After a bad year, it’s the ordinary signs that show you’re ready to make a new vision board
In exactly fourteen days it’ll be one year since Katie died. I’ve been anxiously dreading and looking forward to this date a year after 02/02/2020, that famous numerical palindrome forever etched on my mind. Still (still!) unclear about what happened the day she died, I can also honestly say that I am also putting life back together —focusing on what’s good and turning my attention from grief toward my sons, career, and friends.
Months of neglect due to grief and COVID have taken their toll on my energy, health, and relationships. At the same time, I’m more aware than ever. …
Your body’s natural cleaning machine is also the most chill body system
I’ll never forget the first time I received MLD, otherwise known as Manual Lymph Drainage, Lymphatic Massage, or Lymphatic Drainage.
It almost felt like a dream state, where I was half awake and half asleep. At one point I may have drifted in and out because I remember something like talking in my sleep — only I wasn’t quite asleep.
I also know my digestive system became activated. My stomach started making those gurgling noises and I was a little embarrassed, but the massage therapist said, “It’s fine, That’s the effect I was hoping for.”
When I got off the table 50 minutes later, I felt like I was walking on air. Very light and ethereal. I went home and slept really well that night! …
Here’s why you still can’t hug Grandma
Whenever I’m confused about some complex science topic, I like to write about it because then I understand it better. I hope to break this topic down a bit because some of the information and medical jargon is difficult to wade through. I trust the medical folks here will correct me if I’m off base. (Please and thanks.)
In plain language, in a healthy body, DNA holds genetic instructions, and the proteins do the work of carrying them out. …
Ten possible reasons why someone with thousands of followers on Medium follows no one else
I once followed a copywriter on Twitter because I liked his articles (obviously) and he tweeted out links whenever he published them. I noticed that he had a ridiculously large following compared to the number of people he followed. One day, I shared one of his articles in my tweet, and mentioned his name. Nice, social thing to do on a social site, right?
Did he DM me? Respond? Say thanks? Mention me? Nope. I didn’t expect him to... But I also didn’t expect him to retweet my tweet and add the Twitter handle of one of his few Tweeps and comment — to him — about my tweet. …
Therapeutic touch is crucial to solitary happiness
“My grief counselor thinks I might be acting promiscuous on dates.”
My hiking friend (we’ll call her Suzie) was walking fast, just slightly ahead of me. When we hike we talk freely, much more so than if we were sitting face to face in a restaurant. There’s something about a sunny trail in the woods to get a conversation rolling.
Suzie is an open book on most subjects. In fact, she’s one of those refreshingly honest people in the world. What you see is what you get. But still, this comment stopped me.
“Well, you’d know…” I suggested cautiously. …
When the destruction of art gives it power
Several weeks after the crime tape had been removed, I went to my deceased daughter’s apartment to retrieve her things. When I took in the fact that many pieces of her artwork had been destroyed, I came face to face with the destructive nature of her boyfriend. I also understood the desperate fear she must have been living under.
But there was something larger at stake. I’d been wrestling for months to put a finger on it.
Destroying art is more than wrecking kitchen cabinets, which he also did that last night. It’s an act both more personal and public than throwing plates in anger or punching a hole in a wall. It makes more impact than breaking glass and tearing up a mass-produced poster, although in the heat of the moment it may feel no more than equally satisfying. …
I bought the champagne but didn’t open it
The hollow thunk, then the snarl of the firecrackers comforted me last night. The sounds signaled the end of the year my daughter died, which was a miserable year for so many, not just me. The new year didn’t wash me with relief, though, and I didn’t expect it to. I didn’t celebrate in the usual way.
I stayed up until midnight, yes, checking my phone for the precise moment, and reading nature essays by some botanist whose book was reprinted several times in the early 80s, so at the time he was famous, at least in botany circles, but no more. …
I finally see the logic in writing the ending first
After two years of inner debate, I bought a subscription to Masterclass. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s the learning platform that features lessons from famous experts in their fields; authors, artists, historians, scientists, and economists (among others) share their unique perspectives on their craft. Over three hours, they teach neophytes how to do what they do… masterfully.
For my first courses, I selected mostly authors. I am a writer who hopes to eke out a book someday, so even if I only watch classes taught by the likes of Margaret Atwood, Neil Gaiman, Malcolm Gladwell, and Walter Mosely, the cost of the subscription will be worth it. …
I should have been there, but it went off without a hitch
July of 2019 seems like a lifetime ago.
One summer morning that month I lay in bed and emailed an eclipse tour guide company out of the UK. In less than 17 months I’d be in South America chasing the eclipse. Since I knew I’d be traveling alone, I figured it would be more fun with a bunch of eclipse groupies. I inquired about their December 2020 eclipse packages.
Within hours, I had booked myself a spot and made a downpayment on a ten-day trip to Argentina, Chile, and the Patagonia Islands. …
Proof you can do holidays the first year after your child dies
Indeed, here it is the Friday after Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday, or at least it was until this year. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, so I prepared and visualized the day — or the non-day — like an athlete training for an event.
Yet another exercise in my year of magical thinking, as Joan Didion so aptly described her year following her husband’s death, I knew I would have to get through this day somehow. In some sort of imagined mindset, I both prepared for the inevitable day and avoided all memory of our traditions at the same time.
Miraculously, it wasn’t even like I had to muscle through it. …
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