Health by Heidi

  1:00 am.  Like clockwork.  My eyes pop open.  Ugh.  Not again.  I sigh, roll over, knowing it is more than likely pointless to try and go back to sleep. I am in the throes of perimenopause, and the sleepless phase has descended upon me with all the fury of an avalanche.  Sleeplessness makes everything more challenging.  I read about the symptoms of perimenopause, the short temper, heightened emotions, rage, brain fog, forgetting words mid-sentence, forgetting why I walked into the room, weight gain, the list is seemingly endless.  I truly believe it all stems from not sleeping.   If you have not had the pleasure, or are not able to experience the pleasure, of the sleeplessness that comes with perimenopause, let me paint a picture for you. Night comes, and its bedtime.  You collapse, exhausted to your very core, into bed.  You think, I am so tired.  I have no choice but to sleep well tonight.  I WILL sleep well ...

  One year.  It feels like yesterday and ten years at the same time.  One year since my world imploded.  August 2, the day that everything changed.  The day that changed everything.  The day my husband woke up dead.  Earlier this summer, Lisa and I signed up for a gravel bike race on the one-year day, the Death Day as Lisa calls it.  August 2.  I had signed up for it last year, but things happened.   I spent this summer training on my gravel bike.  It felt good to do something different, to explore new roads and see new things.  I had spent so many summers before this one on my road bike, starting and ending at my mom's house in Hamilton.  After my rides, my mom and I would eat lunch together and visit.  My mom is now in a memory care facility in Bozeman, so no more long Saturday road rides from her house.  Thinking of doing long road rides in Hamilton without my mom there makes me sad, so the gravel riding ...

  Well, it's official.  The judge deemed it acceptable that I return to my birth-given last name of Graham.  Yes, I had to go to court.  Yes, I had to appear before a judge.  Shannon and I, along with my attorney (yes, I had an attorney), arrived at the courthouse at the required time.  We entered the courtroom and sat down.  There were four cases before mine.  The first two were attorneys closing estates, and both went quickly.  Two divorces came next, both contentious, one involving a life sentence in prison.  Then it was my turn.  My attorney and I walked to the front of the courtroom and sat down at a table.  This is how it went: "I have the paperwork for the name change, Your Honor," my attorney said as he stood up and walked to the bench, handing the judge the papers.  He then returned to our table and looked at me.  "Are you changing your name to avoid debt?" "No," I replied.   The judge cleared her t...

  "I'm so tired of being sad," I said dully, noticing that I was crying but not having the energy to care.  I was sitting on the couch in my therapist's office, staring at the wall. "What are you sad about?  What feels the biggest right now?" my therapist asked softly. I continued to stare at the wall.  Talking felt like too much.  I felt empty.  I sat quietly for a few moments, working up the strength to find words.  Finally, I took a breath.  "I feel sad about my mom.  I don't know why it's coming up so much now, but there it is," I said flatly.  I shifted my gaze to my therapist.  "I don't have the energy to grieve another thing." My therapist nodded.  "Our brains can only process so much.  You've been in triage for months, dealing with the most important thing at the time..."  She continued to talk, but my mind drifted. I thought back to June of last year, when we got the diagnosis that my mom had dementia.  ...

  I just broke down crying in the car on the way to Hamilton.  That hasn't happened in a while. I pushed "Send" and my text whooshed off to Denise and Lisa.  They both replied almost immediately with a similar version of the same question:  Why?  Did something happen or is it just everything? Life.  Life happened.  Shannon and I were just in Oregon for two weeks.  We attended his son, Clayton's, celebration of life and started tearing down the crushed remains of the house where Clayton had lived.  Shannon had lived with both of his sons in that same house for several years.  Lots of memories covered in soggy insulation, moldy drywall, and tree branches.  A house full of mementos now smashed to bits and loaded into 40-yard dumpsters.   We came home to Montana just in time for Shannon to fly back to Oregon for work.  There was no time to decompress, to settle, to process.  We jumped right back into life and charged...

  This past Saturday, we attended the celebration of life for Shannon's son, Clayton.   "How did it go?" I don't know how to answer that question.  I don't know why it's called a "celebration of life."  No one was celebrating.  Most people were crying.  I think "remembrance of life" would be a more accurate description.  The ceremony was nice, if nice is the correct word to use.  Clayton's uncle was in charge of running the show, and did a good job keeping things moving.  A few family members shared stories about Clayton.  There was a lovely slideshow featuring photos of Clayton from baby to adulthood.  The weather was warm and sunny when we arrived.  As family members shared stories, clouds rolled in and the wind picked up.  Just as the slideshow began, fat raindrops started to split-splat on the tents and the heads of those of us not under the tents.  The rain intensified during the fifteen-minute slideshow, an...

  I have officially started the process of changing my last name back to Graham.  It was the name I was born with.  It was the name I had for 29 years of my life.  It feels right to go back to my roots.   I started by calling the county courthouse.  A nice woman answered the phone.   "Hi," I said.  "I'm calling to get information on how to change my name." "Yes," she replied.  "You just need to have your divorce decree." I paused.  "My husband died."  "Oh!" she exclaimed.  "Oh, I'm so sorry.  Well, um, well, I think you need to file for a name change with the court." "Ok, what does that mean?" "You can download the paperwork from our website.  Once you fill out the paperwork, bring it to the courthouse.  Then you have to file a notice in the local newspaper for 30 days, announcing to the public that you are changing your name.  If you have any unpaid debts, any debt collectors can come forward ...

  Last year, I registered for a 14-day, 1,000 mile bike tour in Colorado.  The tour had close to 70,000 feet of climbing, all at high altitude.  Starting in March of last year, I trained hard.  I rode my bike five or six days a week, had a structured training plan, and followed it closely.  Every day, I would ride, then work, or work, then ride.  Weekends were consumed by long rides with lots of climbing.  That was the routine.  That was the rhythm.  That was the normal.  By the time July and the bike tour rolled around, I was in the best cycling shape of my life.  The tour was more than I ever thought it would be, and I felt great for all 14 days.  My training paid off.  Five days later, Scott died. In January of this year, I signed up for another bike tour, also in July, also big miles, also lots of climbing.  I was excited for it.  I was ready to start training for it.  But.  Things happened.  L...

  I yawned, stretched, rolled over onto my side. Don't look at the clock,  I thought.  With my eyes closed, I could tell it was still dark outside. I grimaced as I felt a bead of sweat drip down my chest.  I put my hand on my belly, also covered in a slick slime of sweat.   Yuck.   Apparently, this is what happens to a 47-year-old woman.   I sighed again. Don't look at the clock. I opened my eyes.  1:04 a.m.  I peeled back to soaking wet sheet.  The window was open, and the air hit me like a plunge into an ice-cold mountain lake.  I shivered, sweat still covering my skin.  I got up, walked to the bathroom, dried myself off, went back to the bedroom.  I crawled in bed, squirming around in an attempt to find a piece of sheet that wasn't fully saturated.  No such luck.  I gave up and lay still in the cold wet.   I closed my eyes, willing sleep to find me again.  Instead, the starting gu...

  It was Tuesday, March 10, last week.  It was my 47th birthday.  It was the first birthday since Scott died.  It was the first birthday since my mom moved into memory care.  Shannon was in Oregon working.  The alarm went off that morning at 4:00 am.  I had to be out the door for dog walk by 4:45 to get to my first clients by 6:30.  At 4:30, I started getting ready.  Put on my walking clothes, layering appropriately.  Put on the glowing green dog collars.  Grabbed my flashlight so I could see where I was going in the heavy darkness that is 4:45 am.   The dogs and I headed across the pasture on the same route we've done nearly every day since Scott died, the same walk he had done nearly every day since we moved into our house.  We made our way along the creek, up the switchbacks, onto the bench behind the house.  As we walked, I was throwing myself a pity party.  Here I was, once again walking in the darkness...

  I met with my therapist yesterday.  It was the first session we'd had since Shannon's son, Clayton, died.  As it goes with grief, it felt like seven lifetimes had passed since the last time I sat down on the couch in my therapist's office.   I took a deep breath, exhaled, looked at her.  She smiled back at me.  "I don't know where to begin," I said as I closed my eyes and thought back on the last two and a half months.   She nodded.  "Start with whatever wants to come out first." I took another deep breath and felt tears spring to the corners of my eyes as my throat constricted.  I thought of Clayton, of Shannon, of my mom, my kitty Lily, and of course, I thought about Scott.  I opened my mouth and the words gushed forth like an avalanche.  Once I started talking, I couldn't stop. We started with Clayton and Shannon.  As I shared, I realized how much empathy, compassion, and patience I have gained over the last seve...

  I was standing in the back room of a strange house, and I was being held hostage.  My captor was a man, but I didn't know who he was.  He would occasionally yell at me down the hallway.  I knew I was in danger, and I knew I had to escape.  I glanced down and realized I was holding a long, thin, blue saw blade in my right hand.  It was too long to hide.  How could I conceal it to make a surprise attack on my captor?  I heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall.  He was coming.  I gripped the sawblade in my hand, readied myself for the oncoming fight.  And then the alarm went off.   I woke up, rolled over, and reached for my alarm clock to turn off the alarm.  Except the alarm wasn't going off.  I vividly heard it in my dream.  It woke me up.  In real life, no alarm.  I lay back on the pillow, thinking about my dream.  Did my brain really just set off an imaginary alarm to wake me up and spar...

  My dad passed away in January of 2013.  I miss him.  I think about him often.  He was 84 years old when he died.  He had a long, eventful life, and by the end he was ready to go.  It was time.  I was sad when he left, but the sadness was mixed with relief in knowing that he was ready and he was no longer suffering.  We expect to lose our parents.  It's the natural order of things.  Knowing it's coming doesn't make it easier, but I do think it softens the edges of death a little bit.  After my dad died, I was sad for a long time, but I didn't have any of the other emotions associated with grieving.  I was never angry.  I didn't feel guilt.  There was no denial or despair or numb.  We all knew it was coming.  We were prepared.  Above all, my dad was ready to go.  He was tired and worn out from a life lived well and hard.  I expected to outlive Scott.  He was seven years older than me, and...

  It's been just over six months.  I can't believe it.  It seems surreal to me when I think about it.  How can it be real?  How did that actually happen?  And now it's February and the days keep coming and I keep moving.  Before this happened, I often wondered how people keep living when they lose someone close to them.  As it turns out, living just happens.  The days pass by and I don't get to do any of them over again.  No mulligans.  Might as well make the most of each one. It's a bit late, but I thought I would do my annual year-in-review for the rollercoaster shit show that was 2025. January: Scott and I spent the month in Mexico and decided it would be our last trip down there.  We had been going there for over ten years, and decided it was time for a change.  On the drive back to the states, we got held up by the Sinaloa cartel and robbed for 10,000 pesos.  Fun times.   February: Scott and I spent the...