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02222
It’s funny – you can feel it when the bad energy is pumping even before you realize that’s what you’re feeling.
Today is Groundhog Day. Which is great … except that two years ago tomorrow, John’s brother died. And tonight, when my Dad came over for dinner, he shared that his dad, my grandfather, died on Groundhog Day.
Bubski died in 1979 – the same year I was born. We just missed each other. I used to think I could physically feel that sadness of missing him by just this much. The stories I heard about Bubski (his nickname) were legendary. I was sure that he would have loved me and spoiled me and been the best granddad ever. But we just missed each other. And that closeness – that near miss -haunted me as a child.
Now I wonder how much I’m like him – if his spirit is within me. I dearly hope I am like him -even if just a little bit – because he sounded wonderful and what a gift that would be. I’m less sad and just grateful that his memory lives on with such love and vibrancy.
Life is funny like that. How our perspectives change as we get older, as we gather more information. I’m sad I never knew my grandfather. I’m sad that I lost my mother when I was thirty-nine. I’m sad about all the tough hits I’ve taken — MS, my first marriage, blah blah blah. It all sucks. Life isn’t fair. And it certainly isn’t kind. But my choice is how to react to that, how to frame it and sit with it. How to hold the energy and then release it.
It can’t change the losses we’ve suffered. But perhaps it can help us carry them.
Xox, g
26jan22
Two years ago on February 3rd, John’s older brother Alan died.
It was sudden and awful and my memories of that time are a blur — aided mostly by my overly sparse Instagram posts. His death was followed far too closely by Covid and the pandemic and quarantine so sometimes, it feels like a lifetime away.
Today would be his forty second birthday. (Yes, that makes him younger than me). I don’t want to diminish that we lost him far too soon, but when I think about Alan now, I mostly feel joy. I feel him with us a lot and I believe that he’s watching over John with a mindful eye.
The thing about Alan was that he had cerebral palsy. And he was non-verbal. And we didn’t see him a lot – something I could kick myself for now, but I also can’t go back and change. I loved seeing him when we did – it was so patently obvious how much he loved his brother. His eyes filled with love and then utter sadness when we inevitably left. We would stand and talk to him – tell him stories about our lives, tease him about childhood memories. He would withhold kisses from John until he felt John had properly paid penance for not being around.
Alan’s kisses were life. His joy was infectious – his laughter, his smile, his waving arms. I know – if he could – he’d have given us an earful. He’d tease and tell embarrassing stories. He’d harass his little brother.
But that was never their relationship.
So I believe that now – he is doing his brotherly duty. He is giving John strength when he doesn’t believe he has any. He is reassuring him when life feels uncertain and overwhelming. He is lifting him up when he can and walking beside him when that’s what John needs. I feel Alan with us. During the day when something funny happens, and at night when I light candles for he and my mother. He makes me feel safe.
I miss him but I also know he is with us.
Happy Birthday, my brother. I love you.
Xox, g
19jan22
Last night John + I spent four hours (yes, four) on the phone with American Airlines. Truth be told we spent most of that time on hold – first to get a person and then because that person was on hold with another person. Long story exceptionally long, we hung up just before ten having eaten dinner standing up and most of our time pacing back and forth waiting for someone to come back and talk to us.
The end result is tickets booked to the U.K. And no more tickets to France. I am both happy and sad. I wanted so badly to visit my brother in the Alps. I practically strong-armed it into taking place. To change those plans hurt my soul.
On the flip side, I haven’t been to England since 2015. When my mother was still alive. Most of my aunts and uncles I haven’t seen since before. Covid has been going on for so long … our original flights were booked for September 2020. Nearly two years later and we are finally (hopefully) going. I just want to eat sausages and crumpets and pork pies and walk the walls of Berwick. I want to breath in the salty sea air and remember my mother. I think part of me is hoping she feels closer somehow. Even though my rational brain knows that won’t be the case. My mother was an American and she was proud to be one. England is more for me and my Dad and Dave than it ever will be for her. We are all searching, hoping, missing her.
I hope we go. I hope we are able to board the plane and land in the U.K. I hope I am able to see my aunts and my cousins and talk and laugh and hug and tell stories and show John things he didn’t see last time.
My fingers are crossed. Maybe third times a charm.
Xox, g
Day 60
Women’s History Month.
A five year anniversary.
The return to community.
It was a big day, today. I usually wonder all day what I’m going to write about and then —somehow— get divine inspiration right before bed (usually while meditating… go figure). Today, I have had so many thoughts in my head about what I want to say all day that I’m paralyzed in a different way — one of indecision.
**
A month dedicated to the history of women. A history woefully lacking in substantial texts, recognition and dignity. I was raised by a fierce, smart, strong woman who instilled in me a healthy dose of feminism and the drive for equality. I didn’t think there was far to go when I was helping collate newsletters in the 1980s as a child. Now, as a bonafide adult (usually), I have learned – painfully – how very far we still have to go. And how far apart women exist in the struggle for equality … white women and black women and brown women and trans women and poor women ….. The fight for equality looks different for all of us. And we should work harder to make it look the same. To make it no longer exist for everyone across the board.
**
Five years ago, recently returned from a trip to Italy during which I did infinitely more walking than I thought I could, I began my love affair with stationary bicycles. I’d heard (during a work seminar) about the theory of 66 days vs. 21 days to form a habit. I decided — perhaps somewhat flippantly — that I was going to ride our stationary Schwinn bike (currently serving as a glorified clothes hanger in our spare room) for sixty-six days and see where it led me. And here I am now, devoted (deeply) to my Peloton. Riding miles every day. Sixty-six days worked.
**
After five months away, I returned to yoga today. And as my forehead hit the mat in child’s pose to begin practice, I felt overwhelmed with emotion. For nearly three years I spent multiple mornings a week in that studio with women who have become my friends, my community. To be back, to be surrounded by these humans who share my love of Baptiste yoga, was stunningly powerful. And even though we all practiced six feet apart wearing masks and there was no cold, sweet-smelling towel to reward us at the end of class, it was still a holy experience to share those seventy-five minutes with people who have become my people.
Today was a good day. A powerful day. The beginning of the rest of 2021.
Xoxo, g
Day 38
Today was a beautiful day.
We had very different plans for this weekend. We’d booked a cabin months ago to visit Mansfield but decided after our last visit that we needed to figure out a new way to approach our trips to John’s hometown. Then we planned to spend the weekend with friends in the Poconos. Weather tripped us up on that one.
Instead, we spent yesterday with my Dad and aunt. We brought them pastries and we all went out to dinner after watching Jordan Spieth play some great golf.
And we woke up at home this morning, the snow falling thickly and quietly. It was stunning.
Sometimes — often, actually — plans change. And sometimes, there is beauty in the chaos, the disappointment. Yesterday was a good day and today (even though I fell and hurt my knees yet again) was a good day. Can’t ask for more than that.
Xox, g
Day 37
Some days just call for gratitude. For grounding. For perspective.
I am grateful for Dora, who comes and cleans our house. She is one of the best humans I know and I’m so glad she’s in our lives.
I am grateful for Starbucks Soy Chai Lattes. They are happiness in a cup.
I am grateful for my Dad. He is the best Dad and I couldn’t be luckier that he’s mine.
And as always, every day, I am grateful for John and Lucy. They are my family. They make our house a home. They are love personified.
Xox, g
Day 34
Today was the day the music died in 1959 (I believe I have the correct year).
I learned that today listening to the radio. I don’t normally listen to the radio but I had to go to the chiropractor this afternoon. And I listen to SiriusXM in the Jeep.
It seems strange that a year ago, we lost Alan. So much has changed. Everything feels different; in so many ways, everything is different than just a year ago. Time is fickle like that. Global pandemics will do that, I guess.
Life goes on, but when you lose someone who is part of you, the way Alan was part of John, that emptiness is never fully healed. You just learn to exist with it.
Sometimes I feel the loss of my mother so acutely it takes the breath right out of my lungs. I wonder how I have managed to go on without her for over two years. I wonder how I can still be me … without her.
The truth? I am not still me — not the one who existed up until December 30, 2018. Just like John is not the same John who existed until February 3, 2020. That’s the way of things. That’s life and time and grief and loss.
xox, g
Day 33
I get daily Stoic philosophy emails. I was inspired to sign up by one of my yoga teachers, who was studying Stoicism (or just reading a book, I can’t remember) back when I still went to the studio three or four times a week for class.
Now I go zero times a week and I think my brain has begun to atrophy (evidence: my complete mental breakdown moments ago when John asked what I wanted for dinner and I didn’t know). I *really* miss social interaction and my yoga community. A lot.
I find the Stoic emails comforting and oftentimes enlightening (if only to give me a new perspective in which to frame life, thoughts and motivation). They are very matter-of-fact in their logic and their structure which I find comforting in a world that requires more and more interpretation.
Recently, one of the emails pointed out that Stoics believe that people cannot *make* us angry; rather we *choose to become angry. Which sort of dovetails with what I’ve been reading in my Buddhism book about self and not-self (and a whole manner of other, somewhat illusive concepts).
This logic, this proposition about our feelings actually made me angry. Mostly at myself for my inability to detach from my own emotions (that run rampant). It’s very frustrating to be sad and feel helpless and then be reminded that all the feelings I feel I am *choosing* to acknowledge and give power to. My Buddhism book distinguishes feelings from emotions — one being transient, the other more ingrained. I use the terms interchangeably , which just goes to illustrate how very far I have to go before reaching a state of enlightened bliss (or any enlightenment at all, for that matter).
Tomorrow is the first anniversary of my brother-in-laws death. I keep shying away from it, like avoiding looking at a cut that I sustained — using the logic that if I don’t look then it can’t that bad, it won’t hurt that much.
But pain doesn’t work like that. Pain is insidious, pain is subconscious and invasive and all consuming. It manifests in such a myriad of ways that its not always easy to identify. (Watch WandaVision for an excellent meditation on grief and pain).
Anyway. I’m a mess today. I’d like to go to sleep and try again tomorrow, but I don’t have much hope that tomorrow will be better. It will be the same as today … just Wednesday instead of Tuesday.
Xox, g
Day 26
My brother-in-law Alan was born 41 years ago today.
I loved Alan. He could make anyone smile, his laugh was infectious and earning an air-kiss a special privilege.
We lost him nearly a year ago. It was devastating.
I think about him a lot. We didn’t see him enough while he was alive, but the times we did see him lifted my soul up. He was the most joyous human I’ve ever met.
Alan had cerebral palsy so we could never talk to him — we could talk *at* him and hope we understood his response. We could laugh and tell him stories and hope that we understood his reactions. We could hypothesize what he might have said had he been able to tell us what he really thought. But we never knew. And that … that was awful.
What was never in doubt – not ever – was how much he loved John. His whole being lit up when his brother arrived to see him and his devastation when we left was real. He stared at John, rapt with love and so many words unsaid. He laughed and swung his arms in excitement; he withheld kisses until John had sufficiently apologized for our long absence (yet again).
The world is certainly a darker place without Alan in it. My heart hurts thinking about it.
Xox, g
D5 Creation