Book Review: Keep Moving

Keep Moving: Notes on Loss, Creativity and Change, by Maggie Smith

“Accept that you do not get to choose who loves you, who keeps their promises, who forgives.  But you can choose to love, to keep your promises, to forgive.  Choose well.  Have — and live — your own say.  Keep Moving.” 

Maggie Smith experienced the crushing loss of divorce, after 20 years of marriage.  To begin healing and moving on, she told herself that everyday, she must write.  It might be nothing but a few sentences, but she wrote.  This book is a collection of the things she wrote, the things she told herself to keep moving.

Each quotation expresses the profound sorrow of loss, but also the idea of hope.  In reading them, her readers can choose which resonate the most; which quotations help them to keep moving.

“Tell yourself kinder truths.  You are not failing at life; you are reeling, sure, but you are succeeding at surviving.  Keep Moving.”

5 stars.

 

Memorial

Hey you…

You weren’t supposed to die this soon. You weren’t supposed to die like this. You weren’t supposed to leave me wondering if I’m now at that age where my people die.

We didn’t want the same thing out of life.  I was the shy introvert who always felt awkward around your friends. You were the larger than life extrovert. I wanted the quiet career and the white picket fence (I still don’t have that fence by the way).  But for that four years starting with the Halloween after I turned 18, you were my people. My first roommate. My first adult relationship. The one who taught me about love.

You wanted to be in a metal band. To make it big. I hated metal and wanted to be in bed by 9:30 – well maybe midnight back then… You stayed out all night going to band practice and playing Dungeons and Dragons, while I studied and watched M*A*S*H before bed. I never worried about what you were up to because band practice and Dungeons and Dragons was your obsession. I knew where you had been because the smell of that damned pizza on your sweat when you crawled into bed.

You were a genius. One of the smartest people I ever knew. You knew so much about history. We used to talk about it when I was learning things in school. I always wondered why you didn’t want to go back and get a degree. 

We shared my car until you got your own.  You borrowed the money from my parents.  Do you remember how you would get off work late on the day the payment was due, and even though I would try to convince you to do it tomorrow, you insisted on driving over to my parents house that night so you could make the payment on time.  My dad always respected that about you.  I wonder if you have seen dad up there in Heaven and have had the chance to catch up. 

You bought me my first legal drink at 21.  You nursed my hangover when that night ended up like most 21 year old birthdays do.  You made sure I didn’t feel so adrift at parties.  You were always a better cook than me. And your bathroom habits set the standard to which I compare every man since you. Every parent should teach their sons so well how to keep a bathroom clean.

We had lots of good days together, as broke kids just starting out, even though we were destined to go our separate ways. I loved you. You were kind. You treated me well. Those who came after you could have learned a thing or many from you.

We stayed friends after we broke up, after we got through that awkward phase.  I hope we both recognized we were good people who just wanted something different from life. I know I always thought you were a good man.

I see all your friends’ tributes to you on Facebook, and I feel removed from them. Most of them don’t know me. I came from a time before. My pictures are from a time when we almost children.  Now your oldest daughter is older than we were then.  My pictures have fresh young faces unmarked by time, and the weight of life. But I see the grief in your friends’ words, and I feel that too. I feel their pain. I feel what they feel so profoundly that it makes my heart ache and the tears fall in torrents.

I could never get behind all those cheesy sayings you did later on.  It’s the introvert in me. It’s the Virgo in me too.  I never wanted to be on stage, to be the center of attention the way you did. But you connected people with those cheesy sayings and made people feel valued and seen. That was your gift. I wish more people had that gift and used it. I wish some of the men that came since you had that gift and used it.

God speed Jeff. I know your soul is free and you will shine down on me and everybody else who is hurting with your loss. Vaya con Dios.

April 27, 1975 – May 25, 2021

 

Anniversaries…

In the last year, I have been examining people and their motivations, including my own. It hasn’t been any easy process, but I’ve felt that I have needed to get more nuanced in the details of human behavior. I want to understand where things have gone wrong in my own relationships, and what I could do to not fall into that trap again.

Here are some things I have learned:

I have a hard time letting go.  I love hard and try hard.  I miss you a lot longer than I should.  Long after you show that you don’t deserve me.  Long after you walk away and replace me.  I’m working on this, but I’m not really sure how to stop caring about someone.

Your ego got in the way of a successful relationship.  I really just want to be treated well; with love and respect.  It shouldn’t be that hard.  I don’t want to be subjected to your narcissism, or your contempt.  I don’t want to have my boundaries belittled or trampled.  I don’t want to be raged at when I offer a suggestion or advice that you don’t agree with.  I’m not questioning your masculinity (although if this threatens you this much maybe I am); rather I just think a partnership includes a two way dialogue and input.

I want a man who acts like a man.  I don’t want to have to make all your appointments for you, or remind you 4,743 times to pick up something from the store before you actually get it.  I don’t want to have to worry about whether you filed your taxes or paid your bills or if you ever put money into savings.  I want you to take care of your shit, and do your share of taking care of the shared shit.  I want to let go of the reins sometimes, and leave things in your capable hands.

I want to be surprised sometimes.  I want a man who plans the weekend getaway, who gets the groceries for camping, who takes care of the arrangements so I don’t have to.  That’s been a rare thing in my life.  Too rare.

I need to trust.  That’s been the hardest part of this journey of mine; the disintegration of my ability to trust.  When your words don’t match your actions.  When you caused my tears yet you do nothing to try to make them better.  Trust issues are the death by a thousand cuts.  I sometimes wonder if I will ever trust a man again.

I want to hear the truth. And I want to hear the apology when it’s needed too.  I don’t accept you turning it back around on me and blaming me for your behavior.  I’m certainly not perfect, but I do apologize when I have been wrong or hurtful.

My therapist said that the best deceivers can keep up the facade for about six months.  That’s probably about right.  It’s so discouraging to think that by the time you even start to see someone for what they are, you may have wasted a half a year.  I don’t have a half a year to waste every time.  Every half a year I waste is a smattering of gray hairs and worry lines.

We always want to believe that the one who went away… still longs for us.  But chances are they don’t.  You may cross their mind in a season of unease.  Hard times always make us reflect.  But when they’re engrossed in a career, family, life in general, they aren’t thinking about the person they left.  Remember this when you find yourself wasting precious time on the ones who walked away.  They walked away.   — Alfa Holden

I’ll keep trying to get better at letting go.  It’s sad that of all the skills I thought I would need to know, this one is the one I need most.

 

 

 

2020: A Year in COVID

It has been a long, strange year.  That might be the most positive spin I can put on this COVID year…

Usually my year in review sums up my year of adventure, accomplishments and trials.  With the lockdowns, adventure certainly took a back seat, and I found myself reliving more past experiences than living them in the present.  And the trials…  Oh, the trials…

The year started out so promising!  After having surgery at the end of 2019, I was healing and feeling better than I had in a while.  I took a weekend trip to the Washington Coast, and visited Cape Flattery, the northwestern-most point in the lower 48, and walked the beaches at La Push and Olympic National Park.  Although I was moving very slowly, I did manage some walks that could be considered hikes, with plenty of stops to rest during and after.  The King tides that weekend made for a spectacular chance to see the awesome force of nature, and we had a front-row view from a cabin on the beach.  Who knew that that cabin (located on tribal land) would be closed in March and remain closed even now.

At work things went a bit haywire even before COVID, and I ended up spending several months working on projects I hadn’t planned for.  Even now, one large project is still on my plate.  I’m happy to be valued, and glad when I can do some work that stretches my mind, but 2020 provided a bit more than my fair share.  I look forward to the day I can spend more time focused on my regular duties.

In March came the first wave of lockdowns.  My last day working in the office (other than a handful of days here and there) was March 17.  Since then my coworker-cat Cora has been by my side at about 3 pm daily, demanding her early dinner.  Let’s be real – she would be happy if I would give her two or three dinners each day, but she would no longer be able to walk!

But March also delivered another blow.  My sweet horse Biz got sick in early March.  Fever and lethargy.  I drove home early from a trip to California for days of IV fluids, heavy doses of antibiotics and other care.  He seemed to be improving, but at the same time, at 32 years old, I knew his time was short.  I had even asked Tracie, the woman who owned the barn, if he could be buried there on the property, because I just couldn’t accept the alternative that exists for horses. On March 25, Biz went outside on a sunny, spring day, enjoyed the day in his paddock, then died at about 3:20 pm that afternoon.  He lay down in his stall after being brought in, and was suddenly gone.  Even though he was 32, and I’d been expecting this day for years, it still tore me up.  After all, he’d been in my life for over 30 years.  Longer than most of my friends; far longer than any romantic relationship.

I got a bit lost after that.  Locked down, working from home, drowning in COVID related mitigation planning, and lonely.  So when my boyfriend and I got into a fight in early April because he hadn’t followed through on things he said he would do, I was sad and frustrated and wanted a few days to think about things.  Instead of a few days, he left for good.  Not without taking the opportunity to lecture me on every single thing he thought was wrong with me though.  Because that’s how you show someone how much you love them.  And you do all this on Easter – for good measure.  Talk about being kicked while you are already down.  April truly is the cruelest month…

I wish I could say May was an improvement.  I was starting to see the light again, starting to feel like myself again.  The morning of May 15, I woke up thinking I hadn’t talked to my friend Roger in a while and I needed to text him.  COVID had put our beer nights on hiatus for a few months, and I was missing them.  I put it off, because I got busy with work, and then in the early afternoon, I got a call from one of my former employees.  She was calling to tell me that Roger had died that morning in a fall.  He was too young and too special to be gone so soon.  I sobbed…  If you are thinking about contacting someone you care about, just do it now.  Don’t wait – not even a couple of hours…

So three major losses in less than two months.  I really struggled this spring.  I spent a lot of evenings walking, alone, feeling numb.

Summer was a bit better, because I had the chance to hike and get outdoors, things I need so much in my life.  Plus the lockdown had eased somewhat so I could go out to dinner and happy hour with friends outside.  But I still felt lost.  So I decided to give therapy a try.  I think she was honestly surprised when I tallied up all the losses I’ve experienced over the last few years.  My dad, my horse, two close friends, the dream of having children.  And those are only the biggest ones.  I’m not very good at talking about the things that really bother me.  So it was a challenge to have to open up and get real about things.  That has been hard.  And how do you assess whether or not it’s helping?

I’ve cried more in the last two years than I probably have in the last 20 years.  Honestly I’m not a big crier, but the tears have fallen, long and hard.

I think my year might have been easier had I been able to travel more.  Travel has been cathartic and healing for me.  To stand in front of the glacial lake, to see the ancient ruins, to read the interpretive signs and think about what happened at this spot so many years ago.  I put the car bed back in my Honda this fall, but my September camping trip coincided with thick, choking smoke from horrible wildfires.  Thanks again 2020.

I did have some amazing fall hikes and felt real connections with new friends and old.  That was a silver lining.  I have tried to appreciate the blessings that I do have.  Other than the isolation and loneliness that COVID has brought so many, I have not been affected in any real way.  My family and friends have not gotten seriously ill and my job is secure.

I’m slowly feeling like I’m regaining my footing.  It hasn’t been fast or easy, but I’m getting there.  I certainly won’t miss 2020, but I have things to look forward to, and I’m feeling hopeful.  My wish is that all of you find joy and happiness in the New Year and that 2021 gives us a bit more to be thankful for.

 

Happy Birthday Dad

It was a tough week.  I have been struggling with the days leading up to today. Happy birthday, Dad.  I have no idea how it has been more than a year and a half; I miss you.

Happy Birthday in Heaven Biz!

Today would have been Biz’s 33rd birthday…  I still miss him, of course, but it doesn’t hit me as acutely now, a few weeks later.

A few days after Biz died, our local Humane Society started a fundraiser.  For a minimum donation of $20, you could have a portrait done of your pet by one of their volunteer artists.  The catch?  You get what you get, as the “talent” of the artists runs the spectrum, and your portrait would be randomly assigned.  In other words, it’s all in good fun and for the animals!  I made my donation, and emailed a photo of Biz that I like.

This is that photo.  I took it of him in February 2018 when we were standing outside the vet clinic waiting for them to get ready to do his dental work.  He was a bit on edge, and it was a cold, slightly foggy day, but his expression was so regal!  Even in his old age – he was 31 in this photo – he was still a beautiful horse.

Biz, looking regal before the sedative…

I received my finished portrait last week, and I was overcome with how good of a job she did!  I am so impressed at how well she captured his likeness! His curly forelock and mane hair, his white star that got bigger as he became an elderly boy, and even his slightly hanging upper lip.  It is perfect!

I’m beyond the moon to have this memento of my boy.  I hope he’s having fun playing beyond the rainbow bridge.

COVID Diaries: Day 30

I’ve discovered that the “new normal” changes daily.  Since my last COVID update, I have “attended” another remote Board meeting, had a happy hour virtually with girlfriends, and conducted an entire consultant selection process via video conference.  I even put on a nicer sweater and top for that round of video meetings, but paired that with yoga pants and slippers.  There’s no point in getting fancy on bottom during work-from-home days…  I was happy to see the process go well though.

I’m thankful that not only am I an essential worker, but that I have the luxury to do my work from home.  I’m not worried about losing my job, or being exposed on a daily basis, or not being able to pay my bills.  I’m incredibly fortunate.  I’m tired though – there isn’t any slowing of the work I do, so I’m tired.  I don’t sleep very well either, so there’s that…

I’m disappointed by all the partisan blame game and how many people buy into it, on both sides.  I can’t say I’m surprised, because it is just a continuation of the same old, but I really wish some people would give “the other side” the benefit of the doubt.  Can’t we just believe that everyone is doing the best they can, given a myriad of problems we are facing?  Are we going to get some things right?  Yep.  Are we going to get some things wrong?  Absolutely.  There isn’t exactly a playbook for this kind of scenario – even health department officials who have spent years preparing for a pandemic are still having to make educated guesses on whether a particular measure will be effective.  Perhaps we would all be best served by letting go of our judgment and the erroneous beliefs that the “enemy” has some ulterior motive and the other side would do everything right.  Easy enough to armchair quarterback when you aren’t the one responsible for the decisions…  But that’s enough of my soapbox…

People are stressed out and grieving, and sometimes that means they react badly.  I’m no different.  I miss being around people.  I miss hugs.  I miss going out for happy hour and dinner with a girlfriend.  I miss being able to go for a weekend getaway.  I’m lonely.  People complain about being stuck at home with their kids or their annoying partner, but when you live alone, it’s hard.  What I wouldn’t give to have a in-person conversation with someone, snuggled up on the couch with a glass of wine.  It isn’t the same through a screen.  I still don’t have loads of extra time to get projects done, and I’m trying to be sensitive to all those people who are risking their safety every time someone goes into a store to buy house paint.  Especially during allergy season.  Does that cough mean I’m going to spread the virus!???

It’s ok to be grieving.  It’s ok to feel this loss, even if there are others who are sacrificing and suffering differently.

There are some silver linings to this pandemic, and I’m going to focus on those.  Here are a few:

• My gasoline bill is waaaayyy down.  In fact I got gas a month ago, and still have 3/4 of a tank.  My commute is approximately 10 seconds.
• I’m getting my steps in everyday!
• I get to sleep in!  Even if I have to roll into “the office” at 8 am sharp (which I don’t really) I could get up at 7:30 and be showered and have breakfast and walk the 20 feet over to my desk!
• I have been able to do in-depth research on my toilet paper consumption.  One roll lasts 6-7 days, in case you were wondering.
• I’m making progress on drinking through my backlog of miscellaneous tea.  Although let’s be real, I still probably won’t ever go for the Chamomile.
• I’m low maintenance anyway; I don’t color my hair, get manis or pedis, have my eyelashes done, get Botox, or any of the other myriad of beauty things that people are going without.
• I don’t have to dress up!  My work is fairly casual anyway, but if I put on a decent top for the Monday night remote Board meeting, I’m set for the week!
• Cora loves having me home.
• I’m saving money on eating out and travel expenses.  That combined with not having my horse’s expenses anymore means I can save more for retirement – and buy low!
• I’m safe and healthy and so is my mom!

I hope you are all safe and healthy and well.  We will get through this together, but separate!

How has your COVID experience been so far?

 

 

 

 

One Full Year

“It takes strength to make your way through grief, to grab a hold of life and let it pull you forward.” ~ Patti Davis, Author

My father died a year ago today.  One full year without him, and a year of firsts.  I still miss him like crazy.

Dad with his dog Pixie

 

Moving On

Somewhere, in that space between the loss and the letting go of it, you must feel its whole, heavy, crushing weight.  That’s what grief is. No one prepares you for how heavy that weight is, how hard it is to carry, or how long it will linger in your heart.  But you have to feel it in its entirely, in order to feel the light begin to peek in the cracks on the other side of grief.  It will never go away completely; you will always carry some of it with you.  It changes you, but in time the light will come back and you will see the road forward with new eyes.

My last three years have been largely about grief.  The end of my marriage, a job with a toxic environment, the loss of two beloved cats, and having my life upended by my father’s sudden death.

There were nights I cried myself to sleep, and days I felt so numb that I thought I may never cry again.  I walked with that weight pressing me down, invading every inch of my soul.  I walked even on days when I thought I couldn’t possibly have any more strength.  I lay awake most nights at 3 am, turning over every word, every feeling, every look I had received, trying to make sense of what went wrong.  I did this even when I knew logically that I did the best I could, I did exactly what I was supposed to do, I upheld my end of the deal.  Not perfectly, but I did the best I could.

I lay awake with the weight of knowing that you can’t make somebody else step up to the plate, or keep the promises they made.  Knowing that sometimes you just run into assholes, and kindness won’t make them stop being assholes.  Knowing that sometimes we all get the shitty end of the deal, no matter what we do.  When I did sleep, I had vivid nightmares.  My brain is very, very ruthless. For me sleep came and went, with the insomnia returning with each new trauma.  At some point, the sleepless nights once again became nights where I slept more peacefully.  It creeps up slowly, so you aren’t really sure exactly when it happens.  I still have those nights that I wake up at 3 am and turn over everything in my mind; they are coming less often now though.

The light seeps into the cracks, and you find your smile returning.  Sometimes other people notice it before you realize it’s there.  You find yourself laughing where you faked it before.  You find yourself looking forward to things again, instead of seeing each day as something to be endured.  My road trip helped me immeasurably.  With each mile that I drove, and each place I visited, and each kind person I met along the way, the weight lessened.  My heart lightened.  But time played a part too – and the distance that time creates.

No, it never really truly goes away.  You still have the memories.  The good memories, that bring you joy and peace.  And the bad memories hit you like a gut punch when you least expect it.  They also remind you that you can get through it, as long as you don’t give up.  You change.  The grief will still be a part of you.  But it will no longer define you.  So yes, somewhere, in that space between the loss and the letting go of it, you must feel its whole, heavy, crushing weight – there isn’t any other way.  I’m not quite there yet, but one day, it will feel lighter.

 

Numbered Days

Grief is a funny thing.  I read somewhere that you don’t work through it; that it works through you.  I read that it is a manifestation of love; there is no grief without love.  That sounds about right.  It comes in waves.  Some days you can feel remarkably alright.  Other days it is all you can do to take a shower and eat enough.  It would be easier if you could have some advance notice on which days would be which.

I never really thought about my dad dying.  I mean, I guess I did, in an abstract sort of way, the way that all adult children know that that their parents won’t live forever.  But not in any real, tangible way.  My grandmother had other heart attacks before the end, and my grandfather had other strokes before the end, so I guess I was just expecting some sort of warning before it came.  I don’t know which is easier, having no warning but knowing he didn’t have to suffer through some long, sad decline – or having the time to get used to the idea, but knowing he was in pain.  And we don’t get to choose…  You just get what you are given…  That doesn’t stop us from going through all the “what-if’s”, does it?

Dad’s service was nice.  “Nice.”  That word we use to describe things that we have no interest in participating in, but no choice but to do.  The pastor asked how many of us would rather be sitting at a wedding instead of Dad’s service, and I counted myself among that group, even though I don’t really like weddings much at all.  But on a scale of weddings or funerals…  I’m not a fan of baby showers either, if you must know the truth… I would rather have been anywhere else though, instead of listening to people talk about him in the past tense.  I’m not ready for the past tense.  Yet another thing about which I have no choice.

“You gave me a forever within the numbered days.”  John Green, The Fault in Our Stars