Gratitude trumps attitude, again. . .

August 11, 2013

Just got another email a few days ago, from my mortgage lender, essentially informing me that, once again, we have made no further progress on my house status beyond where we were four years ago. Back when Bob was first diagnosed with cancer. Back when he had to quit working because the tumor growing in his pelvis had completely disabled him. Back when I quit working to care for him full time. Back when I first contacted our lender in desperation, believing (foolishly) that I was being proactive in our finances, trying to stave off a financial crisis, on top of many other crises that were piling atop us. Back when we were living at the U of MN, in an unrelenting state of crisis—cancer, chemo, heart attacks, burning mouth sores, bowl obstructions, renal failure, adrenal insufficiency, blood clots, near fatal electrolyte imbalances, narcotic-induced catatonic stupors, gruesome surgery, lost jobs, shriveling bank account . . . all of this began back when we knew Bob's prognosis wasn't good. Downright grim, in fact. Back when we—the Couple Who Did Everything Right—didn't know when, if ever, either of us were going to be able to go back to work, didn't know if we were going to keep up with bills, didn't know if we were going to lose our house. Back when we watched our formerly plump bank account shrivel into near nothingness by the time he came home for hospice.

"You're making your house payments," our lender told us over and over and over, each time I called, hoping to try to talk to someone else who might know better than the last. "Your last year's W-2's look great. You're not a hardship." Cancer, unemployment, heart attacks, raging blizzards, revolving-door trips to the ER, endless months in a rehab hospital, home for hospice—none of that is a hardship to a mortgage lender, FYI. I'd have to refer to my old blog to recall the endless other crises—financial, medical, and otherwise—but my brain is telling me it's not a good idea to go down that road right now. Because even in the wake of our 18th wedding anniversary, even in the wake of an infuriating e-mail from the Lender that Shall Not Be Named (but rhymes with Shitty Porridge), even with dredging up those few sketchy memories, I'm feeling pretty damn good.

Instead of dwelling, I am going to try to shift my angry brain into a state of gratitude and begin ticking off all the things I'm truly, honestly grateful for, at this moment in time. I'm warning you right now, this could be a damn long list. And I'll likely append it as time goes on, and I continue to remember and encounter people and events and stuff for which to be grateful. And it'll probably be rather bizarre and nonsensical in order/rhyme/reason, as I have yet to sit down and write a complete list of all the amazing people, events and things in my life that I am truly grateful for, on this journey. Grief itself is a bizarre, nonsensical process, with no order/rhyme/reason, so there you go . . .

1. I'm grateful for my mom. I have many friends and acquaintances who no longer have their moms physically here on earth with them. I would be beyond heartbroken to not have my mom right now, or ever. I know her heart has carried and continues to carry many heavy load. Hers is likely the strongest heart I have ever known.

2. I am grateful for all of my family—my siblings, my nieces, nephews, my husband's family, the dogs, the cats—might be a few gerbils and goldfish in the mix, as well. Every last one of them. My brothers and sisters are rock-solid, their children have brought me joy at times when I thought I might never feel joy again. I know many women who have lost their husbands, and lost their husband's families in the process, as well. I am infinitely blessed to count my husband's parents, his sister and her beautiful family as permanent members of my tribe. All, beautiful, generous, genuine, huge-hearted souls that deserve credit for saving my own soul . . .

3. I'm grateful for my pup, Rocco. We adopted him the summer that Bob started showing signs of cancer (weight loss, pain in his right leg), and has been through a lot of trauma himself, being a rescue pooch. In spite of that, he's 90% awesome dog, 10% brat. But what kid isn't, 4 legged or otherwise?

4. I am still grateful for, and will be forever grateful for, the beautiful, miraculous benefit that friends and family held in Bob's honor, that allowed us to remain at home while he was in hospice, allowed me to continue to care for him full time (a job I would have selfishly held onto, for as long as I could, had it been my choice), that allowed us to be together, at home, surrounded by trees and owls, and family and love, till the day he died . . .

5. I am grateful for my friend Lisa, who also experienced the heartbreak of a lifetime with the unexpected death of her glorious son, Sam, just six weeks before Bob died. A few weeks after Bob's death, Lisa talked me into taking a kettlebell class with her. "For an hour, you will still think about Bob," she told me, "but you will also think about not dropping a 30 lb. cast iron ball on your toe—or worse—your head." I went, fell in love with it from the first swing, and thus began my journey back to health and wellness. A long and winding road, to be sure, but was absolutely the start. In fact, for over a year, swinging a kettlebell was the only thing I was doing to take care of myself. But it was something, which lead to many other amazing encounters . . .

5. I am grateful for Marty Larson and her studio, Uncommon Age, in Stillwater, MN. I found Marty's studio serendipitously, shortly after the first few kettlebells classes I attended with Lisa. Marty's "whole-" istic approach to health and wellness is life-changing, life-affirming, and she was the one who encouraged me to become certified to teach kettlebells (and subsequently, to get my certification in CrossCore, and eventually, Stott Pilates). She is a life-saver, no less.

6. I am grateful for my first grief counselor, Chris D, at Fairview Hospice, for astutely identifying that, after eight months of "grieving" the death of my husband, I was not grieving at all, but suffering acute symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It takes a very gifted, open-minded, loving and generous therapist to recognize the point where their skills are limited, and to refer a client to someone who may be better equipped to take over.

7. I am grateful for Laura P, the therapist Chris referred me to, who specializes in treating people with PTSD, using a therapeutic technique called EMDR—an astounding, life-transforming therapeutic technique that through a series of sensory techniques, helps the brain to "re-assemble" the disabling memories of traumatic events into more neutral ones. Just Google it, okay (or follow the link above)? Because whenever I try to explain it, people usually raise and eyebrow, take a step back and ask what color was the koolaid  that I drank. . . seriously, though, it is an incredibly successful treatment that is even endorsed by the US Armed forces, for veterans returning from war, suffering PSTD. And when has the US Government ever been wrong??!! Okay, don't answer that one . . .)

8. I am grateful for Nancy L, whom Laura P introduced me to, to continue/supplement my therapy and healing journey with HBL sessions in her Points of Stillness wellness studio at Healing Waters Health Center in Hudson, WI. Again, a life-transforming experience, but again, please click on the link above, or Google to learn more, because if you ask me to explain this one, you're really going to think I've lost my mind.

9. I am grateful for all the new friends that I've made on this "f'n journey," as I so lovingly, affectionately, sarcastically have dubbed it. Sadly, I've also lost many friends on the f'n journey—a many-fold process—partly self-prescribed, partly happens organically when a life-altering event occurs, partly because others decide I no longer fit into their lives. No one's fault. Just life, happening. But the endless, serendipitous encounters and re-encounters with new friends has been mind-boggling. Old high school friends have re-entered my life. New, deep friendships are being forged. Even casual encounters on the street (not that kind of casual encounter!) have revealed wisdom and awe.

10. I am grateful for my Jeep, that was once Bob's vehicle. It is nearly ten years old, has over 120,000 miles on it, but is paid for, and still runs very well, gets me where I need to go, makes me think of him and smile every time I climb into the driver's seat and feel my hands wrap around the steering wheel where his hands once wrapped. I still have 93X programmed on the radio, as much as I literally become nauseous over most of the playlist on that station. But every now and then, when I tune in, I hear Billy Squire. Or Rush. Or Kiss. And smile (while simultaneously gagging slightly).

11. I am grateful, oh so grateful, for the beautiful neighborhood and house that is our new home. I feel safe, feel like an active participant (most days) of life again, instead of a prisoner in a house that I couldn't afford—financially, mentally, physically. With this move into the city (and there's no moving back this time. I mean it! I swear! My family has forbade me to move any more in this lifetime . . .), I feel like I am finally, truly moving forward, that the fog in my brain is finally dissipating. I found a lovely little duplex that has everything I need—downsized enough so it's not overwhelming, a garage to park my car (as soon as I clear the last of the crap from it—hoping before the first snow fall), a fenced yard for Rocco, a very nice landlord who takes very good care of the property (he lives upstairs with his three kids and a sweet and crazy yellow lab puppy that torments Rocco to no end! Kind of funny to see him on the receiving end of annoying for once) I told someone just the other day, that these few months since I've moved, have been the first in four years that I finally, honestly, say that I feel mostly good, most days.

12. I am grateful for the gifts that my husband continues to share with me, even after his death. Because when our earthly bodies leave us, that is when our souls really get down to work. But those of us in our earthly bodies have to be open to this. Really, truly open to this. Otherwise, our real healing and real growth can never happen.

13. I am grateful that I have found the path to health and wellness, and to writing—two passions in my life that I am working hard at making my new hybrid career. Each activity makes me feel alive and whole, when engaging in it. I am continually astounded at what my body and brain can do, even at the ripe ol' age of 45.