Health by Heidi

  I met a friend at a coffee shop yesterday afternoon for our monthly catch-up.  I arrived first, and while I was placing my order, I saw a former client of mine.  We hadn't seen each other in quite a while, and greeted each other with smiles and a hug.   I know what's coming. We exchanged pleasantries and small talk.   Any minute now... She asked a few questions about how my work was going and told me about her workouts and what she had been doing.   Any second now... And then she asked it.  The question I knew was coming.   "How's your husband doing?" "My husband died."  No hesitation.  No preamble.  No introduction.   She recoiled, took a step back, hand on her chest, jaw wide open. "Oh my God," she stammered.  "I'm so sorry.  I don't...I can't...I'm so sorry." I gave her a sympathetic smile.  "I'm sorry," I offered.  "I'm still working on my delivery.  I'm not quite sure how...

  I keep wondering if I'm approaching my breaking point.  What does that look like? It's too much.  But I've been saying it's too much for a while now.  So when is it actually too much? I pushed "Send" and my text whooshed off to my best friend, Denise.  Three dots immediately popped up on my screen.   You're stronger than you think.  Tell your brain to shut up.  You got this! I smiled at her reply, even if I doubted her confidence. In August, my husband of 17 years died.  One day, he was alive, healthy, vibrant, and strong.  The next day, he was dead.  Just like that.  No warning.  No preparation.  In an instant, my world crumbled into a million tiny bits that flung themselves to the far corners of the solar system.  I couldn't fathom how to get through that day, or the next, or the next.  I remember thinking, What does November even look like?  Or next summer?  How do I even get there? ...

 I finished work early today, so the doggies and I headed to Ward.  I was hoping a hard, fast hike would get rid of the Constant Irritation that has become my new sidekick.  My loose plan was to hike to Raven Rock, just shy of four miles up.   We arrived at the trailhead, and immediately, I was annoyed.  There were people everywhere.  By people everywhere, I mean there was an old man with an old dog walking through the parking area, and another couple with a poodle-looking dog heading to the Sawtooth trail.  To me, that's "people everywhere."  The couple with the poodle quickly disappeared down the trail (not the trail I was hiking, thankfully).  The old man and older dog headed down to the creek, which was where we were going.  I wanted to give the doggies some water before we headed up and up.  The old man moved slowly, and the older dog moved more slowly.  The trail was narrow, so I had no choice but to slowly creep alo...

  Awake at 2:00 a.m.  Again.  I roll onto my side, pretend I'm still sleeping, will my brain to shut off and go back to sleep. I need to get to Missoula to turn off Scott's cell phone.  Should I go tomorrow and just get it done?  That means I have to cancel my hike with Greg yet again.   I take a deep breath, slow exhale, squeeze my eyes shut tight. Eddy is coming today at 1:00 to buy some more tools.  Will I be back from my errands by then?  Should I text him and move it to 2:00?  Maybe I can text Mike and see if he can be here at 2:00, also.  Then Eddy can help Mike load the belt sander into the tool trailer.   I roll onto my back, open my eyes, stare at the ceiling.   I need to remember to call Northwestern Energy and switch that bill into my name.   Gigi hops on my chest, settles in, and starts purring.  I pet her softly, watching the deer in the yard under the full moon. I could go to Missoula...

  Anger.  Sadness.  Depression.  Manic.  Anxiety.  Despair.  Overwhelm.  I don't want any of them, but they keep showing up.  I keep thinking, hoping, this party will someday end, but it keeps going.  None of the guests want to leave.  Grief is ugly.  Grief is illogical.  One of my friends compared it to a sneaker wave.  Out of nowhere, it crashes down on me with tidal wave force, bringing any number of its friends along for the fun.  I get tossed and tumbled in the chaos, waiting to surface before I run out of air. Purging helps.  Getting the words out, getting the emotions down on paper, putting names to the things I am feeling, even if I don't know why I'm feeling them, all helps.  Anger was in firm control at the beginning of this week.  Writing about it and talking about it and yelling into the ether all helped.  I purged as much of it as I could.  Why Anger showed up now, in such fo...

  Well, it happened.  This morning, Grief ushered Rage back into the party.  Not so much ushered.  Rage crashed down upon my head like a piano falling from a third-story window.  People told me Rage would come, that one day I would be angry at Scott.  I didn't believe them.  Turns out they were right. I woke up at 2:00 this morning from bad dreams, and immediately felt crushed by Rage.  I tossed and turned until the alarm went off a few short hours later.  Rage never loosened his grip.  I got up, walked into the bathroom, and started cleaning up the cat pee on the tile.  Lily, the 18-year-old cat who Scott rescued as a tiny kitten, refuses to use the litter box now, despite three vet visits and three rounds of medicine to treat her persistent UTI.  So every morning, and often in the afternoon when I get home from work, I have to clean up cat pee on the bathroom floor.   I didn't ask for this .   With no warn...