life

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Always Hovering

On December 10th, Sophie Kinsella died at the age of 55. She was a bestselling novelist who wrote the “Shopaholic” series. Her real name was Madeleine Wickham. She wrote a few novels under that name, too. She had 5 children, a husband and countless friends and fans. When I read the news of her death, one of my staff and I made a quick “In Memoriam” display at the library. A few hours later I was racing home after a phone call from my breathless husband, and I wondered if I’d always remember the day Sophie Kinsella died, because it would be the same day of my husband’s death.

These are the thoughts people have when they love someone with a chronic or terminal illness.

My husband did not die. His heart rate was in the 200s and his oxygen in the 80s–to say it lightly, both of those things are very, very bad. He was vomiting and shivering uncontrollably. (Thank you to my favorite sister for staying with him until I could get home.) He didn’t want to go to the ER yet, so I sat with him, rubbed his back, emptied the bucket, and wiped his face. He was dizzy and dehydrated, so helping him to and from the bathroom was a herculean task, but we did it. Twice!

He made it through the afternoon and both his oxygen and heart rate started to improve. I slept on the couch that night so I could be close to him. I had still planned on going to work the next day because that was what I did, you know? Then I awoke at 3 am and realized that I couldn’t leave the house if he couldn’t get to the bathroom by himself. Plus he hadn’t eaten anything since that previous morning, so I knew he’d still be very weak. Because I am my mother’s daughter, I hated to call into work, especially if that would leave them a bit shorthanded. But as usual, my staff are awesome and were just fine without me.

So, I hovered near my husband all day instead of working. It had snowed so I needed to shovel the steps and clear off the cars, but I waited until he was napping to do that. It reminded me of one of my hospice clients. His wife used to hover nearby and only went outside to get the mail or shovel or garden when her husband was napping, too. We want to be there if they need anything, but also we want to be there when they die.

Although Wal is better today, we didn’t get to do what we had planned. Each year we drive around and look at some of the cool holiday lights folks have set up in the area. We drink hot coffee or cocoa and listen to Christmas music in the car. It’s been an annual tradition with the two of us for a while now, and although he says he likes the lights, I know Wal does this because of how much I love it. But this year? I’m not sure we’ll get to it. We were going to go tonight, but he just felt too awful. I had already planned to bring a bunch of homemade treats to our son and his friends, so I still did that and drove about to see a few lights on my own. I still got a hot coffee (peppermint mocha, because c’mon, it’s Christmas!) and listened to Christmas music, but it wasn’t quite the same.

One of the light displays I drove out to see in Milford. It’s wild.

I wonder if this is a peek at my future Christmas seasons. Still somewhat enjoyable, but laced with melancholy and loneliness?

Maybe.

What’s interesting about the timing of this sickness, is that earlier this week, Wal and I had argued (or rather, I barked at him and he stayed calm) about his lifespan. I think he has much less time than he thinks. When you’ve already made some decisions about your health that leads to palliative care…which is the step before hospice care, then more than likely you do not have a decade left to live. My frustration at my husband’s denial was…tremendous. I hadn’t been that angry at him in a really long time. After a therapy session on Wednesday morning, I understand my anger a bit better and understand where Wal is coming from.

Then that same day, that afternoon, he got violently ill and could have died. I think these few days have put everything into a different perspective for both of us. Wal knows how sick he is but hopes for more time. I will try to be at home more and will take time off when he’s having difficult days. I will do my best to not be angry at him wanting to live longer. I mean…why get mad at that? That’s what we all want, right? I won’t get into why I was so mad, but I do understand it. And I’m now letting some of that shit go. Because how much time do we have, and why be pissed off through any of it?

But for now, we’re still here. The kid comes home for winter break next week and our house will be loud and messy once again. As much as I like quiet and a clean home, I’m looking forward to having our boy here to fill our place with that beautiful energy he possesses. Wal and I can’t help but light up when he’s here. We look forward to seeing him each day, and even our exorbitantly high grocery bill we always have while he’s home will not dampen our mood.

Happy holidays, friends. Find all the light, love and peace that you can.

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Death, Dying, and Remembrance Week

I took this past week off from work and did a deep dive into death work and what that might mean for me. I start an end of life doula course next month through the University of Vermont and my hope is that I’ll be able to retire from librarianship in 8 years and have a small business of helping people arrange for their death.

What does that mean? I’m not entirely sure. I have many ideas, including having a small home on my property where people can come to die. (Although we have the Death with Dignity law now in Maine–a person is allowed to receive a medical aid in dying, many folks who live in any kind of long-term care facility are not being allowed to die this way. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to provide a space folks can rent so they can die the way they wish?) I would like to be able to show people the options they have for funerals or burials. I’d love to sit with folks as they fill out their advance healthcare directives or living wills and answer questions they might have. I want to be able to show people that if they have a terminal illness, they can die the way they want to. Usually. And maybe even blend bibliotherapy with end of life care or grief or both.

So how do I begin? Well, I, of course, read. I’m already facilitating a “Grieving Through Reading” group at my workplace and for that group I’m always reading new memoirs or books on how to die well or novels about grief. I’ve honestly been doing this since before my brother died in 2017. Ten years ago, with the help of my then boss, Lyn, I wrote a grant to start a five-month library program with book discussions and presentations about the end of life. After Phil and my parents died, I started a new library program called “Death and Donuts” where we had speakers on a variety of topics including hospice, spirituality, grief and advance healthcare directives. I was really doing it more for me…or maybe for the me I was before they died. I wish I had known so much more before they died.

But now I want to DO more.

Many people think talking about death is morbid. But why? It’s the one thing every single person on this planet has in common. We will all die. If you talk about your own death or write a will, this does not mean you’re manifesting death. You get that, right? If you think more about the fact that there is an END to your life, then doesn’t that make you want to live more fully or live your best life, whatever that might mean to you?

I know that most folks find death frightening because it’s the unknown. My father, who believed in God and heaven, was very scared the day before he died. He had really turned his life around during the last 30 years of his life. He made amends for all the shit he had done while drinking (and not drinking). He had been an avid churchgoer and a true believer, but seeing him scared also scared me. Thankfully, on the day he died, Dad saw some of his loved ones–people that had already died–and seemed to find some peace and joy in that. I can only hope that they helped him get to where he needed to be.

Is it scary to think about my own death? Absolutely. Yet I think I’m more scared for my son. I want him to grow older with as much support as I can give him, whether that be emotional or financial support. And losing your mom at any age is a mind fuck. So I’d rather that not happen for a while, but I also know that he’s going to be such a fantastic man, even if I’m not around. Hell, he already is.

Funny enough, the day my week off began, my little family and I had to have a chat about how my son wanted to be notified when his father dies. This discussion began with me calling my son on a Friday evening. He was at his boyfriend’s house and I had a question for him. After we got off the phone, he texted me to say he legitimately thought I was calling to say his father was dead.

Well, shit.

Later, our family sat down and talked about how our son wanted to be notified if he’s away at college and his father dies. “Text me,” he said. Of course, I was appalled. He went on to say that he wants to be texted then immediately called, because then he’d be able to see on his screen that text before we say anything to one another. He’d rather read it then hear it?

I’m…mulling this over. What would I say then? “Pop is dead” or “I have some bad news” or a skull emoji?

But the best part of that conversation was my husband saying, “Boy, how many families have talks like this?” Our son said it was probably more than we thought, but I said, “I wish every family would have conversations like this.”

For the rest of my week off, I listened to death doula podcasts, co-facilitated my first bereavement group, visited my hospice patient/friend, gathered more titles of both novels and non-fiction books related to end of life, attended a regular meeting of the Funeral Consumer Alliance board I’m a member of, and visited the Rest in Peace Museum in Island Falls.

The day I visited this museum was the 8th anniversary of my brother’s death. Typically this is not a good day for me. But I started the day in a really good mood. I was driving 90 minutes to experience something new, which is what I try to do every July 23rd. My brother is no longer able to experience life on this plane, so I try to live it for him. And I know he’d love the Rest in Peace Museum with its tuberculosis caskets, real skeletons and the wide variety of embalming tools from the early 20th century.

Once I left the museum, however, my mood started to decline. The closer I got to home, the worse I felt. I had a good plan for the day, which included sushi with my husband and son and then “family time” due to my son’s request. He wanted us to watch a movie together or play a game and just make sure we spent the entire evening together. This all sounded great and honestly, it was. I just had a few hours where I was feeling how big that hole in my soul or psyche is. The loss of my brother will always leave shadows throughout my life until I, too, leave this planet.

But until that day is here, I will celebrate and talk about my big brother, Phil. This week I was fortunate enough to introduce my son to one of Phil’s best friends, Pat, who shared more stories about my brother that I didn’t know or had forgotten. It was such a gift to all of us.

So, my friends, get out that glass and toast your family and friends that have died. Say their names, tell their stories and then make a plan for your own death. Don’t let your family try to figure out what you want after you’re already dead. And if you’re not sure where to start, shoot me a message.

Hugs to you all. ❤

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A Nearly Perfect Day

Today is not a perfect day, but it’s had some tremendously wonderful moments.

Today has been about running, reading, writing, walking, and treating myself well–hence the drink made of raspberry puree, limoncello and lemon sorbetto. At home, a salad for lunch must be followed by a delicious drink. Pretty sure that’s a rule.

My son is home sick today, which is why it isn’t the perfect day.  Although he isn’t feeling well, it’s still nice to have him home. I won’t have a lot more of those days.

High school graduation, 6/7/25

The weather in central Maine today is my kind of beautiful. It’s sunny but with the occasional cloud to give us Northerners a short reprieve. There’s a decent breeze to keep the bugs away.  It’s just a tiny bit humid, but nothing this breeze can’t fix. While sitting on my porch, sipping my drink, you can hear the distant whirr of a lawn mower and the chittering of the birds in the treetops in my backyard. Perfection.

None of this really seems worthy of writing about. Yet, so many of my days are filled with anxiety or depressive episodes or grief, then why the hell aren’t I shouting to the world about these few good days?

I mean, I’m also thinking about what the future holds for my little family. My husband and I talked a bit last night about what kinds of food we’d want at either of our celebrations of life. “Do I want lots of my own favorite foods or is that just irritating since I can’t be there to eat it?” I asked my husband. He shrugged but said he does want the plate of cold cuts (with his ashes in the middle—this is even in his will) and Dr. Pepper, his favorite drink.

Today we chatted a little about the book I’m reading, “Cold Moon: on life, love and responsibility” by Roger Rosenblatt. This short book of moments Rosenblatt wrote as he approaches “the winter solstice of his life.” When I read that line, my husband nodded his head and raised his hand. “Me, too,” he said clearly and confidently. Walter has had many good days recently and during those times it’s easier for us to talk about his death. We chatted over the weekend about what I would write for his obituary, if he dies before me. The conversation began with my telling him about another book I just read, John Kenney’s novel, “I See You’ve Called In Dead.” It’s about an obituary writer who gets drunk one night, writes his own ridiculous obituary and publishes it. Walter asked me, “What would you write about me?”

Sometimes my husband’s vulnerability still takes me by surprise. The way he asked me this question was just so….sweet and curious and a bit nervous. But I told him I’d tell the world how smart he is. Most people just don’t know. His vocabulary has always been so much better than my own. He doesn’t have a college education but a GED and several computer repair certifications. But he understands how mechanical things work, his knowledge of American history still shocks me and his love for science has propelled him to educate himself regarding space and our solar system.

But also? He unties the knots I always get in my necklaces. He used to let me warm my feet on his legs. And this might seem icky to some, but he warms the toilet seat for me in the wintertime. When your bathroom has no heat, that porcelain seat is like ice and it fucking hurts to sit on it, so he sits on it first. He also hates it when our son works at night. He’s constantly worrying and missing him. Like me, he loves spending time with our child and is starting to feel that anticipatory grief of our boy going to college.

So…yeah. My brain is constantly filled with tasks that we’ll need to do before the time comes. But we’re not going to do those tasks today. Not today.

Today is nearly perfect, after all.

Hugs to all of you, my friends. I hope it’s been a nearly perfect day where you are. ❤

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Suffocated by Grief

Grief is loss. Pure and simple. You grieve a dead loved one but you can also grieve a job loss, a friend moving away, or even what you thought your life would be and now is impossible. This past week was filled with tiny losses and combined with anticipatory grief I’m feeling, I’m finding myself unable to take a deep breath.

Last Saturday, my husband and I went furniture shopping. We were looking for his “forever chair” (trademark pending). He needs a recliner where he can sleep when breathing is difficult or nap during the day when all of those meds kick in and it’s hard to stay awake. He wanted something where he could lay down but with a headrest that could elevate his head. When we found all of the electric recliners together, my husband started trying out a few chairs as we chatted with the salesperson. We explained to this 27-year-old woman that Walter was no longer able to do what he used to and he wanted to purchase what would be his last chair. She said she hoped it wouldn’t be his last, then went on to explain how she understands about body changes. Before I had a chance to roll my eyes, she talked about how she used to do gymnastics and after 13 years she stopped and now her body doesn’t respond or look like what it used to.

Ok. I could give her some grace there. A little.

After just three chairs, Wal found his “forever chair” that reclines, can elevate his head, has a back warmer and can lift him to standing position for the future (or those particularly bad pain and unsteady days now). We ordered a different color then what they had on the floor, then went out to eat to celebrate this purchase. I drank a flight of margaritas (I can’t believe I never knew that was a thing!) and went to one more furniture store so I could look at sofas. Before Wal was granted disability, we would talk about what we needed or wanted for the house. Having a recliner like what we bought was exactly what Wal talked about. It was as close to a hover chair from the Wall-E movie that he could get. (He’s been talking about those damn things since 2008.) And I wanted a new couch so we could get rid of the saggy, smelly, broken brown couch we currently have. I wanted something in a lighter color with a chaise lounge.

Bean loves the old couch, but I’m sure he’ll love the new one, too.

We walked into the furniture store next door to the restaurant, me feeling a little buzzed, and we tried out chairs and couches and felt different fabrics. We had been having a lovely day and we were relaxed and Wal’s pain was nearly non-existent. I wasn’t really planning on buying anything there until I saw the couch…with bookshelves built into the sides. The adorable salesman must have heard my gasp from across the showroom, because he appeared in seconds. The couch wasn’t quite what I envisioned, but then he led me to the sofa I had described PLUS the bookshelves, hidden storage, AND pulls out into a small bed.

Wal was immediately like, “Oh we’re getting this!” I could see my delight reflected in his face. So we sat on the sofa, both tried out the lounge, and we snuggled in for a few minutes. This was the one.

The snuggling was what won me over (and the bookshelves). See, my husband has been tremendously claustrophobic since a snow cave collapsed on him when he was 10 years old. After he was on a ventilator in 2020, this anxiety about being closed in or not being able to breathe has increased tenfold. So snuggling in bed while lying down? That hasn’t happened since 2020. Our couch is too low and saggy for him to sit on and be able to get up from, so no snuggling there. But now, with this new sofa, we can finally have that one little piece of our life back.

As we sat there in the store, Wal turned to me and said, “I want you to enjoy the hell out of this couch when I’m gone.” His eyes were sad, but he said it with a smile. I squeezed him tight and said I would.

The rest of that day was so joyful. No arguing, no grumpiness, no sadness really. It was a great day.

But you can only live in the afterglow of days like that for so long. The next day I was filled with so much sadness and what I now realize is anticipatory grief, that I couldn’t function. I took a walk, hoping I’d feel better afterwards, but that didn’t help. I listened to an audiobook, read a little, tried to write, drank wine—nothing made me feel better. And I couldn’t “do” anything, you know? I wanted to vacuum, plan meals for the week and clean my bathroom but none of that happened. Hell, I thought I’d take a bath instead and shave these long gams of mine, but that felt like A LOT of work. I ended up eating too much, drinking too much and finally just going to bed.

The rest of this week has been filled with little losses and some larger ones for my friends. I submitted written testimony for a bunch of anti-trans bills many Republicans in the Maine legislature wants to put through and although I was happy to do it, it made me so angry and sad and frustrated. My dear friend lost her sister unexpectedly due to cancer and it shocked me to the damn core. Some of my colleagues in the Maine library community had their last day at work this past week due to federal funding cuts. Their last day happened to be the second anniversary of my first day at the Bangor Library, but I couldn’t celebrate because it all felt so wrong.

Thinking about that work anniversary made me think about my first work anniversary as a library director. One of my dear patrons, Jan, had wanted to have a day-long celebration at the library with coffee or donuts for everyone, but my husband was in a coma at the time. We didn’t know if he’d live yet or if he had brain damage. So there wasn’t any kind of celebration. Those little things we don’t feel like we can celebrate is another form of loss. It’s like the people I know who have their birthdays on 9/11. It’s frowned upon to have a party on that day even though you want to celebrate your own life and absolutely should.

I know that not having those little celebrations isn’t really a big deal, but I kept feeling like those little losses were piling up on me. After the weird week, my husband and son were going to take me for an early Mother’s Day lunch today, but they both got sick. Then I had slightly uncomfortable conversation with a friend regarding politics and an email exchange with a co-worker that filled me with self-doubt. I then went to my mom’s grave wanting to talk to her but the lawn was being mowed at the cemetery and they were in her section. So I brushed off her gravestone, told her I loved her, kissed my hand and touched her name, then left more bereft than before.

I got home, started to talk to my husband about how I was feeling and I kept my arms across my chest holding myself. I know my voice was shaky and our son heard it. He came out to the kitchen where I stood, and enveloped me into his giant embrace. When your son is 6’8′ and a big guy, it’s the most comforting feeling to be hugged by him. I ended up sobbing because I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I was feeling so…weird. I can’t stop thinking about my friend losing her sister and I know that is leading to more thoughts about my husband’s health (her sister and my husband are the same age) and I just wanted to talk to my mom.

But a hug from my son was almost as good.

Wal came over and hugged us both. I dried my tears, put my feelings into a box and went on with the day.

The day is nearly over now. I just got back from a long walk while listening to All There Is, a podcast with Anderson Cooper that deals with grief. I listened to other people talk about their grief and cried along with them. Some people think I’m bananas because I often read about death and dying and grief or listen to podcasts like this or watch films about it. But I have to tell you that listening to others share their grief typically brings me comfort. I no longer feel alone in my own grief. Listening to others’ stories helps me keep living.

And telling you my story helps me find joy in living. Writing helps me find those breaths that seem nearly unattainable under the weight of grief and rage I feel some days.

So thank you for reading. Thank you for helping me to breathe again.

Tight hugs to you all.

UPDATE 5/25/25:

Here’s Wal, trying to relax in his “Forever Chair” with Wonder Woman looking on. Well…there are two of us looking on. 😉

And here’s my “Island of Peace” as my friend, Diane, calls it. As you can see, I’ve made myself at home–a basket of books, water and a margarita, the two books I’m currently reading, and my kitty blanket (thanks, Mo!).

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I Want to Live Well

I’ve been thinking about my career lately, and what do I want to do with it for my last decade of work. (Or what I hope is the last decade of work. I really, REALLY do not want to work full time until I’m 70.) I’ve been a librarian for over 27 years. I’ve worked in an academic library as a cataloger in a tenure track position, a circulation librarian at a public library, helped form an all volunteer library in my town, was an Assistant Director and Director of public libraries (both positions included cataloging, teen services, programming, collection development and more), and now head of a department in a large (for Maine) library. I’ve been on the executive board of my state professional library organization in different capacities over the years, am on the New England professional organization board, have been on committees throughout my state where I’ve had the great fortune of working with school librarians, public librarians of all sorts, teachers and academic librarians. I’ve worked with community members and town government officials and have had the immense privilege to receive the Maine Library Advocate of the Year award a few years ago.

As my term on my state’s professional library organization board comes to an end next month, I had decided to throw my hat in the ring for a different position on the New England board. But after rolling it around in my brain for a few days, I withdrew my nomination with the caveat that at least two people were already running. (It’s good to have choices, no?) My work life has been so stressful these past few months. My library is part of a new consortium and we’ve been migrating to a new automated library system. Not only are we all learning something new, but there are bugs and weirdness and training the patrons to use the new catalog. Oh, and the bugs. Did I mention those? Weekly meetings to try and fix some of the weird things happening in the system and agreeing with other libraries on rules and procedures and language. It’s…fun, honestly. But also headache-inducing. So besides the meetings for the system, there are internal meetings to make sure we know what we’re doing and supervising staff and dealing with patrons and the many, many difficulties some of our patrons are facing in their daily lives. And of course, now that Trump has frozen federal funding, the stress and tension is even worse. That’s my daily work load, but add the professional organization meetings on top of it, and the state committee I’m on, then you start to feel like it’s…a lot.

When I won the Library Advocate of the Year Award, I remember sitting with my friend, Jon, and saying, “Shit. Is this the end?” He is incredibly kind and said I would definitely be up at the podium again one day, but I’m not so sure and I think I’m ok with that. Obviously, librarians do not become librarians to gain attention or kudos. Usually attention is the last thing we want, but gratitude is always appreciated and often we get it on a daily basis from grateful library users. I mean, we need that since typically our paychecks do not reflect how important we seem to be to so many people.

I digress!

I think for my last decade of librarianship, I’d like to stay connected to these professional organizations, maybe be on a committee or two. I’d love to go to a few conferences I’ve never been to, meet new people in my field, learn something new. But I also want to see that next generation of librarian warriors come into the field. I’d love to mentor them if they need me, but also be able to watch them grow and open any doors for them if I’m able. It’s not easy for me to step back. I do love being in the throng of things, knowing so many people in my field, constantly being in awe of them. But I can still admire folks from afar and cheer from the sidelines, right?

Now that my son is going off to college soon, I want to think about my own future that is apart from my career. Hopefully I can take a death doula course this fall. I’d love to take a few workshops on memoir writing. My letters and phone calls to both my local representatives in the Maine House and Senate and my Senators and Rep to the Congress will also continue with the occasional protest of our current administration’s policies. My volunteer work with hospice will most definitely continue. I just started training to walk/jog a marathon. I’m also leaning into what my husband needs and wants for the last years of his life. If I have a decent work/life balance, caregiving might not seem so difficult. Maybe.

And my friends. Oh, man, my friends. Look, I have a very small family now. The family I created along with my sister, niece, great nephews, great niece, stepmom and the few cousins I like, are people whom I love and love having in my life. But my friends? Those people inject so much happiness into me by just being with them! I’d love to have more time with many of them, but our lives are busy and I know that’s not always possible. I hope to carve out a little more time for my lovely, wide variety of friends, too. Although we could go to protests together and that would combine a few of my passions into one delicious day. 🙂 Or travel together! Hell, I want travel to a larger protest with a caravan of my friends!

Everything I mentioned is how I want my life to be. Having some kind of balance between my work and passions and friends and family is a good life, it’s a way to “live well.” (I just read “The Art of Dying Well” by Katy Butler and part of dying well is really living well, too.)

So tell me, what are your plans for the future? Are you in a place in your career where you’re ready to dive deeper or step back? If you’re no longer working, what do you want to do with the rest of your life? What does living well mean to you?

I’d love to hear more about what you want from your life, friends. It’s a tremendously crazy world we are currently in, and our future may not be what we intend (no matter who is President). But I still want to hear what you hope for. I really do.

I’m here to listen.

Hugs to you. ❤

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Moving Forward

I rarely write about good things happening in my life. It’s not that they don’t happen, but they are typically what some would call “small.” For instance, I go to the gym and I consider it successful if I’m able to not only use all the machines I want to, but to slightly increase the weight or reps I do. Or I have a productive day at work with little drama AND I reach 10,000 steps on the same day. Or I get to spend quality time with my little family and it doesn’t end in anyone arguing.

Those are my “good things.” But as of this past week, I feel like my bucket runneth over! After over a year of not working and having both mental and physical tests conducted and paperwork filled out by the truckload, my husband was granted disability by the Social Security Administration due to his declining health. It’s a weird thing to get “congratulations” from people about it, yet it was the perfect thing to say! I might not need to sell my blood plasma anymore. Wal might not need to go to the food bank each week. I say “might” because bills still need to be paid and budgets worked out, but all in all we’ll be in a better place than we’ve been. Well…financially it’ll be a better place. And honestly, mentally my husband is in a MUCH better place. He’s feeling like he’s contributing to the family and not being a burden. It’s not that he was a burden but…it’s hard. There are days I come home and I just want to burn it down because there are dishes in the sink, poop in the cat box, mail in the mailbox and nothing for dinner. I’m tired and sometimes cranky, but I try to shut it down and just putter around the house and clean up the messes. Typically I know that if that’s what I’m looking at when I come home, then Wal had a bad day—either a lot of pain due to diabetes and neuropathy, or little energy because his heart is not pumping the way it should, or he’s horribly depressed because of his health situation. So I dig deep to find that empathy inside me and tend to whatever he might need.

As I said in my last post, my son will be attending a local university, the University of Maine in Orono. We made his confirmation and housing deposit on the day we found out about Wally’s disability. It’s time to get the kid ready to fly the coop and get his parents ready to live in an empty nest.

With two of our major life-changing events finally beginning, I feel like I am able work on me again. I really, really want to run or walk a marathon. I don’t think running one is really in the cards for me, so I’m starting to research both the walk/run method, and the power walking method. I want a physical goal to train for again. I want to feel particularly strong and proud of myself again. I mean…I’d love to lose 10 pounds in there, too, but Jesus, that also doesn’t seem to be in the cards! Being physically fit and healthy is what the goal should really be, right?

Sure. Yup. Right.

Anywho! I went out today and took a 4-mile walk with one little bout of running—only because it was snowing so hard into my face that it was painful. Although it was snowing, then blowing, then raining and finally ending with sleeting, I managed to mostly enjoy my walk. No dogs came out to try and attack me (that was two weeks ago), very few cars, just me and a bunch of birds that sounded particularly pissed off about the snow. I might be projecting, but they really did sound angry.

I got home, my hair partially frozen, my coat, hat, mittens and hoodie all soaked. And I felt…fantastic. Proud. Happy.

I’m enjoying days like this since they seem to be few and far between. Who knows, maybe there’ll be more days like this in the future.

I hope you’ve enjoyed your day, friends. With everything the world is facing right now, let’s keep putting one foot in front of the other, ok? ❤

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Shelter in Place

Recently, my teenage son suffered a mental health crisis. He’s had a few mental health challenges over the past 3 years, but this one was the scariest. You don’t need to know the details, but I’ll say that I rushed home when his friends texted me to say something was wrong. Once home, I hugged my child, talked with him, held his hand, just threw my love at him because I wasn’t sure what else to do. Once the situation felt like it was under control and in a better place, I immediately deactivated my Facebook account.

It was a weird reaction, but I wanted to create a bubble around my little family right then, and getting away from social media was the only way I knew how. I didn’t want to talk with anyone or listen to anyone else. That evening I didn’t care about your favorite book you wanted everyone to know about, see the sweet photos of your grandchild or even learn how the President had fired more federal workers with no cause. That night, it was all noise to me and I needed to shut it all down. I just wanted to protect my kid.

Two days later, my son was tremendously better, yet my husband and I were left broken. Worrying about your kid’s welfare is par for the course as a parent, but when their mental health appears fragile, you’re continuously walking on eggshells and faking good cheer, all while expecting the worst to happen.

He was late coming home from work that week, and I found myself pacing and just texting him once because I didn’t want to seem too freaked out. (He ended up working late and his text to me wasn’t sent.) Each evening I asked him how his day went and searched his face for any little thing that might show more distress than usual.

And then…the college rejections started to roll in.

My son is a dreamer. He has huge plans and wants to be part of the governing body of this country in the near future. He wanted to attend a “fancy” college to go along with those dreams. Unfortunately, every single one of them has said “no thanks.” On one night, he received two flat out rejections and one waitlist. My boy’s grief and sorrow was so palpable that night. He said he felt “defeated.” And each day after that he’s receivd another rejection. There’s only one dream school left, and we expect that rejection later this week. I’ve been feeling that loss right alongside my boy, but also fear that he’ll slip back into that mental health crisis we just survived.

Yesterday, the boy and I went for a walk and we started to talk about his safety school. Here’s the thing: a safety school is great. You know you’re going to college no matter what. But once my kid was denied from attending those other schools, he realized how much he wanted to go somewhere that was NOT his safety school. We talked about his options and the fact that he has an acceptance at a different school out of state, but again, it’s not a school he really wanted to go to. He started to get angry and frustrated and I knew I needed to just back off. When we got back home, he started researching the shit out of his safety school and what classes he could take. He started asking me questions, “What are semester hours and credit hours? How many credits per class? What’s the gen ed requirement?” He made a document to understand what he needed to take for classes to graduate and what he needed for the general education classes, as well as what the college classes he’s already taken could go towards the requirements. He was on a roll, so my husband and I ran errands while the kid figured things out.

While we were running errands, at one point I said I just wanted to hurry and get back home. “Oh thank God,” my husband replied. We were both feeling anxious being away from our son. Our level of distress has ratcheted up to a whole new level this month.

But when we got home? The kid was pumped! He couldn’t stop talking about the classes he couldn’t wait to take and how he thinks he knows what he wants as a minor and actually planned out all of his classes for the next 4 years. Seriously. The next 4 years.

I was so relieved. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face! Although having my son go to the local university is not what I had hoped for him, I know he’ll still have many opportunities to grow and excel—because that’s who he is.

The private, “fancy” colleges who did not accept my son as a student, will be missing out on one incredible guy. A boy that listens to history and philosophy essays to relax, a young man who wrote a bill about immigration this week for fun, a person that watches Youtube videos about historical events because he wants to learn.

Yesterday, I told my son that although I know he’ll get a good education wherever he goes, I had hoped he wouldn’t be too close to home so he could escape the drama of his father’s ill health. “Mom,” he says. “I could be in California and wouldn’t be able to escape that. It’s just how it is.”

See? He’s such a smart boy. With a big heart.

And maybe I’m a little happy to have him less than an hour away, so when I really, really need to see and hug my son, I can do that.

Well…if he’s not too busy changing the world. ❤

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Willfully Ignorant

I recently had a conversation with someone whom I know to be kind, intelligent and well-informed. They admitted they purposely have not read, watched or listened to any kind of news since before the November election. Their physical and mental health was tremendously better.

I was speechless. Then angry. Fucking dumbfounded.

Since then I’ve talked to friends asking what they thought about this. Hell, I even talked to my therapist about it. I understand wanting to save yourself, wanting to be ok. But in this case? I don’t think that’s enough of a reason to not wanting to know what’s happening.

Let’s say you have every privilege there is: your skin color, your gender, your sexual orientation, your financial status, your mobility, your education, your employment status. You got it all. But you don’t want to know what’s happening in the world, in our country that we currently live in? Because it’s going to make you angry or sad? Big fucking deal. Grow a pair of ovaries and step the fuck up.

Will you be one of those that stand by while trucks of your fellow countrymen are carted off to the camps? Will you be one of the people that helps load that truck? Or will you speak out before that can happen?

EDUCATE YOURSELF. Look, there is a shit ton of info out there and I have had to pare down what’s coming at me, too. There’s too much of it. I personally get most of my information from a few sources, first being Heather Cox Richardson. She blogs daily, Letters from an American. She’s a historian and originally from Maine. She tells you what’s happening in the political world and puts it into historical context. I read Robert Reich’s Substack posts because they often give tips on how to fight back but also throws in positive news, even if it doesn’t seem like it. Reich is a professor and former US Secretary of Labor under Clinton. I get the New York Times headlines and will read some of the articles. Lastly, I’ll watch a few minutes from CBS news, mostly to yell at the screen and tell them that the death of an actor or the winning of a sports team should NOT be the first headline in any news day when fascists are trying to ruin the country.

If you like, I am happy to give you a bulleted list each day of the bullshit that’s happening. Then maybe your ears won’t get full of fleas and spiders. If you stick your head too far down into the sand, things can get ugly.

Let’s start! Here’s a very brief list of some of the shit that’s happened in the last month.

  • Trump pardoned all the people involved during the January 6th insurrection, including those that assaulted police officers.
  • All references to transgender folks have been removed from the Stonewall National Monument website. Someone forgot to tell Trump that you can’t spell history without the T.
  • Social Security and Medicaid are being raped & pillaged. Hope you weren’t counting on any of that. Oh, but, your neighbors already are.
  • Elon Musk is really running the show, along with a bunch of other rich dicks. He’s responsible for cutting a bunch of federal jobs. You might know someone who lost their job recently. No? Don’t worry. You will.
  • Congress isn’t doing their job. They are just as much to blame for this catastrophe as Trump and Musk. Feel free to call them (202-224-3121) or email your Congress people.
  • And then this. Watch it. It is tremendously upsetting. I sobbed and yelled and nearly vomited. Why? Well in case you don’t have the stomach to watch it, here’s what happened. At a Republican-hosted legislative town hall in Idaho, several people shouted “Women are dying” in response to a comment about Roe v Wade. The man at the podium called the people’s remarks “stupid” and called the people “crazy.” So others started yelling, “Is this a town hall or a lecture?” Teresa Borrenpohl was one of the women speaking out. She was dragged from the audience by men in plain clothing, who refused to say who they were. Meanwhile, the asshat at the podium is ridiculing her. AND MOST PEOPLE JUST WATCHED IT HAPPEN.

So…what do you think? Are you angry? Sad? Pissed at me because you feel I have no reason to be mad at you? You’re just one person trying to take care of yourself, trying to live a quiet, decent life, right? Trying to be a good person.

So were Edith & Otto Frank. Look how that turned out.

Here’s the thing: You don’t have to go out and protest if you don’t want to or if you are working too many hours or have other responsiblities that take up most of your time. Trust me. I do understand that.

Do one of these instead:

  • Send an email to (or call) your local and state Representatives and Senators. Tell them what you don’t like and what you wish they’d do.
  • Stop buying from companies that are giving money to Trump and his oligarchy and buy locally from businesses that you know support human rights.
  • Give money to organizations that are helping feed or house folks that can’t afford to.
  • Make a sign and put it in your house or car window. Let people know you support LGBTQ+ rights and that LGBTQ+ folks matter.
  • Or please, just educate yourself. I’m serious about sending you a daily email if you want me to.

We need you.

You’re better than an ostrich. I mean, ostriches are really cool and I’m a fan of long necks myself, but as a human? You’re better than that. So please, do better.

The future depends on it.

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Gratitude Posts

I know many folks take the month of November to share on social media what they are grateful for. I have a friend who did this for over a year. I’m not gonna kid myself and think I can last that long, but since 2025 is the biggest dump fire of a year I’ve ever experienced, I figured I’d give it a try.

And you know what? It is SO much harder than I thought it would be. I want to be genuine in my gratitude, and that, my friends, is proving difficult. There are days that I’m grateful to get outside in the sunshine, because it has been absolutely fucking frigid in Maine this winter. If the temperatures stay above 20 for much of the day, it feels like spring. (I wish I was joking.) So those days I truly am happy about a walk outside.

Me after a chilly but sunny walk near my home. I’m kinda happy.

Other days, I’m thankful to have a roof over my head and heat that mostly works. I work in a library that welcomes folks that are homeless, and seeing what these fellow humans have to do to stay alive is astounding. I don’t care if you think they are all substance users (they’re not) or mentally ill (they’re not), but even if they were they still deserve a place to sleep and eat and be safe. Period. No discussion.

And, of course, I’m nearly always grateful to have my family and friends. I have a kick-ass support system and I know that when I’m floundering, someone is there to at least throw me a rope to hold onto. Not to hang myself with. (I know some of you have toxic people in your lives that would throw you that rope for the latter. Let’s cut those assholes out of our lives, shall we?)

Today, Day 42 of my gratitude posts, I’m coming up a bit empty.

My kid had appointments at the cardiologist today, so I didn’t go to work. When we left the house this morning, my husband was struggling to stay awake. Today is food bank day, so it’s a day he leaves the house for sure. Typically it lifts him up a bit. But not today. Not at all.

I’m feeling so helpless when it comes to his care because he is still able to care for himself but doesn’t. I understand this is depression but I also understand that I do not deal with it very well. I reached out to a friend who has dealt with depression for their entire life, hoping for some insight, some nugget that would help me help my husband. I had already done a few things they suggested. I told my husband I was worried, that I loved him, that I knew he was depressed but he needed to get help, that his life affected mine and the boy’s, too.

Is there something else I should do?

Maybe? But when does it end? When does a person take responsibility for themselves? When does a partner step back and let come what may?

Sometimes I wish my feelings were consistent.

Today I’m stepping back because I’m at my breaking point on so many fronts that my brain is just filled with chaos. (I imagine it looks like a can of silly string exploded in there.) Tomorrow, though? I might be ready to throw my old man over my shoulder and drop him off at his last therapist’s office, or just sit with him as he calls his doctor to get a new antidepressant medication.

But I’m not there today. Not even close.

So…what am I grateful for today?

I think it’s my own free will.

Today, for my sanity, I am choosing me.

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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.