In Kindness and In Health - Part II

The Story of a Toothbrush - The Sequel

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I did it.  Eric's toothbrush.  I tossed it.  

I debated whether to post something so personal on my blog.  There is a lot of healing power in practicing vulnerability.  In putting yourself "out there."  In sharing.

I was an opportunist.  I knew I would be spending time with friends tonight.  I would have good company.  It would be safe for me to do the inevitable.  Right before I left the house, I threw away the toothbrush.  Then I took the garbage to the curb.  I never looked back.   

I don't feel sad or bad, but I do not feel it was an accomplishment.  I feel positive about the timing, and that's plenty.  

I did it ahead of my schedule.  Way ahead of schedule.  For that, I'll give myself a pat on the back.  

Well done, Daisy. 

In Kindness and in Health

Friends often tell me to be kind to myself.  I do my best.  

Being kind to myself has been easy and straight-forward.  I indulge in all kinds of activities - or inactivities - that my heart desires.  It's simplistically black and white.

As time progresses, kindness to myself becomes a little more gray; then a lot more gray. Counter-intuitive.  I don't think it is always doing what my heart desires anymore. Sometimes it desires things that are counterproductive to my healing. Indulging in those is not self-kindness.  They are by no means destructive - and that's the problem.  They trot on the fine line.  They mask themselves as kindness, and unnecessarily prolong my healing process.  

One of the most, if not the most, pragmatic struggles I have is organizing Eric's belongings.  I haven't started any of it.  One of the famous phrases I carry around is this:  "I am not ready.  His toothbrush is still exactly where he left it."  Well, maybe that's the problem.  His toothbrush is still exactly where he left it!  The fact is, I don't want to remove ANYTHING, EVER - but indulging in that sentiment is completely counterproductive - it holds life back.  It prolongs the time to emerge. It delays my living a full life again.  It is individual; it may work great for others who grieve, who take decades before closets are cleared.  It cannot work like that for me.  It must not.  

I need to throw away Eric's toothbrush.

No friend in the right mind will advise me the right moment to toss out a toothbrush.  It's on me.  I must act on courage. I can do that. 

It is not about ridding the toothbrush.  And it certainly is not the toothbrush itself. It's the familiarity that indulges short-term comfort.  And that's alright, as long as I am aware of what that toothbrush is doing to me, and for me, exactly.  

Being kind is being decidedly, IMPECCABLY self-aware.  

Wedding Rings

The scary part about having a Meltdown is that my body remembers him.  The physical, mental, and emotional components.  Ridiculous, but sometimes I am embarrassed by Meltdown.  The embarrassment is irrational, but it is just how I feel.  I am afraid of being mis-labeled a drama queen.  What can I say; I have my share of insecurities.

The scariest part about remembering Meltdown is that I can count on its return.  It owes no warnings or explanations.  It comes and goes as it pleases, at its leisure.  Intermittently.  Unexpectedly.  Sometimes with a vengeance.  Perhaps like the kiss of death.

How I negotiate Meltdown is up to me.  Most of the time I do pretty well; others, I do exceptionally well.  Then there are times I just let Meltdown take over when all efforts become undeniably futile.  When he advances and refuses to retreat.  Like Victory, Meltdown has his right to exist.  I have a role to accept – may be even invite - his visit, if I ever want to live in peace again. 

I hosted Meltdown last week.  Meltdown: 1.  Daisy: 0  (I played like the Mariners.) 

Coincidentally, or not, last Thursday marked the 6-month anniversary of Eric’s death, but I don't believe  my grief was merely a reflection of the date.  I am now negotiating grief at a much deeper level, entering the abyss of no-answers, approaching the core.  The fear seemed paralyzing that the only release was tears.  Meltdown saw the opportunity; he advanced.   

But Meltdown’s visit also meant I made yet another positive step to live in peace.  My cup is still half full…I refuse an inferior attitude and tolerate no self-pity. 

It’s important to memorialize Meltdown’s visit from last week, so I can better negotiate, not avoid, his next arrival.   Similar to grief, Meltdown never gets any easier; just more familiar.  How one negotiates Meltdown is personal.

For my own benefits, I made a list:  

• Meltdown yields incredible pain.  It causes every fiber to ache like hell.  So what. 
• Honest, Real conversations that reach deep into the core can invite Meltdown.  Have more of those.
• Trusted friends need to know that Meltdown is visiting.  Text them. Write them. IM them.  
• Those same trusted friends will respond and dispatch an extra dose of love instantly.  For free.  The price is right!  Reap them.
• Seek company when Meltdown visits.
• Seek solitude when Meltdown visits.
• Eat well.  Eat wholesome.  Always.  
• Express gratitude.  Openly.  Sincerely.  Frequently. 
• Go outside.  Move.  No matter how crappy the weather is.  Even in the winter.  Even when it’s cold.  Even if it’s dark.  Don’t indulge excuses.
• Learn to swim well.  Water is my only phobia.  Let nothing, and no one, own me.
• Drive a Roadster.  Fly a plane.  Shoot arrows.  Learn something on Coursera.  Bake bread for others. Climb.  Fly a kite.  Go fishing.  Skate.  Do new things.  Move.
• Have a Daisy Day.  Eat at great restaurants.  Pour a glass of pinot.  Paint toenails a new color.  Book a body scrub.  Be catered to.
• I have not earned the feather of a drama queen; get over it.
• Seize the opportunity to gain one new experience everyday, if it is available.  When it is offered, seize it.  No matter what.  Even if it’s scary.  Especially if it’s scary. 

256 Charlie Bravo is airborne!
Choose to seize a brave new day, everyday.

I have so much more to ponder about this post-Eric era.  Some I already know; much is yet to be discovered.  When I am finally ready to negotiate the Wedding Rings portion of my grief, Meltdown will visit, Hot Mess will ensue.  And I will remind myself:  “Be the drama queen you aspire to be - you're still Victorious.  Now get your ass outside.  And move.”

Heavy Artillery

"Grief never gets easier, just more familiar and how one negotiates it is personal." ~ Alex

Symbolically, I brought out the heavy artillery as I negotiated today, August 15.  For the first month after Eric died, I blasted Beethoven's 9th Symphony choral finale - Ode to Joy - literally every morning, before I could drag my ass out of bed.  It shook the house.  Some mornings I needed it only once; others, I played it until I thought the neighbors might call the cops.  That was the only thing that could jump start the heart that seemed to have stopped beating; to drag me out of bed, to face the day.  To put the right foot in front of the left, vice versa, and repeat. 

Goundhog Day everyday.  Pure, pure hell. 

I no longer need Beethoven.  I haven't "needed" him for five months.  To show my special appreciation, I gave Beethoven a slot today.  Beethoven shook my house with Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Handel, and other boys who wore funny wigs. 

I didn't want to give today's "6-month anniversary" any more significance than what it is, but the body is conditioned to remember and react to trauma on certain days, under certain circumstances.  Is it what this is?  Trauma?  Whatever it is, I refuse the label "tragedy." 

I decided today shall be a victorious day - the most Victorious of them all - because I declare it so.  Because I need to continue my progress, NO-MATTER-WHAT.  No matter how tiny of a step.  However minute of progress.  No matter how unwilling. How difficult.  

Today's victoriousness is about being slightly more familiar in negotiating my grief than last week; last month; last 15th. 

Today's victoriousness is about remembering everyone and everything with only loving thoughts.  It is about embracing grief, not resisting, with inclusiveness.  Joy in spite of sorrow.  Progress in spite of fear.  

September 15 will not get easier, but it will be more familiar. 

And I shall remain, more Victorious than ever.  

Poky and Big Breasts

Made you GASP!!   

If Sir-Mix-A-Lot had seen the Grand Teton of Wyoming before he wrote his rap classic, maybe he would have changed the lyrics from "butts" to "breasts"...or something more demographically appropriate and descriptive.  

"I like big breasts and I can-not lie..."  Second grade humor.

I am not promoting Sir-Mix-A-Lot or his song - I could care less about either.  I am promoting the grandeur and beauty of Big Breasts - the Grand Teton.  You know, the mountain in northwest Wyoming.  You do know that's what it means, right?  But of course, Six-Mix-A-Lot's lyrics and video created ample controversy.  Everything creates controversies these days.    

But enough about breasts.  Here lies the documentation from a wannabe-journalist.  

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Solo Road Trip:  Pocatello and the Grand Teton

Seattle to Boise on Horizon,
then another 220+ miles driving to Poky.

Don't leave home without him.
I used to sneak Mr. Bullwinkle in Eric's bags
on every trip. It is only fair that he comes along on mine now.  

Breaking bread at Alex's. 
A loving meal prepared by Alex, Crista, Kathy, and Mike

Alex and Eric used to hike and nordic ski the exact trail numerous times.  "Beautiful switchbacks, streams, and blindingly breathtaking views."  I already took a liking, until I heard, "you'll be FINE!"  Alex repeatedly emphasized the word with a long-drawn "finnnneeee," as I silently suspected the 9 hours, 11 miles, 6,500 feet altitude gain (and drop) to Table Mountain - plus the 3 hours drive each way.  Table Mountain is located in the Teton Range and the Targhee National Forest.  It was the repetition that made me suspicious; if Alex said only one "fine" it would have been slightly more believable...  

As I packed my essentials into my daypack, I questioned if I would live to see it all. Scobie - my friend who's practically a walking encyclopedia - said it is like  climbing from the bottom of the Grand Canyon to the rim, plus 20%.  I didn't question Scobie's stats, since he is, you know, a walking encyclopedia.  

Here lies the "FINE" ascend and descend from death. 

Sunrise.  0615.
We began our pilgrimage from Poky to the trailhead,
a 3-hour drive.  Starbucks was spotted along the way.
Off to a good start!  

Mike (Sullivan) apparently ran, yes - RAN - this entire trail up the mountain in a race.  RAN.  All 6 miles, 6,500 ft altitude gain and all.  Suddenly I felt strangely inadequate as a City Person trying to fit in the wilderness...  "I'll be finnnneeeee," I reminded myself.  

From left to right
Kathy, Tessa, Molly, Crista

Kathy Sullivan and me

Mike and Kathy Sullivan

Various shots during our long march ascend.  Alex is right:  the view is already blindingly breathtaking,

Gracie taking a soak in the stream

Mountains have mysterious
healing powers

The Sound of (dreadful) Music!
"Climb every mountain...
Ford every stream..."

YAY!  A SNACK BREAK!

Mockery!
The sign says "trail"...DUH!

Steady...and don't fall over
to the left.  It's kinda steep.

Mike giving Gracie
some water from the
Playtapus 

Almost there, after
 climbing up these crags. 

The Long March to Table Mountain
We were like ants following a trail of sugar to the summit.

Long at last, after five hours of continuous ascend, much cursing, water and snack breaks, we reached the summit.  What a view!  The "Breasts" are IN-YOUR-FACE.  Larger than life.  There, you GASP(!!!) again.  

The Teton Range is "within reach" with the Grand on the right

Beyond these mountains in the valley
is Jackson, Wyoming

Our triumphant photos at 11,106 ft...

Mike and Kathy

Alex and me

Crista and Alex 

Shortly after we summited, the weather turned grumpy.  The wind was howling fiercely, and it started to hail.  We were too exposed to linger safely at the top. As we hurried our descend, Alex tossed a coin:  "HEAD, we go back the same way. TAIL, we take the short cut - shorter but much steeper."  Luck of the toss, it was TAIL.   

None of us has gone down that "short cut"...  Somewhere behind me mixed with the howling wind, I heard Alex's famous encouragement, "You'll be FINNNNEEEE!" 

As we descended with extreme care, there were talks about acute and delayed onset muscle soreness; how this micro-trauma to the muscles has nothing to do with lactic acid build-up, and the worst is yet to come.  The exciting physiology behind it all.  You see?  Alex is a professor emeritus and the retired-chair of the Physical Therapy and Physiology department at ISU.  He lives and breathes this stuff.  Child's play.  He's another walking encyclopedia.

Yet, at that very moment, I cared nothing about my lactic acid.  I just wanted a beer... And a big fat burger.  With fries.  

Exactly three hours later, we reached the bottom exhausted but elated.  Each had his share of cursing, laughter, and micro-trauama to the muscle fibers.  Much to our disapproval and dismay, we found this at the bottom of the trail:  

"You'll be FINNNNEEEEE!!!"  Famous last words.

Oh another silver lining to this bragging right?  I've lost a pound of fat today.  Dr. Alex did the math and declared 500 KCAL per hour of energy expenditure plus roughly 1800 KCAL at my basal metabolic rate approximated 6000 KCAL output for the 9-hour hike.  That's one pound of fat.  I'm going to eat a whole damn cow for dinner.  

As we were leaving the mountains and heading back to Poky, a vivid double-rainbow appeared.  I was convinced Eric was hiking with me the whole time, cheering me on.  Telling me, "Hone, you'll be just FINE."  

Solo Road Trip - Epilogue

It's out of the ordinary order to publish an epilogue before the plot is written.  How rebellious of me; well-behaved women seldom make history... 

I tried something new this week.  I took a solo trip to Pocatello, ID.  The locals call it Poky.  Poky is a special place.  Eric spent his entire twenties and then some there, and established many significant friendships.  He led a great life in Poky.  He loved all the mountains, trails, and waters.  Wicked winters and scorching summers.  And of course, his circle of friends.  He flew, skied, biked, climbed, swam.  If there was anything to do with a mountain or a trail or a body of water, he probably got his hands and feet in it.  

I have no meaningful connection with Poky except the seeds of friendship he sowed for me years ago.  I decided to go there for connection.  For restoration.  In search of respite.

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Alex gave me a bear hug and twirled me around at his front door.  When I finally landed on my feet, slightly dizzy from the spin, he looked me in the eyes and said, "Dais, you know I love ya.  You KNOW that, right?"  Right away, I know, August Respite has arrived. 

In the last several months, I have gained a deep appreciation that friends appear and remain in my life for specific purposes.  Not reasons, but purposes.  As time progresses I feel deeply indebted to all the good people who stuck by me through my dark days and deep despair.  I feel indebted as there is no possible way I can ever repay what they have done for me - but repaying is unnecessary.  True friendship knows and needs no repayment.  

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Honest, open, meaningful conversations late into the night are healing and revealing.  Restoration and respite comes in times of need when one openly contributes to and accepts ideas.  The most significant gain of this journey was not the high of conquering a gruesome hike, or the breathtaking views.  It was not even the completion of a solo road trip.  It was the sprouting of new relationships through the exchange of feelings and emotions.  An exchange of thoughts requires participation from both parties.  Talk and listen.  Active and passive.  The vulnerability to expose own emotions and the courage to disagree opposing viewpoints.  I found respite in this community not because of any spoon-feeding.  I found respite because I actively participate in the healing process that my friends so willingly partner with me.  

Friends from all over the world appear and remain in my life for a specific purpose. Likewise, I appear and remain in theirs for a specific purpose. There is no free ride. I have begun to appreciate clearly that EACH of us is responsible to reciprocate that purpose with accountability.  Without excuses.  When I take each purpose seriously, responsibly, and lovingly, the focus shifts from the loss of Eric to the gain of many. One almost cannot appreciate the magnitude of such gain until one experiences the magnitude of such a loss.  

I dedicated my trip to Pocatello to my loving husband.  My gratefulness for the seeds of friendship he sowed.  I am incredibly grateful - and proud - of my courage to face all my insecurities, fear, and pain head-on, accepting no excuses or self-pity.  

I am my father's and my mother's daughter, after all. 

In loving memory and appreciation
of my husband, Eric Gilman 

Stop Taunting Me!

The problem with making strong progress is that I do not accept myself to ever stop or digress, not because I'm too strong for it, but because I do not want to repeat what I have just gotten through.  It's just so hard.  SO HARD.  

Progress.  Stoppage.  Digress.  Progress. Stoppage.  Digress.  

The cold reality is that I will be on this repetitive cycle for as long as there are remaining breaths in me.  The Sisyphean efforts seem defeating.  So pointless. 

I finished Book One with no grand finale nor fanfare.  In fact it is anticlimactic.  So I started a sequel and called it...Book Two. 

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August 7.  Book Two.  Chapter One. 

The house is empty now.  The silence is deafening.  I felt incredibly alone yet I wanted zero company today.  I had no desire to talk to anyone, or hear my own voice for that matter.  



I did literally three things in eleven and a half hours:  I went for a skate.  I vacuumed the house. I took myself to dinner.  A tortoise could've finished everything in five. 



It is so much more complicated than "empty nest."  I do not have empty-nester syndrome.  It's just empty, with incredible holes and unbearable voids that constantly threaten to destroy my hard-earned progress.  And tauntingly send me back to Stop. 

We were supposed to congratulate and celebrate Kiddo's moving out today. Together.  You weren't here.  

You. Were. Not. Here.