used to be just like that, too. Yet in the past decade or maybe two decades, I’m no longer that person. I’m not sure I think deeply about much of anything except how I’m going to get out of debt. (And that’s not really thinking, that’s just stressing.) I feel…superficial. Like a cardboard cut-out of the person I used to be. Is that who I am now? I don’t want to be. I want to be that person who reads a variety of novels and nonfiction, who loves to talk with people about what they’ve read and are reading and have discussions about all of it. I don’t always want to talk about current events or politics because honestly it often hurts, but maybe that’s ok sometimes, too.

I’ve been reading lots of romance novels lately, partially because they make me feel good. I want the HEA (Happily Ever After) for myself and everyone else, so if I can read it about it and someone else gets it, then kudos for them! But it doesn’t take a lot of brainwork to read these books. They bring me joy, for sure, and I’m not going to give them up, but I need to start adding other things to my reading repertoire again.

A month ago, my son kept encouraging me to read “Darkness Visible: a Memoir of Madness” by William Styron. It’s a very short book, really a long essay, about Styron’s depression. My boy has been dealing with his own depression for several years now, but last spring he was in a very dark place. He found this book at the school library. He curled up in a corner and started to read it. For him, it was the first time someone described what he himself was feeling, “a veritable howling tempest in the brain” (p. 38). He felt seen and not quite so alone. And yet…I couldn’t read the book. I kept putting it off, saying I’d read it eventually. Finally last week, I made myself read the first page, then another, then another. I couldn’t stop reading it until it was finished. It was…literary and lovely and difficult. Difficult only because the pain described is what I knew my son felt, yet it was lovely because now I understood a little more about my child–all through literature.

And maybe it helped open my eyes to reading things again that are not so…easy to understand. Challenging ourselves is how we grow, right? I run longer distances to challenge my body and build up endurance to run even longer distances. So why aren’t I challenging my mind to do the same?

I just…I just want to keep using my brain. I want to keep learning and listening and philosophizing. I had an incident two weeks ago where I couldn’t hold the thread of a discussion in a meeting I was in. Is it menopause brain? Is it early onset dementia? Whatever it is it scared the bejezus out of me. I didn’t tell anyone but my therapist at first. I want my doctor to run some tests to see what’s going on with my brain. (But now I don’t have health insurance for a month, so that’ll have to wait!)

So until then, I’m hoping to read more, work on my Spanish, maybe even try a sudoku. (I’ve never done one in my life.) I’m back to eating salmon once or twice a week and upping my vegetable consumption. And with all of that in my mind, I think I might dip my toe back into social media once again. Just to see some of my friends’ faces again, to see their children, and to see their holiday decorations. (Seriously, you know how much I love the decorations!) But if I start to sense that fragility in myself again, I know what I need to do. And maybe I need to downsize that friends list a bit, too.

Baby steps, right?

Thanks for listening, y’all. Hugs to you. ❤

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Reality Check

I’ve been running a lot lately–for me, that is. I ran just over 15 miles each week for the past two weeks. They all felt just so…good. I ran in Springfield, Massachusetts two weeks ago while I was at a conference, and it was so atypical of my runs while traveling. Usually I’m over tired and cranky but desperately want to be outside for a bit and log a few miles. But this time it was just….freeing.

The Lorax at the Dr. Seuss Memorial Sculpture Garden in Springfield, MA.

I am trying to be present in not only my running, but my life. Breaking up with social media has helped me do that. When I run, sometimes I can’t really be where I am or be fully conscious of each step I take because it can be torturous and I just need to finish, damn it! But sometimes I can really enjoy my surroundings, the wind on my face, the sight of the gorgeous fall foliage, the way the light has changed now that we’re into autumn, the crisp smell of the air–it’s all really quite wonderful.

And sometimes, you just have to drag your ass downstairs and onto the treadmill because there’s a nor’easter and the rain is just a bit too much. Whenever I run on the treadmill, I try to be elsewhere in my head. Just focus on that ink blot kind of spot on the basement wall and think of running outside. The other day, though, in that rainy weather, I was halfway through my run, when my husband came downstairs to continue to sort his father’s belongings. After his father died in March, his mother moved back to Maine and brought much of their “stuff” with them, which is currently being housed in our basement. My husband’s job is to look through what’s here and determine if anything should be kept, donated or thrown out. Watching this man, whom I’ve loved and spent nearly my entire adult life with, slowly pick up every one of his father’s items and toss in one bin or another, was difficult. I saw this wide range of emotions pass over his face (grief, apathy, confusion, joy) and I couldn’t help but wonder if some day, I’ll be doing the same task with his things.

As many of you know that read this blog, my husband has had a variety of health challenges over the past four years, with the worst being congestive heart failure. Just this summer he has finally gotten control of his diabetes, which was a huge contributing factor to his worsening health. He feels better now that his blood sugar is where it should be, doesn’t ache as much, feels like living again. And yet…he has chosen to face up to the fact that he may not live another 10 years. In this day and age, when you’re 55 you think you might have at least another 20 if not 30 years left. But when you have a chronic health condition, especially one like congestive heart failure, living to a ripe old age is just not reality.

But while he was sick, he didn’t want to talk about, nor was honest about his mortality. Nothing. And now? This weekend I mentioned that one of the retirement accounts I have, I can actually start withdrawing from in 10 years. He said, so matter-of-factly, “I’ll never see you do that.” At first I didn’t know what he meant. Then I asked, “Because you won’t be here?” He replied that yes, he’ll be dead before then. There was no joking, no laughter like we often do when we talk about our health or aches and pains. It was just a fact and nothing more.

For several years, I’ve known that my husband will not live to be a very old man. And I’ve been ok with that fact. Sound cold-hearted? Maybe, but I come from a long line of women who outlived their husbands and kept living anyways. It’s what women do. Plus, in all honesty, I am very different from my spouse and live a different life, a healthier lifestyle for sure.. I am more social, do different activities than he does, often eat different meals.

But the reality of living alone, after our son has grown, isn’t the most welcoming thought I always figured it would be. Just the other night, I was lying on the couch, reading, with the tv fireplace glowing. My kid was out and my husband was sleeping, so I felt like I was all alone in my home. And for a few minutes I just sat in that feeling of being alone, or rather, being widowed. I have my son and many friends and a few family members, so I am not lonely but often enjoy being alone. This night, though? It was a little scary, a bit sad, and not the best feeling. It’s something I’ve been talking to my therapist about, to understand what’s going on in my brain and heart.

So now, I really, really try to enjoy my time with my spouse. There will always be moments and hours that I’m angry with him or frustrated or fed up, but that’s ok. We’re humans and living with and loving someone for decades is not an easy thing to do in all honesty. I think it’s tough as shit. But we do our best, right? We carry on, we try to live our lives as well as we can, and we love as much as we can, too.

So that’s what I’m going to do.

Love well and carry on.

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The Gagging Seagull

Just over a week ago, I decided to take a break from social media. I’ve often had a difficult time with Facebook in particular, mostly because I compare myself to others way too often, and sometimes I just get jealous. Not even envious, but that nasty feeling you get when you become enraged because someone was hanging out with someone else yet didn’t invite you. Or a friend that you thought shared everything with you, was off on a vacation that you had no idea was happening. Shit like that really shouldn’t matter, but it did matter. So instead of unfriending people or blocking them or all of that bullshit, I just shut it all down.

When I told some colleagues at a meeting recently that I was taking a break from social media, nearly the entire room oohed and aahed and many said “Good for you!” or “I wish I could do that.” One colleague told me she left Facebook 8 months ago and never looked back, but can’t shake Instagram yet.

We’re kind of fucked up, aren’t we?

I’ve always loved sharing photos on FB and Insta, pics of my kid, my cats, and myself after a run. Having a supportive community can be tremendously helpful, and to be honest, I’m damn proud of my running. I’m still not losing the weight I want to, but my legs are getting stronger and I’m getting faster. Something I didn’t think I could get at 50 years old. (And maybe it’s my last hurrah, but I’ll take it while I have it.)

But in the past few weeks, I felt like my brain was too full. I constantly felt overstimulated. I didn’t want to know about anyone else’s lives anymore. I wanted to concentrate on the people I actually see or talk with every day. I wanted to be more present in MY life, and leave some others behind.

My son’s mental health has seemed fragile this past month and my husband has quit his job and is about to start a new one. I’ve been upset at the management of the Trevor Project and at my one year anniversary last week, I put in for a leave of absence. Work has been good, but very challenging these past two weeks. A lot of life has been happening and I just needed the world to quiet down.

I recently finished reading the novel, “We All Want Impossible Things” by Catherine Newman. It’s about two best friends, Ash and Edi, in the middle of their lives, but Edi is dying from ovarian cancer. Edi ends up staying at a hospice near Ash, and the book is about their love and friendship and how fucked up Ash feels. It’s beautiful and hilarious and infuriating. And so damn real.

I laughed out loud through many parts of the book (and sobbed at the end), but there’s one part in particular I want to tell you about. Ash, the woman telling the story, shared a memory about a visit she had with her parents. They went to a fancy seafood restaurant where they ate clams and lobster and looked out at the sea. The sky was a perfect blue, and in the window they were looking out of, stood a seagull, choking on a starfish. It would gag and barf and 3 of the starfish’s legs were sticking out of its mouth, just a few inches from their table. Ash’s mother commented with all seriousness, “This is lovely,” and Ash laughed. “Absolute perfection with a gagging seagull in the middle of it sometimes feels like my entire life.” (p. 125)

When I read that paragraph, I started to chuckle. Then I put the book down and laughed…and laughed….and laughed. I wasn’t laughing in the kind of way where you can’t breathe, but it was this prolonged, deeply felt joy and recognition kind of laughter. Just this past year I’ve been able to see some of that perfection and can look past the choking seagull. Both are always there, and some days I can only stare at that damn seagull and can’t see anything else. My grief for my lost family or even for the way of life we’ve lost as a result of my husband’s health can be overwhelming some days, and it takes everything I have to not put that seagull out of its misery. But other days? It’s blue sky for miles.

I’m hoping that I’ll have the fortitude to get back on social media and greatly minimize the folks I keep in touch with. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just keep using the AMAZING amount of time I have now to read and write and enjoy my little life. Either way, I’ll still be here.

Take care of yourself, friends.

“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”–Audre Lord

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Down with the Manarchy

Experiencing hot flashes and night sweats has to be the least fun thing I’ve experienced in quite some time. I’ve been dealing with both for a few years, but now that I’m officially post-menopausal, rage has started to accompany the hot flashes. Typically, I have them at night after 7pm, but every once in a while in the middle of the day I get a hot flash with a horrible mood swing. So far I’ve been able to tamp down on my crankiness while at work, but at home? Oh my word, I can be truly awful.

Last month I went to my gynecologist, and we had a real sit-down about getting an estrogen patch or pill. We discussed the pros and cons of both meds as well as not taking them at all. Since I still have my uterus, women like me can take a combo patch that includes estrogen and progesterone. The progesterone is to reduce the risk of uterine cancer. The advantage to the patch vs the pill is that if you have digestive issues, the pill can be rough on your system for some folks and the pill can increase the likelihood of blood clots. So after the discussion, we decided on the patch. This isn’t something you’re on forever. My doctor has a plan for each woman and usually it’s a few years you’re on it to get you through this icky and stressful time.

This is what I look like every night. Throw in some f-bombs and this is me.

Now here we are, FOUR WEEKS LATER, and still no patch. Why? Because the fucking insurance company keeps coming up with excuses to NOT cover the med. The one that gets me is that I’m too old. Huh?!? I am 50 and the average age of a woman who has gone into menopause is 51. So WTF?!? The insurance company has thrown it back to my doctor FOUR TIMES, with a different reason each time. If I want an antidepressant, I can get it in a day. The fact that sweating through my clothes and sheets each night or not sleeping well or having fits of RAGE is not enough for the insurance, then what the fuck is?

My doctor actually warned me that this might happen. She’s the one who said we’d have to deal with the “manarchy” and it could take some time for this to go through. Meanwhile I have called her office every week for any kind of update and gave them a synopsis of my symptoms, too, so they could put that into their notes. Obviously it didn’t help much, but I refuse to give up.

In some ways menopause feels like puberty again, at least the mood swings part. And the weight gain. At least I’m not bleeding through my pants–now I just want to rip them off because I’m sweating through them.

Friends, if you experience any of this bullshit, I am here with you and for you. If you have not or cannot, but your friends/partner/family does, please show them some empathy and give them their space. We’re just trying to survive and not hurt anyone else in the process.

Hugs to you, friends. From a distance. Because seriously, do not touch me right now.

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A Middle Class Math Lesson

I used to want to be firmly in the middle class. In my mind that meant I had a secure job, a house and enough disposable income to take a traveling vacation if I wanted to. That is most definitely NOT what I think middle class is any longer. I think I personally have a fairly secure job and income, but my husband does not. (He is currently on short-term disability due to his health.) We have a house that we have just over 6 years to pay on. But we also have two car loans–you cannot live in rural Maine and work without a vehicle. We have a TON of credit card debt–which is how we’ve been able to live. Have we taken vacations on credit? Of course we have. Have we paid for car repairs with credit? Absolutely. Have we purchased groceries with our credit cards because we just didn’t have the money that week? Yes, yes we have. But we are, indeed, middle class.

Yesterday, my sister, niece and family friend were sitting around my kitchen table (which, yes, I purchased on credit). We were looking at my white board where I have all of my family’s debts written out–what they are, how much we owe, what the APR is for each loan or credit card, and how much longer we have to pay on the loans or when the introductory low APR runs out for each credit card. It started the conversation about the juggling we all do to keep living. How one person took out a loan from their retirement to pay off some debt but now is repaying that back, but also while working a part-time job in addition to their full-time job. I took out a credit card with a lower APR than one of my loans and paid that off, but haven’t paid off anything else with it because I’m afraid my husband won’t have a job to go back to. And if that happens, there will be many other hurdles including finding and paying for health insurance. In our group of four women, we’ve all been on food stamps at one time or another. We’ve all needed financial help from one another or other family members. And what would we have done without that support?

We talked about how neither of my parents left our family with their houses because they had borrowed against their homes or even had a reverse mortgage because they, too, wanted to live life while they were still here. And sometimes that takes money you don’t really have. Heck, I always thought my mom had money because she was always able to get me what I needed or took me out to eat or helped us when my son was little and my husband was unemployed. But come to find out, she just took out home equity loans to pay for what she or we needed.

I often talk to two of my librarian friends, both single moms, and how much we’ve all struggled financially. We talk about paying for certain things with checks because we know they won’t be cashed right away, and that gives us a few days to get money in the bank to cover it. Or how we pay one bill a little late so we can pay something else or just so we can buy lunch with a friend because we want to feel like we’re fucking living.

Some people may say, “Well, don’t go on that vacation or go out to eat. Just pay your bills and then you wouldn’t be in debt and THEN you could go on that vacation.” You know, I used to think that. But when you live paycheck to paycheck, when are you supposed to get out of debt? Cars break down, kids need clothing and school supplies, food and gas prices go up, and shit fucking happens that you have to pay for. And you know what? Life is so damn short.

Earlier this summer, I saw a news report that said the town my son goes to high school in was buying school supplies for all the students. Yes! There was one thing we didn’t have to worry about. We bought binders last month because we figured that wouldn’t be supplied, but the report mentioned notebooks, pens, pencils, and folders. So the first day of school comes—no school supplies. My kid goes and talks to several teachers and finally the principal and SHOWS THEM the news report because my son is a rock star. They tell him that it was only for K-8, although the report never mentioned that. He was angry and the principal said if we were desperate, they’d help us. I told my kid not to worry, we weren’t as bad off as many people. So off I went to Wal-Mart yesterday afternoon.

The school supply aisle had been cleared out and replaced with Halloween materials. WTF?!? School hadn’t even started in some local schools!! I went back into the stationary/notebook/crayon aisle–no folders, no notebooks.

“It’s ok, Holly. Go to Staples,” I told myself. They were always on sale this time of year. Or…they were until they ran out. Now they were a minimum of $2. That might not seem like much, but the kid wanted 6 notebooks and 6 folders. He really doesn’t ask for much. The folders were also just under $2 each. But the real pisser? There were only 2 notebooks!!! There were many other kinds but they were tremendously expensive. I refused to pay $5 for a friggin’ one subject notebook. Then the poor cashier asked if I found everything I needed. *sigh* I said no and she tried to help me. I told her it was ok, it was my fault, I waited too long. (Although inside I was seething at that god damned news report I wish I never saw.) I was honestly close to tears and I hated feeling that way. But I got the hell out of there, went to the grocery store, bought ice cream bars and coffee and another $2 notebook, then went home to tell my kid we’d find more notebooks next week.

I’m not writing this for you to pity me or for you to tell me everything I’ve done wrong to get here. I’ve made many mistakes, there’s no doubt. But there also have been so many things out of my control that influenced the choices I made. I wrote this more to say that if you’re feeling this way, or feel alone in your ocean of debt, know that you’re not alone. I can’t really help you get out of it, but I can certainly commiserate and empathize. I can offer you a meal or a drink and will always lend an ear.

And remember, some of those people that you see on social media that you think are living the dream, they probably are–the American dream. In this day and age that means they have a shit ton of debt and most likely are vacationing on credit and probably live paycheck to paycheck, just like you. Or maybe they’re not, and we can envy them and possibly despise them together. 🙂

Hugs to you, my friends.

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Weighted to the Ground

This morning I drove to my hometown to get my hair trimmed. I go every 6-8 weeks and I often find it therapeutic. My dear friend, Lisa, has been cutting my hair for over 20 years. We were co-workers and friends before she began her shop with her business partner, Tanda. So when I get my hair cut and my eyebrows waxed, it’s typically a fun time–a time to catch up and a time for both of them to laugh as I swear and yell as Lisa rips my eyebrows off.

I was listening to my running playlist as I drove towards St. Albans. I had a pretty good run earlier and I wanted to keep my good mood going. Yet just 2 miles after I left my home, one of my favorite songs, “Little Bird” by Annie Lennox began to play. I’ve talked about this song before. It’s one that my brother added to one of two running cds he made me shortly after I started running 13 years ago, and we were both huge fans of both the Eurythmics and Annie Lennox. Since my brother’s death, it’s become a song that reminds me of him. I remember singing it with him in the car, and just this morning, I remembered how we would sometimes run our hands and arms out the car windows like a bird.

I had forgotten that little memory.

And since today is the eve of Phil’s death anniversary, it triggered the memories of that horrible day.

I was in his hospital room again, watching him trying to tear out his IVs so we wouldn’t see him hooked up to many machines. I was at the foot of his bed again with my sister, as we looked at the chart on his wall that showed how little he weighed–just 140 pounds at 6’5″. I was there again, holding his hand, telling him we came to say goodbye and that I loved him and my husband loved him and his nephew loved him. I was there once again, watching him nod his head over and over, like he was saying, “I know, I know.”

And then I was driving. I drove about 2 miles with no recognition this morning. None.

Needless to say, I sobbed much of the rest of the drive.

Yet just before I arrived at Lisa’s, I remembered my mother on that day. At one point Phil’s partner, Larry and I, went to talk to Phil, to convince him that it was ok not to live this way. It was ok to let go because we knew that was what he wanted, but it must have also been the scariest fucking thing to decide. (I remain steadfast in my knowledge that I saw the most courageous act that day when Phil made the decision to die.) Once he nodded his head and made that decision to be taken off of his life support, Larry and I went back to the private family waiting room. I remember my mother looking up at me with what I can only view as hope and saying, “What did he say?” I’m not sure what I replied exactly, but I think it was something like, “He doesn’t want to keep going.” But I do remember Mom’s face crumpling and shaking her head and lowering it to cry.

When I left Lisa’s, I just wanted to be with my mom. I went to her grave which is also in my old hometown. Once I got to the cemetery, I was jarred by the fact that the large, beautiful tree in front of the cemetery was cut down. “What the fuck?” I yelled. I realize the tree was probably dead or dying and would have toppled over and broken headstones. That better be why because it was really upsetting. Without that shade and just the glorious trunk, leaves and branches, the cemetery looks exactly like what it is–a field of stones. If a place like that is possible to get more depressing, it did.

I parked near Mom’s headstone, grabbed a blanket from my car, knelt down in front of her stone and wept. I talked to her, told her how much I missed her and Phil and Dad. I brushed off her stone and laid my forehead on it. I wasn’t there for very long. I just needed to see her name and pretend that she was there.

I stopped at Wal-Mart on the way home, feeling a bit dazed. I walked slowly in, bought dishwasher detergent and Tide Pens and left. As I walked across the parking lot, I saw this guy walking toward the entrance. I started to wonder if his day had been anything like mine. Did he spend part of the morning crying at his mother’s gravestone, laying his head on the warm stone, kissing her name? Did he wish she was there just for a few minutes to hold him, to listen to his worries and his frustrations?

I hope not.

But you never really know what others are going through, do you? Like Lennox’s “Little Bird,” some of those people you see each day may be “a troubled soul who’s weighted, weighted to the ground” and are just not able to fly.

Friends, in honor of my lovely brother, Phil, my “person,” I hope you take a little time this weekend and do something to feel like you are truly alive. Do something you absolutely enjoy, something to make you feel good. In Phil’s last few years of life, he couldn’t do much, but tried to live through food, whether it was making a fun international dish, or just enjoying whatever he ate or drank.

Tomorrow I will be hiking with two of my best friends. Typically, my son and I do something together, but now that he’s 16 with a job, license, and boyfriend, he’ll be working then hanging out with his lovey. We’ll both be spending time with some people that we love and that’s a huge part of what it means to live well.

Please, my friends, take a minute to hug, kiss, talk with or just touch someone you love this weekend, too. (With their permission, of course.) You won’t regret it.

Hugs and sloppy kisses.

❤

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Still Kickin’

It’s been over two months since I’ve sat down at my laptop and written with purpose. I’ve missed it. Since writing this blog is often a form of therapy, I ended up leaning on my friends more over the past few months and talking to my therapist about things I just can’t do here. But I’m ready to come back again.

The past few months have been a whirlwind. Here’s a quick and dirty list of what has transpired:

  • Started my new job as the Head of Circulation at the Bangor Public Library. It is seriously a fantastic workplace and job. I can’t begin to tell you how much I love it. Or I might do that in the coming weeks.
  • Discovered I had plantar fasciitis the same week I started my new job. It was so freaking painful and frustrating. Still working through it, but my foot is finally healing.
  • Won the Outstanding Library Advocate Award at the Maine Library Conference in May. It was a surprise and a surreal moment. I won it due to the backing of the Pittsfield Library community during budget season last fall, and because my colleagues are some of the most generous and kind souls that exist.
  • I turned 50 and went on a solo road trip with my goals being to have an adventure, and to be at the Christmas Story House on my birthday. Achievement unlocked! That trip will need to be a post all by itself. It was so dang fun.
  • I officially entered menopause. I’ve looked forward to this for years, and only recently started to dread it. I blame menopause on my body’s refusal to give up the 10-23 pounds I want to lose, but I am enjoying not bleeding every single month.
  • Many of my friends have just turned 50 also or will in the next 6-7 months. Because of this huge milestone in our lives, four of my dearest friends and I placed a deposit on a villa in Belize and will spend a (hopefully) glorious week there next year.
  • Continued to volunteer for both hospice and The Trevor Project. Both are getting a little more difficult, and I can already see myself stepping back from Trevor Project this winter. I don’t always give it the real time it deserves and if I can’t be truly present during my shifts, then I shouldn’t do it. I’m going to work on that this summer and hopefully will be able to continue for a lot longer.
  • My baby boy got his driver’s license and started taking an online college course in American Government. That has given me glimpses of his future and mine. It’s both scary and exciting.

What really has affected my mental health in the past few months has been my birthday. The number itself isn’t the problem. In so many ways I’ve loved turning 50. Heck, I talked to some folks from AARP at the Bangor Pride Festival, asking why I haven’t received anything in the mail yet!

I’ve referenced Sally O’Malley numerous times and listened to Molly Shannon’s autobiography, “Hello, Molly” when I began my road trip. I can, indeed, “kick and stretch and KICK!” Although I draw the line at wearing red polyester pants that would give me a camel toe. 😉

Fast forward to 1:30 to see this fantastic act. Watch the male actors try not to laugh at Shannon’s hilarity!

I’ve given gifts to a few friends that already turned 50 this year and look forward to celebrating next year with some of them. My husband and I bought a spectacular kitchen table and chairs for my birthday, too. Sounds like an odd gift, but one I desperately wanted. We’ll be paying for it for a while, but I’m ok with that. PB&J sandwiches are a-ok in my book!

My problem isn’t my age, it isn’t that I’m now a half century old. The issue is that my dear brother never made it here. He died 11 months before his 50th birthday. I absolutely HATE that I am older than him now. It’s wrong. It makes me angry and tremendously sad.

I don’t just grieve for the fact that I don’t have Phil around anymore to laugh with or to talk with or to read his stories. Nor do I just grieve for my son who battles depression that began with losing his uncle. I also grieve for my brother and everything that he didn’t get to do. To me, this is what a large part of grief is. It’s thinking about what that person lost. To be honest, when I start to think about what Phil lost, I can’t breathe. I start to panic and either take a walk or a run, move around the room, or just shut those thoughts down and think about something else. The latter never works so I usually eat something instead. (My go-to coping mechanism is to reach for food, something that I will probably work on in therapy for my eternity.)

He didn’t get to have a 50th birthday party. He didn’t get to see the Christmas Story House and I know he would have loved it. He didn’t get to see the fucking awesome display of George Carlin’s work at the National Comedy Center. Phil introduced me to Carlin so long ago and at that time I didn’t swear much. Carlin’s routine back then made me cringe and laugh and I thought it was incredible. Phil probably would have really liked to see the “Birthplace of Superman” in Cleveland, which is where Jerry Siegel, one of Superman’s co-creators, lived and created the character. My brother often said that he lived his life with the philosophy, “WWSD”–What Would Superman Do? You can still be good but a bad-ass, too. (Although Phil was really more like Batman. A decent person, but dark and would have lived in a cave if he could have.)

And the books Phil can never read? The stories he’ll never write? The films he’ll never see?

I AM STILL SO FUCKING MAD!

I will never be ok with the fact that my brother died at the age of 49. Never. I know it’s been said that we were all fortunate enough to get him for that long, because he was never supposed to make it to 18. But I don’t really care about that. I still want him here and you can’t tell me to feel lucky that I got to have him in my life for 44 years. It should have been longer. My parents certainly believed it should have been longer. I often wonder if both of my parents would have died just two years later if Phil had lived.

So….what now?

I keep on living, I guess. I will remain pissed off that Phil isn’t here, but I’ll also keep talking about him and re-telling stories to my son about his dear uncle, and about how much my boy is like him. I’ll keep reading books that I wish I could discuss with him, and I’ll continue to call Phil my big brother. He can’t be any other way to me, no matter my age or his.

And I’ll try to continue to “Kick, Stretch and KICK!” all without breaking a hip.

Hugs and sloppy kisses, friends.

❤