I wake, stretching, feeling my achy joints cracking as the last residue of sleep leaves me. 5 am is my time. I love the morning. The quiet. The darkness. The stillness. The children sleeping with cherub cheeks. The Keurig spitting. The furnace kicking alive. The unfulfilled promise of another day.
I push up into a sitting position, reclining against a pile of pillows wedged behind me. Brock has already turned on CNN and he pads into the room, emerging like a shadow, hands laden with two cups of steaming coffee.
"Is she on again?"
The "she" he is referring to is a 37 year old woman who's lifelong dream has been to swim a distance in the Atlantic Ocean that has never been done before. For weeks the news covered the pending journey. This woman had faced a series of setbacks and she'd gritted her teeth, settled in for the long haul, dauntlessly clamoring, refusing to accept defeat. Against all odds, she'd determined to take the risk for this dream and here she was, the culmination of a life's work coming to fruition.
"I think so. She was supposed to have started swimming yesterday I thought." He hands me the coffee and I sip, a steady sigh of steam rising from the surface.
I would not admit it aloud, thinking it is rather cheesy, but I have been silently cheering for this woman, hoping for her success. When the news covered her life's story last week, building audience anticipation for the event, I viewed quietly with the kids and Brock until finally I left the room, tears slipping, and wept alone in the bathroom. Perhaps it was being menopausal that resulted in my behavior, or perhaps my own personal journey through the fire of a hell I didn't know I would be forced to endure. I pray for her success as though my own is incumbent upon it.
There is a sudden cheering on the tv but not a joyful cheer. The surge of noise is a mournful sound. A sound that means "Please, God, no. Don't let it be true." My coffee is almost to my mouth when I hear it and it jolts me so I spill it on my lap, burning into my belly.
And yet I am not even thinking about the burning because on the tv I am watching her swimming. But not for long. Nature has a way of becoming an unexpected guest: a wave so large emerges from the bowels of the ocean that even a seasoned surfboarder would have taken flight. The cameras are on her and then they are not. She is swallowed in one breath by the ocean.
But the cameramen came prepared, with sophisticated underwater equipment. The picture on the tv shows her being flung around, tossed like a pebble, pushed deeper. The sound is a gurgling like too much water being drained from a bathtub. The sound is an echoing reminding me of when I was a child and I would stay underwater in the tub, just my ears, with the water framing my face, and hear the bubbles, the voices, the rushing faucet smashing water.
The camera's light shines on her as she twists and turns. She casts a white glow. An incandescent bulb. She is too deep now. It's been too long. My heart beats hard. Then darkness. The camera malfunctions.
I feel her story though. I know what is happening. She is consumed by the water. It slowly lifts her up now, toward the surface. I can feel her weightlessness, how the water caresses her, thrusting her higher, spitting her out.
She is not afraid. She is not anything. She feels the same calm she has felt only during meditation.
It feels good to let the ocean smash her will, bend her to its own. It feels good to know something bigger than her is enveloping her, part of her and yet very separate. She is pushed one final time forward and then stillness.
Her story is not over. I still see her. Not her face. I have never seen her face. Not all these weeks on television. Never her face. She is facedown on the surface, hair fanning out like weeds, wild, willowy. My view is from under the ocean. It is dark down here but beyond her, the surface. I can see the light. I am moving slowly toward her. She is blackness.
Her hands perpetrate the slow movement of a shy hello, bobbing with the undulation of the waves. Her hair crowds her face but I am close to her now. So close. I know she is dead. I feel her death. It surrounds her. It reminds me of when I was a child playing at the beach and my sisters dug a hole, burying everything from the neck down. Death has swaddled her like a newborn baby wrapped into the cocoon blanket by his mother.
I am close enough now. I gingerly reach toward her hair face. A strange glow behind her I know is just the sun, the sky, the other side, merely inches away. The water is velvet between my fingers as I brush back her hair revealing her face.
I stare at her. It is impossible.
The hair fanned out. The arms askew.
The death face is my own. She is me. We are the same.
Afterward:
This is the dream I awoke from Wednesday morning. It was 3 am. I woke, startled and began to weep quietly. I was still tangled in the dream and tangled in sleepiness and logic was not fully upon me but I knew this dream is a sign. I reached for Brock in the dark and rested my face against his back, letting the dream subside. I drifted back into sleep for an hour and when I woke to take my levothyroxine as I do every day since cancer destroyed a part of me; when I do, the dream reemerge and I can't go back to sleep. I spend an hour in the darkness breaking it apart until eventually I come to understand its meaning.
There was a time only one short year ago when all my life's ambitions were arranged like art in a gallery. I was amazed at the power of my body. Proud at the determination I displayed as I committed myself to more reps, just one more set, another mile, just ten more pounds on that lift. I thought I had it all figured out. It was a puzzle and all of my pieces were placed. I was that close to seeing the finish line.
But you are never allowed to know when it will be taken away from you. You never know when the wings you are given will lift you up so high that you will be among Angels.
I saw for a moment the death face. Just for a while I experienced how it felt to think it would be the end. It was a moment that was too long and too intense. It was a moment that was many moments and the one I remember best is this:
I am laying on the couch again. I am due for surgery in just a few days. It is four o'clock in the afternoon. I am watching my daughter Madeline. She is laying on the floor reading "The Heroes of Olympus". She is ten. Her blonde hair cascades down her back. She is on her stomach and her legs are bent at the knee, feet in the air, kicking slightly back and forth.
.I imagine the moments in her life that I may not ever witness. I see her at her 6th grade graduation and she is still my baby faced girl, slowly emerging into adulthood. Her first junior high dance where she stands in a crowd of her friends and giggles about the boy she is crushing on. Her first solo violin performance in the high school orchestra. Another dance recital. Another birthday. Now she is 16. She plays soccer and scores three goals in one game. She dresses for prom without me, but she thinks of me as she looks at herself in the mirror, makeup, hair piled atop her head in blonde curls. I see her graduate at the top her class. Her dad is so proud. Her sister hugs her tight in the picture. She goes to college and meets the man she will marry. They honor me at the wedding. Her Tika, my sister, speaks on my behalf. She has her first baby. It is a girl. I am a grandma. I am not there that day, but I am. My spirit is always there with her.
It has taken me a long time to come to accept the events of 2014. I am still sometimes in denial. What I've come to understand it takes more grit and determination to accept my body will eventually fail me and I will eventually die than it ever did to run miles or pump weights, give speeches or write 20 page essays. I accept this idea some days and some days I do not. I am a novice. I am learning how to live in the moment.
For everyone who has stared death in the face, there is not a medal made of enough gold, a trophy big enough. You may not have a stage. You may not have snapshots in magazines. Yet, it is you who has the courage children read about in fairy tales. Yet, your courage, your resilience, your determination is real. It is what makes legends.
I honor you.
Saturday, October 25, 2014
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Divorce Diary Part #1: He Wants a Divorce
While scouring through the basement looking for paperwork last weekend, I came across "The Tote." I'd hidden the memory of the heartache inside, but after seven years, I took a deep breath and unsnapped the lid.
As I read, the story of a divorce emerged. I could feel the hurt that woman experienced, could imagine the sadness lingering in those pages, but didn't feel that woman was me.
It was me. It still is me. But I've changed.
I've emerged.
I'm sharing with you the actual diary, word for word except in the case that you would be confused, and also replacing actual names to protect the privacy of my ex-husband and his wife, for whom I am happy and wish them the best. I am sharing this not to expose them, but to help anyone who feels the need to hear another's story. I hope if you are seeking solace, you can find some here.
Blessings.
April
Tues 7/3 (2007)
Yesterday Jason wanted to have the 'hard conversations'. It didn't take much to figure out he didn't want our marriage to continue. We talked a lot. I cried a lot. I want it to work. I want to try. He doesn't.
I moved into Mom's today. It was hard. Mom left work early and watched the girls (so Jason and I could talk). Jason was doing day 2 of extended work year for school. Since he didn't see the girls all day, I let him keep them the night. I cried harder after leaving them than I have since this started in May.
Wed 7/4
We went together and got Ella's bloodwork done. Bought lunch at Burger King since girls were sleeping. Talked as we ate in the car. Still so sad. Never expected this. Disillusioned.
Took girls from 12:30-2:00. Jason picked up Maddie @ 2:00 and went to Jenny's. Brought them to me @ 9. We talked. Sounds like Maddie spent a lot of time being supervised by Dorothy's daughters and Jillian. She peed her pants. She doesn't do that often. Sounds like she and Samantha had fun. Girls stayed night with me at Mom's. Mom bought a pack and play for Ella. Maddie slept with me.
Thursday July 5
Went to Jason's and opened the antique shop at 11:40. Jason had picked up the girls at 9:00 from Mom's. I closed up the shop and left at 5:00.Very hard day being there. People driving by the house must think we look like the perfect family. We aren't. Girls stayed night with me.
Friday July 6
Dropped girls off around 8 am. Jason fed breakfast. I went over to open the antique shop later, around 11:45. About 2:00 Jason took girls for groceries. They were sleeping when he got to the store, so he called me while he was sitting in the parking lot, waiting. Returned about 4 and he made dinner. I watched and played with girls while working at the store. He's being nice to me. Asked me to stay and eat. I did. He kept the girls all night. I went back to Mom's.
Sat July 7
Appt with counselor. Cried immediately. She asked me if I was sure there was no one else. "I don't think so," I said. I said, "How could he have time?" But, I remember the yucky feeling I got when he talked about how he wished I would like her because he likes her (Dorothy) and him getting her the sweatshirt at the retirement party when she said she was cold-Thursday before school was out. He practically jumped over the table to get it before her husband could. He was completely trashed that night on the way home and said he was a failure as a husband and a father. Why is this happening to me?
Went to the consignment store and priced new items. I'm closing my antique booth there in July. It's the right thing to do, just like no more E-bay. I don't have enough time for me. Picked girls up about 2:30. Stayed night with me. A good night.
Sunday July 8
Been calling on apartments this am. Jason said he "guesses" what he wants is a divorce. I wanted to know where he thought I would be in September as I have to have a home for me and the girls. I let him decide-by phone last night. I thought I would die when he said that he doesn't see us together. Why can't he just try to make this work?
Amanda and Bridget watched the store for me. Jason wants to take the girls Thursday night through Monday night to his parents' home near Saratoga. He is angry because I said no and won't compromise. I need them right now. I think my heart would shrivel and die if he took them that long. He said I always get my way. I said if it was my way we would all go down together as a family. He said I could go down with him. HOW could he say that? He's miserable to me!
He said he trusts me and wants us to continue to be friends (and let's not forget about how I said I would come over for intervention and he said, "we'll just end up having sex.") I told him to get his head out of the clouds. He wants a divorce, treats me like shit. And he thinks I'm going to go with him? I think what he really wants is his "cake and to eat it too."
I remember at the end of May when this erupted and he said that we should put up a house next door in the empty lot and things would be perfect if I lived next door. Then he said he was jk. What's wrong with him?
We argue, he says. Of course we argue! We have two little girls, 1 1/2 years old and not quite 3. What do you expect! We both work full time jobs and previously with e-bay and the consignment store, as well as the antique shop, that's a lot of stress. We've got this huge, old house. It doesn't take care of itself. OF COURSE we are going to have arguments. That's normal! Of course it's not always going to be happy-happy-happy. That, to me, doesn't mean we give up! But I told him I can't hold on like this and if he lets go, then I'll let go. I'll walk away. I guess it's time. He doesn't love me, he says. He's said it many times now. He tells me he doesn't "want" me anymore (like I'm a tool that no longer has any use). I asked him, why? He has no answer.
Mon July 9
Girls to day care today. My first day of teaching summer school. Jason wanted to send girls to daycare even though he could've watched them and now he won't see them today. It was his choice. Mom brought girls home from daycare at about 4:00. I'm still staying at Mom's. It was a long day. Tired. Hard. But better b/c I didn't think about him every minute of this day. Girls stayed the night with me.
Tue July 10
1st day summer school with students. Dropped girls off at Jason's on way. Maddie has a dr appt at 2:45. I picked her up and took her. Ella stayed with Jason. Mom picked Ella up on her way home. Ella was puking, up all night sick. Maddie slept great. Her bug bites are getting better. Went to see Grandpa Ronnie today. I cried. A lot. Couldn't speak. Choked up. Grandpa believed in me. I feel like a failure. I let him down with this divorce.
As I read, the story of a divorce emerged. I could feel the hurt that woman experienced, could imagine the sadness lingering in those pages, but didn't feel that woman was me.
It was me. It still is me. But I've changed.
I've emerged.
I'm sharing with you the actual diary, word for word except in the case that you would be confused, and also replacing actual names to protect the privacy of my ex-husband and his wife, for whom I am happy and wish them the best. I am sharing this not to expose them, but to help anyone who feels the need to hear another's story. I hope if you are seeking solace, you can find some here.
Blessings.
April
Tues 7/3 (2007)
Yesterday Jason wanted to have the 'hard conversations'. It didn't take much to figure out he didn't want our marriage to continue. We talked a lot. I cried a lot. I want it to work. I want to try. He doesn't.
I moved into Mom's today. It was hard. Mom left work early and watched the girls (so Jason and I could talk). Jason was doing day 2 of extended work year for school. Since he didn't see the girls all day, I let him keep them the night. I cried harder after leaving them than I have since this started in May.
Wed 7/4
We went together and got Ella's bloodwork done. Bought lunch at Burger King since girls were sleeping. Talked as we ate in the car. Still so sad. Never expected this. Disillusioned.
Took girls from 12:30-2:00. Jason picked up Maddie @ 2:00 and went to Jenny's. Brought them to me @ 9. We talked. Sounds like Maddie spent a lot of time being supervised by Dorothy's daughters and Jillian. She peed her pants. She doesn't do that often. Sounds like she and Samantha had fun. Girls stayed night with me at Mom's. Mom bought a pack and play for Ella. Maddie slept with me.
Thursday July 5
Went to Jason's and opened the antique shop at 11:40. Jason had picked up the girls at 9:00 from Mom's. I closed up the shop and left at 5:00.Very hard day being there. People driving by the house must think we look like the perfect family. We aren't. Girls stayed night with me.
Friday July 6
Dropped girls off around 8 am. Jason fed breakfast. I went over to open the antique shop later, around 11:45. About 2:00 Jason took girls for groceries. They were sleeping when he got to the store, so he called me while he was sitting in the parking lot, waiting. Returned about 4 and he made dinner. I watched and played with girls while working at the store. He's being nice to me. Asked me to stay and eat. I did. He kept the girls all night. I went back to Mom's.
Sat July 7
Appt with counselor. Cried immediately. She asked me if I was sure there was no one else. "I don't think so," I said. I said, "How could he have time?" But, I remember the yucky feeling I got when he talked about how he wished I would like her because he likes her (Dorothy) and him getting her the sweatshirt at the retirement party when she said she was cold-Thursday before school was out. He practically jumped over the table to get it before her husband could. He was completely trashed that night on the way home and said he was a failure as a husband and a father. Why is this happening to me?
Went to the consignment store and priced new items. I'm closing my antique booth there in July. It's the right thing to do, just like no more E-bay. I don't have enough time for me. Picked girls up about 2:30. Stayed night with me. A good night.
Sunday July 8
Been calling on apartments this am. Jason said he "guesses" what he wants is a divorce. I wanted to know where he thought I would be in September as I have to have a home for me and the girls. I let him decide-by phone last night. I thought I would die when he said that he doesn't see us together. Why can't he just try to make this work?
Amanda and Bridget watched the store for me. Jason wants to take the girls Thursday night through Monday night to his parents' home near Saratoga. He is angry because I said no and won't compromise. I need them right now. I think my heart would shrivel and die if he took them that long. He said I always get my way. I said if it was my way we would all go down together as a family. He said I could go down with him. HOW could he say that? He's miserable to me!
He said he trusts me and wants us to continue to be friends (and let's not forget about how I said I would come over for intervention and he said, "we'll just end up having sex.") I told him to get his head out of the clouds. He wants a divorce, treats me like shit. And he thinks I'm going to go with him? I think what he really wants is his "cake and to eat it too."
I remember at the end of May when this erupted and he said that we should put up a house next door in the empty lot and things would be perfect if I lived next door. Then he said he was jk. What's wrong with him?
We argue, he says. Of course we argue! We have two little girls, 1 1/2 years old and not quite 3. What do you expect! We both work full time jobs and previously with e-bay and the consignment store, as well as the antique shop, that's a lot of stress. We've got this huge, old house. It doesn't take care of itself. OF COURSE we are going to have arguments. That's normal! Of course it's not always going to be happy-happy-happy. That, to me, doesn't mean we give up! But I told him I can't hold on like this and if he lets go, then I'll let go. I'll walk away. I guess it's time. He doesn't love me, he says. He's said it many times now. He tells me he doesn't "want" me anymore (like I'm a tool that no longer has any use). I asked him, why? He has no answer.
Mon July 9
Girls to day care today. My first day of teaching summer school. Jason wanted to send girls to daycare even though he could've watched them and now he won't see them today. It was his choice. Mom brought girls home from daycare at about 4:00. I'm still staying at Mom's. It was a long day. Tired. Hard. But better b/c I didn't think about him every minute of this day. Girls stayed the night with me.
Tue July 10
1st day summer school with students. Dropped girls off at Jason's on way. Maddie has a dr appt at 2:45. I picked her up and took her. Ella stayed with Jason. Mom picked Ella up on her way home. Ella was puking, up all night sick. Maddie slept great. Her bug bites are getting better. Went to see Grandpa Ronnie today. I cried. A lot. Couldn't speak. Choked up. Grandpa believed in me. I feel like a failure. I let him down with this divorce.
To be continued...
Saturday, May 24, 2014
Thrown into the Crashing Crests, Clothes and All
Time heals all wounds, or so it is said. That must be why usually I write about events that were in the past, or about my fitness or nutrition successes. They've healed and the hurt isn't pressing in on me anymore. It isn't often I write about the here and now, and my immediate feelings of grief or despair.
Who wants to feel despair? I certainly don't, and it comes in ripples, like waves that saunter toward toes. I step away, avoiding. But sometimes life happens in sudden and strange ways and it's not a little ripple or a small wave. You are thrown into the crashing crests, clothes and all.
And so, I suppose it has not been a surprise at all that I've been remote these past few months. It's not pleasant to face the harsh reality and remotely striking beauty of what has been happening.
I envy. I see the Tough Mudders posts and 5ks, half marathons, TRIs on Facebook, hear friends speak about their successes, see runners alongside the road and turn away, afraid of a tear that might slip out. I am happy for my friends, but it is hard to listen.
I still haven't seen a true work out since January. (Working out = my therapy) Haven't done a jumping jack, swung a golf club, done a push up.
I've spent countless days on the couch, watching empty tree branches covered with and without snow, budding, dancing and swaying, then green, and windows filled with butterflies and bees.
I pitied myself, holding it in like a leaky pen, poison. Until it was exhausting and pointless.
But the truth of the situation was beyond my control. It still is. After my surgery for the ruptured disc in my back, the swelling never really subsided. The numbness in my arm never retreated. The swelling, at first thought to be fluid on the site of the incision, later, after an ultrasound, proved to be something attached to my thyroid, growing, and then last week, the biopsy showed it is a tumor in my neck. Shaped like an egg and expanding.
And so my sister and I sat in another specialist's office just this past Tuesday, hearing him discuss how he would remove the tumor and biopsy it during the surgery. What will happen if it's benign adenoma. What will happen if it's malignant carcinoma.
As he spoke I interrupted him, put my hand to the window sill, felt like I would faint, "I'm going to pass out."
Me. Superwoman. Invincible. Indomitable spirit. I almost fainted. Twice.
That night I held my daughters close to me as they slept, smelling their Watermelon Strawberry Shampoo. I thought about the administrative classes, the impending internship, my plans for the future. And I realized that none of it matters, not one damn bit if I can't have the people I love by my side.
I wanted to stay that way as long as I could, in the dark, the sound of cars rushing by, and the immense silence. Just me and these two beautiful girls. It reminded me of nights long ago, the sounds of a rushing river, and my own mother by my side, singing gently to me.
I felt my own mortality, like the moment I almost fainted, pressing on me.
And I began to envision my blessings, each person who has stepped quietly into my life and stayed, even if it was only a little while, leaving a footprint. I fell asleep that way, Madeline cradled close to me, listening to her breath, a tear slipping out as I considered this challenge, once more, a test:
You see, all this time I've been waiting, feeling like something is supposed to happen, something immense. Thinking that I would have some kind of epiphany, some colossal event, like a bolt of lightening, some achievement, and as John Kabat-Zinn would say, I'd "Arrive at my own door."
What an idiot he is....as I faded into the sweet breaths of sleep I realized, I'm not going to arrive at my door or anyone else's because I'm already here.
I've been here all along.
Who wants to feel despair? I certainly don't, and it comes in ripples, like waves that saunter toward toes. I step away, avoiding. But sometimes life happens in sudden and strange ways and it's not a little ripple or a small wave. You are thrown into the crashing crests, clothes and all.
And so, I suppose it has not been a surprise at all that I've been remote these past few months. It's not pleasant to face the harsh reality and remotely striking beauty of what has been happening.
I envy. I see the Tough Mudders posts and 5ks, half marathons, TRIs on Facebook, hear friends speak about their successes, see runners alongside the road and turn away, afraid of a tear that might slip out. I am happy for my friends, but it is hard to listen.
I still haven't seen a true work out since January. (Working out = my therapy) Haven't done a jumping jack, swung a golf club, done a push up.
I've spent countless days on the couch, watching empty tree branches covered with and without snow, budding, dancing and swaying, then green, and windows filled with butterflies and bees.
I pitied myself, holding it in like a leaky pen, poison. Until it was exhausting and pointless.
But the truth of the situation was beyond my control. It still is. After my surgery for the ruptured disc in my back, the swelling never really subsided. The numbness in my arm never retreated. The swelling, at first thought to be fluid on the site of the incision, later, after an ultrasound, proved to be something attached to my thyroid, growing, and then last week, the biopsy showed it is a tumor in my neck. Shaped like an egg and expanding.
And so my sister and I sat in another specialist's office just this past Tuesday, hearing him discuss how he would remove the tumor and biopsy it during the surgery. What will happen if it's benign adenoma. What will happen if it's malignant carcinoma.
As he spoke I interrupted him, put my hand to the window sill, felt like I would faint, "I'm going to pass out."
Me. Superwoman. Invincible. Indomitable spirit. I almost fainted. Twice.
That night I held my daughters close to me as they slept, smelling their Watermelon Strawberry Shampoo. I thought about the administrative classes, the impending internship, my plans for the future. And I realized that none of it matters, not one damn bit if I can't have the people I love by my side.
I wanted to stay that way as long as I could, in the dark, the sound of cars rushing by, and the immense silence. Just me and these two beautiful girls. It reminded me of nights long ago, the sounds of a rushing river, and my own mother by my side, singing gently to me.
I felt my own mortality, like the moment I almost fainted, pressing on me.
And I began to envision my blessings, each person who has stepped quietly into my life and stayed, even if it was only a little while, leaving a footprint. I fell asleep that way, Madeline cradled close to me, listening to her breath, a tear slipping out as I considered this challenge, once more, a test:
You see, all this time I've been waiting, feeling like something is supposed to happen, something immense. Thinking that I would have some kind of epiphany, some colossal event, like a bolt of lightening, some achievement, and as John Kabat-Zinn would say, I'd "Arrive at my own door."
What an idiot he is....as I faded into the sweet breaths of sleep I realized, I'm not going to arrive at my door or anyone else's because I'm already here.
I've been here all along.
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