running

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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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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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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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My Favorite Month

“I wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was always June.” –L.M. Montgomery

I LOVE June.

I personally think June is one of the best months you can spend in Maine. Summer is just beginning but the temps are in the 70s, low to no humidity. Everything is green, the lupines have bloomed and it’s just fucking gorgeous. It’s the end of the school year and high school graduation for some. Like January, it feels like a time for new beginnings, fresh starts.

Typically it’s an emotional month for me, too. June is not only my birthday month, but my brother’s, too. It’s a time when we would celebrate our birthdays together, along with my dad’s birthday and Father’s Day. This year, though, I’m canceling any kind of birthday celebration with my family. We’re heading to one of our local Pride parades instead. We’ll celebrate Pride together and to me, it’ll feel like we’re celebrating my brother. Which is what I’d rather do.

Will I still celebrate my own birthday? You bet your ass. Like I’ve said in previous posts, I’ve always loved my birthday but have often been disappointed by others in their lack of celebrating my birthday. So fuck ’em. I might not have a road trip planned like last year’s big 5-0, but I’ll do what I want and create my own celebration.

This month, I’ve tried to take time to really see things around me that bring me joy. That Kermit lawn ornament? I saw it on a lunchtime walk while I was at work, and it cracked me up. The reserved parking sign is at a local grocery store. I’ll never use it, thank goodness, but so so happy it exists for those future moms out there! That photo of me is just from my run today. It was a pretty fantastic 5-miler, the first in 8 months. Certainly worthy of celebrating.

The “Be Your Own Kind of Beautiful” sign was at a restaurant where I had lunch with my dear friend and second mom, Sue. I feel like it’s a reminder that I don’t need others to validate who I am. I’m some kind of wonderful, damn it, and need to cut away those that make me feel otherwise.

See that Maine and Pride flag? I saw those flags at a home, that if you grew up here in Maine, you might automatically think those folks were close minded rednecks that would shoot a gay man on sight if they had a chance. The house was a bit run down with many cars and car parts all over the lawn and driveway. And yet they flew that Pride flag high and proud. I actually laughed out loud. I was a bit ashamed of myself for putting those folks in a box where they certainly didn’t belong. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.

That last photo is of one of my sistas from another mista, Trish, and the FABULOUS author, Steven Rowley. We were fortunate enough to hear him speak about his latest novel. His humor is infectious and he is just bursting with joy. If you’ve ever read “The Guncle,” it’s definitely a reflection of who Rowley is. And if you haven’t read it, I encourage you to go to your local library or bookstore and get it asap. Then pick up the sequel, “The Guncle Abroad”!

Friends, if you’ve never been to Maine before, I encourage you to visit in the month of June. But if you can’t be here right now, I hope it’s lovely wherever you are. And if it isn’t? May you find something to bring you joy this month.

Remember, if you need a fresh start, this is as a good time as any other.

So let’s do it. Let’s begin again. ❤

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May is Mental

Every month is mental health awareness month in our house. How about yours?

Each member of our household is on an antidepressant, two of us are in therapy (although it REALLY should be three) and lately we’ve all been doing our best to take care of ourselves. My son and I joined the gym. (I sell my blood plasma to make a little extra cash, and that cash goes to the gym and the occasional treat or incidental. I know it might sound odd, but it’s kinda cool.) My husband and I have gone on two short walks together, plus he’s actually worked on lowering his blood sugar. I’ve added a few more counseling sessions this month to try and shed the negativity I’ve been feeling about life and the world. Plus I had lunch or a walk with various friends and that always lifts my spirits.

As of two weeks ago, my weight had increased 14 pounds since coming home from Belize. That’s over a pound a week. Of course, our lives were imploding–between my husband having to stop working, trying to figure out how to pay for our lives, watching my kid’s mental health swing up and down and all around, and having the relationship between my husband and I change a bit with the extra caregiver role I need to take on. So…of course I gained a pound a week! I ate every fucking thing I felt–anger, resentment, joy, sadness, frustration. And in case you were wondering, those emotions tasted like peanut butter, chocolate, and margaritas.

But then, finally, warm weather came to Maine. It was staying lighter later. My walks increased, I was still only running once or twice a week, but I was moving more and feeling…hopeful. So I started physical therapy for my hip and leg hoping to stop feeling like I’m 70. I continue to walk or run 5-6 times a week, while listening to a playlist that either reflects what I’m feeling or inspires me to be something or someone I wish I could be.

“Happy” by Pharrell Williams has been a long time favorite of mine. The tune, the lyrics AND the music video, all make me smile and make me move my body. Essentially, it makes me happy for those four minutes. Although it’s not really possible for me, it’s still what I aspire to be much of the day.

“Love Myself” by Hailee Steinfeld and “Rebel Girl” by Bikini Kill represent the women I want to be.

“I’m Still Standing” by Elton John reminds me that through all the challenges in life, I’m still here and doing my best to keep placing one foot in front of the other.

And then there are the songs like “Not OK” by Robert Grace that reflect how I sometimes feel.

But peppered throughout the playlist are songs like “Don’t You Worry” by Black Eyed Peas, Shakira & David Guetta and “It’s Alright” by Mother, Mother. They remind me that more often than not, I’m gonna be ok. I will make mistakes, I will grieve new and old losses, I will be angry at my circumstances, but I will make it through. Because that’s what we do.

Your support and generosity have been the motivation to get my shit together. When so many people love me and have faith that my family can get through this wacky time, then how can I not believe it myself?

So thank you, friends, for cheering me on. You are the absolute best.

GROUP HUG!

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Me, Myself and I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m listening, friends. ❤

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Coming Back from the Darkness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baby steps, right?

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

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Reality Check

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So that’s what I’m going to do.

Love well and carry on.

by

The Gagging Seagull

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

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

We’re kind of fucked up, aren’t we?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take care of yourself, friends.

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

by

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.

❤