The Grayest Month

"As we struggle to make sense of things, life looks on in repose."  ~Author Unknown

In grade school we are told that “April showers bring May flowers”. In Albany, at this time of the year, at one moment the sky is bright and a vivid blue. The next, everything is gray and then the rain comes. Mud gets all over my good shoes and I spend the morning wiping it from the crevices of my heels. The next day it starts all over again. My brother was born on April 9th and from what I’ve been told, it snowed that day. So, there’s always a possibility of that. It’s just the darkness that gets to me and how we can be on the cusp of tulips and warmth only to have it snatched away by an afternoon rainstorm.

***

Maddie died in April. April 7th to be exact. Her mother and I were merely acquaintances at the time. We knew of each other’s blogs but we traveled in different circles I suppose. I met Heather and Mike one day at BlogHer in San Francisco when she came up to introduce herself to another friend at the end of the conference. The day that Madeline died, words ceased to come from me because babies don’t die. They can’t die. But she did. To be fair, I had spent the months prior wrapping my head around the finality of death after the quick succession in loss of my grandmother and then my aunt. But still, at 25, death was something that happened to other people and a far too distant for me. And all at once it was up in my face.

Since then Heather has become my girl. My woman. If I had a boyfriend, that boyfriend would be my Heather. I sometimes wonder what I would think of her now if I had really known her then as I do now. My heart continues to break for her but this is the only Heather (and Mike) that I know. The ones who have gone through immeasurable pain. The ones who have a three year old running around but an urn on their dresser. What I know now about them is that their loss has moved them and forced them to move mountains. My friendship with them makes me want to be better person.

***

Soon after Maddie’s death, Thalon died. That’s when I said fuck this shit and fuck death. But I tried to keep it to myself. Nothing bad should happen to babies or children; of that I am a firm believer. But there we were again.

***

It’s April again. How do you explain the people who support you and respond, even when expect nothing but silence? How do you explain to friends and family those in the computer? Friends? Acquaintances? The people who live in the box?

It’s April again and now there’s Dawn. Dawn isn’t a child but she has children. Dawn is sweet and kind and caring and has your back even if you could just use Google, she’ll tell you what she thinks. She’s good people. Dawn is dying of melanoma. Her husband wonders on Twitter how long it will be now.

It’s April again and my heart hurts and I cannot give you eloquent words on death because they are not there. It’s inevitable. It’s part of living. It really fucking sucks. How about those words? The process, the end, the attempt to come up for air, the attempt to move forward. Heather has told me over and over again that you don’t get over a death, you accept it. She says it so matter of factly, but she’s right.

***

I’ve run out of words, well, I can give you another FUCK THIS, FUCK CANCER, but that’s not helpful. In the end I’ve decided on this. Ready?: For every comment I receive here between now and Wednesday at 5 PM (I’m going away hence the short timeframe). I am going to assign one dollar to each comment. I will then split the proceeds of these comments between the March of Dimes and the Melanoma Research Foundation. I’m already going to give to both but hey, I figured we could make this a group activity.

Now I am really out of words. I just hope you’ll join me.

***

UPDATE: Dawn is gone now. She's gone. Fuck Cancer.

You can contribute directly to Mike and her two boys here:
gofundme.com/2h50d0 

***

UPDATE 2: 145 comments. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The Practice of Chilling Out

Up until November my life was on a continuous loop that consisted of waking up, going to work, going to the bar, getting drunk, going home. Each morning I’d awake, aching but begin again. I began to look forward to two dollar draft beers and making small talk with  the bartender. We would eventually become friendly enough that he took me under his wing as the girl to hang with. The good girl at the bar. I would request a Jack Daniel’s neat which he’d pour with a heavy hand. My life was fine as it was nothing more, nothing less. Just fine. Stagnant. Going nowhere except in circles.

In November I became bored. Other things were swirling about in my life and I needed to be more grounded and stable. Something more than the repetition of girl sits at bar, girl drinks IPA, girl goes to Dunkin’ Donuts for a midnight snack. I needed something that wouldn’t cause my liver to petrify. So, I began doing yoga.

Hot yoga to be precise. Inversions and triangles done in a 90 degree room. My first time in all I wanted was to get out. But it became easier with each time. As my body had become acclimated to the alcohol this was something new for it to get used to but, of course, something better. By the end of November I had replaced Favorite Bartender with Favorite Yoga Instructor. At Camp Mighty I put on my Life List ‘Practice yoga three times a week for one month’.

The practice took, well... practice and commitment. And I was a woman who had, up until recently, only been committed to getting to the bar before happy hour ended. But I did it. Three times a week, every week, for a month.

That was four months ago. I now go to yoga five to six times a week. Recently, Favorite Yoga Instructor (Bethany, if you live in the area and are curious) stopped me after a particularly grueling Bikram class. “I love watching you each day. I love seeing how far you’ve come. You are a pleasure to have in class.” I thanked her and drove home with a grin.

***
If you’ve ever done yoga, especially hot yoga, you’ll know that the up and downward dogs can be trying and being present on your mat at that time, can be difficult. It takes practice to not only be in the moment and actually, you know, PRACTICE, but especially to be still and keep thoughts of what is happening outside of that room at that time, at bay. In Bikram - in any form of yoga - savasana can be the hardest pose: laying still. No movement. No fidgeting. No worrying about bills, post deadlines, work deadlines, the asshole in front of you at Starbucks. Just stillness.

I am an anxious person. I fidget. I bite my nails. Since November I’ve all but stopped. I still have my moments and I still take Klonopin but I didn’t start yoga to cure my anxiety, I started to have time to myself. To be quiet. To get out of my head.

It works.

***
Yesterday I took a Bikram class and when I arrived home a box of bath products from Lush* had arrived. I am not a bath person. I mean, what are you supposed to do in there except sit. I like showers where there’s movement and stuff going on and it’s very in and out. No lolling about. But I figured that if I were going to take a bath I was going to do it right. I bought candles and US Weekly. I plopped in a bath melt and just sat. For 30 entire minutes (oh, yeah, I got into it) I relaxed. I did nothing. I was in the moment. I was still. It was good.

I think I’ll try it again tonight.

*Butterball bath bomb and the MMM Melting Marshmallow Moment make a nice combination

Me and My Hair: Part Infinity

"Hair style is the final tip-off whether or not a woman really knows herself." ~Hubert de Givenchy My hair and I have a very long history. 29 years in fact but this is about the last eight years. Eight years ago I went "natural". No chemicals. Just me and a head full of kinky, coily curls. Hair that required time and trial and error and patience. A lot of patience. For the last several years I was devoted to the Miss Jessie's product line and found that it really wasn't giving my hair what it needs. So I changed. Rearranged. Watched some YouTube videos on how to perfect my twist and voila. This is what I woke up to today. After eight long years and I have found what I believe is the perfect combination. I promise to not leave you - especially you natural hair ladies - hanging on the process but for now I just want to relish in having a head full of hair that I am loving.