grief

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Running Again?

Have you had a bad week? Or maybe just a really weird one?

Things have been bonkers at work. My kid had a rough week, many of my colleagues had horrible sicknesses or were dealing with bad news, and I was in a pretty bad mood throughout much of it. There just seemed to be something in the air, bad vibes everywhere. It was really cold in Maine this past week, with a shot of snow and ice, and I know that was to blame for some of the icky feelings and the general grumpiness. Plus…the holidays bring about a cadre of emotions and memories and sometimes it’s difficult to manage all of it.

I finished three books this week, all relating to grief and death. The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion was beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever read Didion before, but I’ll seek out more of her work now. Her language is lyrical and how she structured this short memoir about her life and her husband’s death was poetical. But what I loved most of all was how human she was and is. How many of her reactions to her husband’s sudden death, is how many of us have felt or thought after someone we have loved for a long time dies. How we look back and think that our loved one knew more about their upcoming death than they ever led on. Or we think they did. Weren’t they giving us clues all along? Why didn’t we listen?

What to Do When I’m Gone : a mother’s wisdom to her daughter by Suzy Hopkins & Hallie Bateman is a graphic novel I finished in an afternoon. It starts out with Day 1, the day after Suzy will have died. She tells her daughter what she needs to do that day–make fajitas. (You’ll know why when you read it.) It continues on for 144 pages, occasionally skipping hundreds of days and gives bits of advice like inviting people over sometimes when you feel lonely and make chili for them. Go outside. Parenting advice. Just some things your daughter might need to or want to hear.

I loved this book so much. It got me missing my mom for sure. I always miss her more during Christmas, since this was also one of her favorite times of year.

Well…I think it was? Shit. I’m not even sure. (Maybe my sister will know?) I know she always made it TREMENDOUSLY special for us kids. She loved giving gifts, making candies, cooking lasagna–or she seemed to. I know she loved to make us happy. That I am absolutely sure about.

I started thinking about the questions I never asked my mom, some I thought about asking when she was alive, but figured she wouldn’t answer or maybe not tell me the truth. Like, what did she see in the men she loved? Most were alcoholics, a few were sweet or kind when not drinking. Was that it or something else about them?

She worked in various types of kitchens, with the last being in a minimum security prison. She seemed to love it. Why exactly? Was she scared when she first started? The big question, though, is when she left Dad. Looking back on it as an adult, I think it was really friggin’ brave of her. Did she plan it all out? Did her mom help her? Why didn’t she leave earlier? These are questions I’ll never have answered, but I wish I had had the courage to ask her some of them when she alive and before dementia set it.

With all of those questions swimming in my brain, I went for a run/walk today, something I tried a week or so ago, just to attempt running once more. It doesn’t bring me as much joy as it used to, but today it felt therapeutic and cleansing and energizing.

It snowed this morning, but the temps at noon were in the 30s. After helping shovel the steps, clear off the cars, and stick around outside to make sure my husband could snow blow the driveway with the tractor without him keeling over, I just had to get out there on the road. I put my trail runners on, yanked on my Wonder Woman hat, and off I went. Lately I just start walking and if I run at all, that’s great, but not necessary. Today, however, I got out there intending to run. My body feels heavy and I just can’t keep up any decent pace for long, so I did the old “run 3 telephone lengths, walk 3 telephone lengths” trick. I mixed it up a bit and ran more than I walked, which I consider a huge win.

While on my run, thoughts about everything I wanted to ask Mom turned to my surroundings. Snow covered the fields and bent over the smaller trees. I was running on the road Mom grew up on. Nearly every house on this road wasn’t here when she was a little girl, and the home she grew up in is gone. I know she walked on this same road, but it was dirt back then. She didn’t do it for exercise, but for necessity. I know where she and her sister, Bonnie, had to walk to to get to the bus for high school. It was actually just over a mile from her home (and my home now). She used to say she had to walk a mile just to get to the bus, and she wasn’t wrong!

This week I’m hoping I can find a little peace. I plan to make raisin-filled cookies soon, Mom’s recipe and my absolute favorite cookie she ever made. Like my friend Trish when she makes her Mom’s chex mix, I’ll feel a connection to my mom while I make (and eat) them. I know I’ll be thinking of my dad this week, too, since December 12th is the day he stopped drinking in 1987. I used to send him cards or gifts or called him up every 12/12 to tell him how much it meant to me for him to regain his life while I was still young and able to discover what a sweet man he really was.

And, of course, I always think of my brother. That’s just a given, friends. ❤

I hope you will also find some peace and joy this week. I’m really hoping I’ll see some kindness out there. I think we all need it.

Hugs to you all.

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All the Lies and Wishes

Sometimes a memory of your dead loved one will bonk you on the head when you least expect it.

I facilitate a book discussion group at my library called “Grieving Through Reading.” It was initially created by a volunteer but she never officially started the group due to a change in workplace. When I was asked to do this, I said yes before the question was fully formed. As you know, talking about grief, death and dying is what I enjoy doing. I guess it’s really the sharing of grief and being able to provide comfort is what really brings me joy.

This week, “Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End” by Dr. Atul Gawande was our book choice. There is an hour long documentary of the book that we didn’t have time to watch. So I started our discussion with a short clip from the film, where Dr. Gawande is discussing what his father’s doctor communicated to them regarding treatments for his cancer. The doctor was encouraging the father to take the chemotherapy and said, “Who knows? You could be playing tennis by the end of the summer.” This was absolutely ridiculous. As Gawande tells it, his father was weeks from being paralyzed. There would never be tennis playing again, yet the doctor tells this foolish and utter lie.

As my book group is in the room watching this clip, I suddenly get a flashback at what my brother’s cardiologist said to him just a month before he died. Phil was going to have surgery where a VAD (ventricular assist device) would be implanted to help his failing heart to pump blood to his body. Phil wanted to wait until early winter to do it. His doctor said that the surgery would prolong his life and he’d visit my brother and his partner on their anniversary in several years time.

What a bunch of horseshit.

As I sat in the room with my book group, watching this video for the third time (I literally watched it the day before), it dawned on me this interaction my brother had with his doctor is just like what Dr. Gawande described. Why it took 7 years for me to realize this and at this exact horrible moment, I don’t know. (I know I can be slow sometimes, but for christ sakes this is bonkers.) I was momentarily stunned and felt such an intense fury and grief, that I wasn’t sure I could do anything. I ended up missing the ending of the video, then snapped out of thoughts, shoved those emotions down deep, and went on.

I was in a pretty awful mood directly after the program and then just kept pretty quiet. My eyes and face felt like I had been crying, although I hadn’t. I felt deeply sad the rest of the day.

But I never cried, which is highly unusual for me. It’s like a put a stopper in my soul because this bit of grief and anger felt too big to deal with.

Today, however, it’s slowly seeping out. I’ve thought about Phil more and more these last few days. I want to figure out the name of Phil’s doctor and write him a letter, although the energy that would take at this moment seems too much. I had this sweet text exchange today with my former brother-in-law about my son and how proud my family would be of him. I mentioned it first, and my BIL said he didn’t want to say anything because he didn’t want it to land wrong. But after he saw my son a few weeks ago, he said all he could think of was how fucking proud Phil would be of him. I wept when I read that.

I’m angry that Phil’s not here to see this kid turn into a beautiful young man, but I’m mostly feeling bereft. I wish someone had been more honest with him about his chances. I wish I had been more honest with myself. Phil knew he was going to die and maybe he knew the doctor was full of shit. I wish I could ask him. I wish Phil was here to talk to my boy about the colleges he’s applied to, the amazing stories he’s written lately, and the political climate of our country. Phil would have many things to say about all of it. I still remember Phil telling me how good one of my son’s stories was when he was in 3rd grade. Phil could see that potential, and I’m so glad he did. I hope he had an idea of how his nephew would turn out.

I’m doing a lot of wishing and missing tonight, big brother. I love you. We all love you. And we miss you so fucking much. ❤

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Frozen

It’s been a few months since I’ve posted anything here. So much has happened in my life in the past two months–some of it good, much of it horrible.

Our family friend, Virginia Cookson–my niece’s best friend for over 25 years–was murdered by her ex-boyfriend at the end of September. I’m not ready to write about what happened, and may never. It has changed all of our lives in ways I’m not sure we can define yet.

My niece has been speaking about Virginia in public presentations, and I’m tremendously proud of her. I know how hard public speaking is for her, yet talking so openly about Virginia may be cathartic at times. But fuck…it’s also like having to speak at her funeral over and over. My niece is so damn strong, even though she’s not always aware of it. I also know that strength, or people expecting you to be strong, is exhausting. But she knows our family and some of her lovely friends will support her and prop her up when she just can’t stand anymore.

Since Virginia’s murder, my sister has become an advocate for domestic violence victims and I can see that this will end up being part of her life’s work. Virginia was her “other daughter” and her horrible death has propelled my sister to fight for others, to speak for those who can’t, in the hopes of saving at least one person from domestic violence. My sister is a survivor, too, and I’m so damn proud of her for volunteering, getting the word out, trying to make a difference.

As for me? I will support my family and Virginia’s daughter in any way I can. I will advocate for domestic violence victims and I will do what I can to make sure Virginia’s murderer goes to jail for life.

But I think that’s all I can do.

I’ve felt this wide range of stressors pressing me down to the ground since Virginia was murdered. One day last week, I was unable to get out of my car for what I think was a few minutes but felt like longer. I started to think about the variety of “things” I had on my plate–my responsibilities both at work and at home and every single thing I’m worried about. Typically when this happens, I have an anxiety attack and have trouble breathing. But this time I just couldn’t move. Everything was just too fucking much.

A week after Virginia’s murder, I took my husband to the emergency room because he couldn’t breathe and his heart rate was in the 130s. While we were there, his blood pressure rose to 224/146 and a heart rate of 141. He became delirious and told me he loved me and that he would miss me. I remember staring at him as he said it then standing up and petting his head, kissing him on the forehead. Was this it? Was this the day? This was October 4th–five years to the day that my mother died. I started talking to Mom in my head. “Mom, this is your day, right? I’m thinking Wal shouldn’t share that day with you. He can die another day, don’t you think?”

He was eventually stabilized, diagnosed with pneumonia, but didn’t come home for 5 days. And when he did come home? He came home with oxygen. He used it for a few days, but not enough in my opinion. He now uses it occasionally when he has rough days or nights. Will it be forever? I’m not sure. It feels like the next stage in congestive heart failure to me. But I honestly don’t know.

Then this week? We’re fighting with CMD Powersystems who caused a propane leak at our house and could have blown up our home and killed my family. I asked to have a bill paid to another company that had to fix said leak and to fill our propane tank. That’s it. Since that’s not happening, I’m going to take them to court. I refuse to let this company to take advantage of us. If they think not taking responsibility for this huge mistake is ok, they are sorely wrong. I’m done being a fucking doormat.

On Wednesday, I was verbally assaulted by a patron–this is not something I say lightly. I’ve been yelled at by patrons before, most people that have worked with the public experience it one time or another. This time though the guy called me some particularly nasty things, but what was scary was how his face changed. As I was explaining a particular policy, it’s like a mask fell from his face to show me what a cruel bastard he really was. The nastiness started shortly after. I had planned to take the next day off, and although I had a meeting via Zoom I was going to attend, I bowed out of it and took care of myself instead. I ended up having a pretty great day with my husband and son and put everything work related aside. It felt like a huge deep breath.

And then the next morning, we found out our beautiful doctor, Adam Lauer, died from pancreatic cancer. It was such a friggin’ kick to the chest. I often talk about Adam and did so a few years ago in my post about having part of my pancreas removed. We knew Adam had cancer and would die much earlier than we would, but he had such hope that he’d get into clinical trials. He did everything he absolutely could to be there for his children, but fucking cancer took him anyways. Adam made such a difference in hundreds of lives in this area. I honestly feel like he saved my son’s life by working through some of his depression through medication and therapy.

Today I went to the visiting hours for Adam. I canceled my appointment with my hospice folks that I visit each Sunday, and went to pay my condolences to Adam’s family.

It was awful. There were many people in old house that has been converted to a funeral home, and there was a line to shake the hands of some of the family members and to see Adam’s body. I was ok at first, but the longer I stood there I knew that I wouldn’t be able to tamp down my emotions. As I said “hello” to Adam’s dad, I choked out how his son had been my doctor and my family’s and how much we cared about him. His father, also a doctor, told me how when he was a young adult, his doctor died. His doctor was a lot like Adam, he said, and he was devastated and thought he’d never find another such a great doctor again. And then Adam, his son, became his doctor. “There’ll be another good doctor for you,” he said. Here was this man, having lost his son, trying to comfort me. I thanked him, told him how tremendously sorry I was, and moved on. I could not tell him how much more Adam meant to our family then just our doctor. We cared about him and he cared about us. He swore like a fucking sailor and he made us feel so comfortable with anything and everything. He never put a time limit on our appointments and he always explained everything in a way we could actually understand. He created personal connections with many of his patients. He never felt like “just” our doctor. There was no one like him.

I miss him. We all miss him. Adam Lauer made a difference in our community. One can only hope to affect the world like he did.

And now…I need to put all of those events in little boxes and file them away. I need to finish washing the dishes, fold laundry and prepare for the work week ahead. Just like we all do, right? I will go to bed tonight, breathe through my range of hot flashes, listen to make sure my husband is still breathing, and hope I can sleep through most of the night and not wake up at 3:30 with my mind swirling in every bad direction it could possibly go. Then I’ll wake in the morning, drink a cup of coffee, get the kid up, and do my best to make it a decent day.

I’m not sure there’s much else we can do, is there?

Please try to be good to yourself this week. It’s gonna be a rough one. ❤

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And I live…

I took the day off to live. The anniversary of Phil’s death requires me to do so. I didn’t go ziplining or travel to Europe, although both are on my bucket list. I did what I had intended to do today. I visited the Farnsworth Art Museum, stopped by the Rockland Public Library, found a kick-ass coffee shop and drank ambrosia (the actual name of the coffee with espresso), people-watched, took a walk in the rain, and cried. Not necessarily in that order.

There were some amazing pieces by Jamie Wyeth, especially the screen door sequence. The last two photos here are of the first in that sequence, along with a description. “In capturing a fleeting moment, Wyeth reminds us that our friends and loved ones may be in our lives only briefly.”

So. Fucking. True.

And yes, I was one of those people who stood in front of a piece of artwork and wept.

So much of Wyeth’s work is quite dark, and I couldn’t help but think, “Man, Phil, you’d love this shit!” There were comparisons to some of his pieces and Hitchcock’s film, “The Birds” (a film I watched with my brother several times) as well as Kubrick’s “The Shining” (also saw with my brother, but only once because he scared the bejezus out of me.)

The Farnsworth not only features the Wyeths’ works, but also a variety of artists. There was this great display of collaborative artwork by students. The pieces that are in blue, one that features the gun with “why why why” all over it was a piece by a high school student, as well as the other bluish piece that had one line that got to me. “My biggest fear is I will be forgotten.” Right now that’s not my biggest fear, but forgetting my brother is.

I’m sure that’s part of the reason why I write about him so much, why I continue to grieve him. He was such a fun and weird and interesting human and I wish everyone I’ve ever known (or never known) could have met him. I need him to live on in some way. And I guess this is my way. Because now it’s 7 damn years without him on this planet, and it’s just…wrong.

So take a moment, and if you ever met Phil, think about him. His laugh, his morbid and off kilter humor, his love of horror films, his love of his family and friends. And if you never had the great pleasure of meeting my big brother, I’ve told you a lot about him. Here are a few photos, too. Just take a few seconds and think about him. Let him live for another few moments, would you?

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Grief Mode

This past weekend, I gathered beach items from my basement and my friend’s shed, picnic items from the depths of our fridge and cupboards, and along with my ailing husband off we went to my favorite state park. I have been waiting for this for weeks! Peaks-Kenny State Park is one of my favorite places in the world. It doesn’t look like much, but the memories I have there begin as a very young child and continue to memories from just two years ago. It’s a special place for me.

One of the best memories (and stories) I have is when I was maybe 5 (?) years old. My mom kept talking about this giant slide and playground at the beach. But my little ears heard “Giant’s slide”, which meant the Giant must live there, right? We drove up to the park, about a 30 or 40 minute drive (I thought it took FOREVER to get there) and as we climbed out of our car, I saw a boulder with a sandwich sitting on it. I ran to it and yelled, “The Giant left his sandwich!” My mother had no clue what the hell I was talking about. Eventually it was sorted out, and it became one of the most adored stories of my childhood.

Once my son was born, we visited this park most summers. I needed to show him where the Giants used to live! It’s a wonderful place to hang at the beach, play on the playground, go for a swim, picnic, and walk the trails. Although I knew my husband couldn’t do many of these things, he could still hang on the beach and we could have a picnic. But…for the very first time in over 45 years of visiting this park, when we got to the entrance we were told the beach was full and either we could wait in line with at least 6 other cars until some folks left, or just leave.

We sat in line for 30 seconds, and then I drove the hell outta there. I was devastated. I was angry. I was so damn sad! It just took SO MUCH to get to this point. I packed the chairs, the umbrella, and the cooler. I made the sandwiches and brought the bag of snacks (and bottle of wine, because come on!). I made sure we had towels and sun block and books. It felt a bit like taking my son when he was a toddler. I had to do everything, but I knew it would all be ok and it would be so fun. At least for me. My husband typically doesn’t walk well anymore and he honestly hates the sun, but he was doing this for me. It’s been the one thing I’ve asked him to do with me this summer that involved being outside. Just the ONE THING.

And that one thing was gone. I was “angry driving” at this point so I pulled over when we had cell service. I asked my husband to look for a beach somewhere near by because I was about to lose my shit. For a change, I didn’t cry. I was too pissed off at the world to do that. I knew if I had to drive home without some sun and swimming, I was going to sob for a long time and eat a carton of ice cream–and not that little pint bullshit but a half gallon.

Now, when I say I wanted to go to the beach, I mean a lakeside beach. We are in central Maine and the thought of driving to the coast on a Saturday in July is basically suicide. We would be one of 10 Maine cars with the hundreds of others all out-of-state vehicles. This is the only time we really have traffic here, and I’ll pass on that!

Amazingly, there was a beach 30 minutes away at Lake Hebron in Monson. I didn’t even realize Monson had a lake! I was still seriously glum, but I figured I had to try. I ate a tiny bag of sweet potato chips to get my blood sugar back up and then I was able to keep going. We joked about what kind of hell we might find at this public beach. “What’ll you do if it’s bad or super crowded?” my husband asked. I told him we’d get our sandwiches from the back and head back towards home, but hit up an ice cream stand before we got there. I was very ready to eat my feelings.

But instead we found this lovely place:

The beach was literally a large strip of dirt and a side patch of grass, along with several picnic tables, a changing hut and a porta potty. But it was just what we needed! There were only 6 people there, and 3 of them were children. The old man and I staked out a little corner of the grass, I went for a swim, we both ate lunch and read our books. And I drank two glasses of peach wine that just improved my mood. It was absolutely delightful.

Once we got home, after a stop at Dairy Queen, my husband wanted to feel useful and brought everything inside in one trip. Did he nearly fall to the ground? Yes. Could he catch his breath? Not at first. Did I yell at him? No, instead I spoke quietly which is typically worse for him. “Look, we just had a really good day, so maybe don’t ruin it by dying today, ok?” He set the bags down, caught his breath and we carried on.

Am I bummed that we didn’t go to Peaks Kenny? Yes. Very much so. I know that if I’m able to get there this summer, it will be by myself. I know I’ll still have a lovely time, but it would still be good to have another person. But I’m happy we took a chance to try out this little beach. We really didn’t have anything to lose at that point, so why not?

And I’m grateful for those few happy hours. You know, I’m sure my husband will live another 5, 7, or maybe even 10 years. But as I saw with my dear brother, nothing is certain. And after watching Phil slowly die over 9 years, I know the signs–the body not able to move well, the breathing difficulties, sometimes even the mind slowing down. I didn’t know the signs at the time, or I chose to ignore them. I didn’t want my brother to die, even though I knew he would long before me.

But Phil tried to squeak out little bits of living as much as he could. He’d buy and eat foods from other countries and regions because it was his way of traveling AND trying something new. He read “Les Miserables” by Victor Hugo because he wanted to make sure he read the 1,400 page novel before he died. He played with his nephew, spent time with his family and partner–he made memories for US.

That’s what I’m trying to do with my husband. We have nearly 30 years of memories, many good and many awful, But why stop there? He’s never been a very outgoing person, but I’m grateful he’s trying to do a few things with me so I have those memories when he dies one day. He might drive me batshit crazy sometimes, but I’ll still miss him when he’s gone.

It might seem morbid to be talking like this when Wal, my husband, could live another decade. But tomorrow is the 7-year anniversary of my brother’s death. I am in full grief mode right now. I feel such a horrid sense of dread and loss.

I’m at my kitchen table writing this, and I just want tomorrow to come so I can leave the house. These are the times I had a she shed to escape to.

Each year on July 23rd, I try to live. I try to live for my brother, to do something I’ve never done. Some years it’s just been trying a new food, other times it’s traveling with my son. But tomorrow? Tomorrow I’m leaving my house early, by myself, and visiting the Farnsworth Art Museum, where I’ve never been. My lovely library has a free pass patrons can use, so I’m taking full advantage of it. Hopefully the rain won’t ruin a nice walk near the ocean, but it’s ok if it does. Walking in the rain can be life affirming sometimes. Or it will make me feel more miserable. And I might like that better.

Hug the people you love, friends. Tell them you love them. This life goes by in a flash.

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Your Success

Dear Phil,

Happy birthday, big brother. I miss you.

I continue to have conversations with you, but Phil? I’m scared. I’m not sure how you’d reply anymore. There are times when I think I’m forgetting you, forgetting what foods you liked or what you thought was funny and what was just ridiculous. But…it’s been 7 years so maybe your tastes and thoughts would have changed anyway. We all evolve, or hope to, right?

I’ve been watching the latest season of Bridgerton, and often wonder what you’d think about the show. You’d probably watch it since you got me into Downton Abbey, but this is much steamier and more diverse and just plain delicious! There’s gossip and sex and beautiful gowns and manipulation of pop tunes into classical dancing music. One of the latest storylines has a slightly larger than average sized woman as the romantic interest. You know how I love romance stories with larger women! I just watched the sex scene with the woman and her love interest, and yes, she’s rounder than your average actress, but for fuck’s sake! She’s gorgeous, flawless skin, beautiful breasts. Where are the women with back fat?!? I want to see a middle-aged or older actress, with rolls for a stomach, fat thighs and a cottage cheese ass. AND I want to see the man (or another woman, I don’t care) tell her how fucking beautiful she is. THAT is what the world needs to see.

*current rant over*

I can hear you laughing now. Agreeing with me, but laughing. “Calm down, Chuckles.”

Hey, the Bangor Pride Parade is this Saturday. The family is going–the kid and I, Bon, Am & Ky, too. Remember the last one we went to? It’s bigger now. The only thing I remember about that one in 2017 was that we needed a seat for you. You were gonna be there, one way or another, so I got out my lawn chair and my friend, Trish, helped get us settled or helped us leave. I don’t remember which now. I just remember being there with you, then getting grocery store sushi afterwards and eating at my house. Looking back, that was the day you tried to tell me you didn’t have a lot of time left. But I refused to believe it.

Anywho, did I tell you I’ve been going to Planet Fitness recently? I signed up with the boy in early May and I’ve been going faithfully 2-3 times a week. I’m not losing any weight, but I’ve gotten stronger and damn, I’m getting muscles! And talk about muscles?!? The eye candy at this gym is bananas. Plus the wide range of ages and shapes and sizes makes me happy. I don’t feel like a completely weak, old fat ass when I go there.

For my birthday I went out and bought clothes that I couldn’t afford but fit better. I’m sick of trying to fit into clothes that fit me a few years ago. Fuck it. I’m healthy and fit, so I might as well be comfortable and stop squeezing into things that make me feel fatter and more like a sausage than like the woman I am. Don’t you love that it’s taken me 51 years to finally get to the “fuck it” stage? But we both know it’s hard for me to hang onto that. Our self-esteem was always so wrapped up in our weight, both as kids and adults. I’m trying to shed that shit, but it’s not easy. I’ll keep trying though.

I was talking to one of my colleagues about you recently. I was telling her how sometimes I look at your Goodreads account to see what books you read that I haven’t. I want to read more of what you did, yet lately I’m reading mostly romances–straight, gay, lesbian, doesn’t matter. As long as it has good sex scenes and a happy for now (or forever after) ending, then I’m on it. There aren’t enough romances with middle-aged people, though. So many of them are people in their late 20s or early-mid 30s. We need more novels about people in their 50s who want to get laid or have their own happy for now ending. Most books with characters this age are dramatic or depressing. I don’t want a love story. That shit can mean a dead partner at some point. Too much reality. I want a friggin’ romcom with a woman who has the battle scars of a typical middle-aged woman–stretch marks, a possible c-section scar, tattoos, and all the mental and emotional baggage that comes with age. That has all the markings of a good romcom, doesn’t it?

So…I hate ending these letters, you know that, right? But I wanted to tell you something. I’ve told you about the Ralph Waldo Emerson quote that says, “…to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. That is to have succeeded!” Much of the rest of the quote is about appreciating beauty and to laugh a lot and all of those other things that we try to do. But I wanted to make sure you know, and I hope, hope, hope you knew, that you were tremendously successful. You made so many of us laugh and feel loved and breathe easier. Honestly? I feel like I haven’t been able to take a breath since you left.

I love you, my favorite brother.

Hugs & sloppy kisses,

Holly

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Dreams (and Nightmares) Do Come True

It actually happened.

Two weeks ago, I went on vacation with 4 of my favorite humans. To say we had the time of our lives was an understatement. When you laugh so hard each night that you cry and have a belly ache, you know you are surrounded by people that you not only love, but love spending time with.

We traveled to Belize and had the most amazing time. I can truly say it was the best five days of my life. Things at home were not wonderful while I was gone, but I had to keep telling myself that I just needed to let it go. Mostly I did.

Here are some highlights: saw numerous creatures at the Belize Zoo, including spider monkeys (where I cried because I felt like my brother was there, feeling just as excited to be so close to these lovelies); had a beach day where we all swam in the warm water, drank margaritas on the beach, and played cornhole in our bathing suits; went to the Xunantunich Mayan Ruins with a very informed and funny guide, climbed the massive structure and saw lizards and bats along the way; experienced cave tubing; visited a cacao farm and had a hand in making chocolate; swam under the waterfalls; had a massage (thanks, Trish!); ate delicious dishes and fresh fruit each day; heard and saw so many different types of birds that I’ve never seen or heard before; swam in the pool; went for a run; shopped a little; tried to speak Spanish a teensy bit; and drank and laughed each night.

There are hundreds of more photos that I get to look at each day. I did not take a ton (maybe 100), but thanks to my friends, we had over 500 (probably much more) to look at and do what we want with. Many of the ones I haven’t shared are all of us hanging out at the pool on our last full day in Belize. Looking at photos from that afternoon just gives me such good feelings. We were warm and our bellies full and we were enjoying the water and each other’s company. Hell, that was really every day of the vacation.

I know how lucky I am to have been able to travel to another country, to take a vacation, to spend it with my friends. I know how lucky I am to have these friends (and many others) that I have known for most of my life–over 35 years–and still love them and call them my family. They bring me joy and so much damn laughter.

I knew that when I came back from this dream vacation, I would need to hold onto the memories because life at home was and is hard. I cried the day before we left Belize. I knew that my life wasn’t going to feel this carefree and fun for a very long time.

My husband was not able to work while I was away and is now no longer working at all. Between congestive heart failure and now the neuropathy in his feet due to diabetes, there is no other way around it. Our health insurance ends this month and I will start paying for insurance that isn’t as good through my work, but at least it’s something. We will lose our doctor, our favorite doctor we’ve had for years, because he doesn’t take this new insurance. And now we’ve contracted with a lawyer to help my husband apply for disability. If all goes well, he might be able to receive SSDI (Social Security Disability Insurance)–the thing we’ve been paying for all of our lives–in a year…or two…or three.

We, in short, are all grieving so many things this week.

I’ll be able to look on the bright side of things tomorrow. Or maybe it’ll have to wait another day. Either way, I did have Belize. For that, I will be forever grateful.

Take care of each other, friends. I appreciate you.

Hugs to you all. ❤

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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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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.

❤