Hoo Boy, Darling Ones,
I got some grief kicking my ass. I knew it was gonna come, and here it is.
Earlier today 3/4 of the Tea Ladies gathered on Zoom for our monthly catch up. I’d love to tell you some of the life-stuff we discussed. It was a conversation filled with brave and beautiful stories from my friends that are not mine to tell.
One of the Tea Ladies asked how I was doing as the year anniversary of my stroke grows ever nearer (March 6). I burst into tears telling them how I’m finally feeling the grief, which literally struck that the moment.
As I work to accept how this might be as good as it gets, I’m mourning what might have been. What is that? I’m not sure. It’s hard to mourn something that never happened and never will. It’s a nebulous, idyllic future that was definitely better than what my future will be.
I’m also mourning more concrete losses. My ability to drive and the freedom that brings. The best friend who cut me out of her life over a misunderstanding I don’t have the emotional bandwidth or energy to clear up (told you the stroke made me more self-centered). Financial security. Life without debt. Pasta.
Pasta was lost to diabetes, not the stroke, but it’s a big loss.
I have three kinds of recurring dreams now.
- I can walk without a walker or a cane and nobody is as surprised as I think they should be.
- Everyone is sick of taking care of me or making accommodations for me, so they just leave me behind.
- Medical bills for like $5000 keep popping up, like a game of financial whack-a-mole.
I’m doing that thing where I’m trying to feel my feelings. I guess this is something people do instead of cracking jokes about having an emotion. Sounds suspicious to me. Jokes are fun. Sadness and grief, kind of a drag.
So I’m sad and feeling grief for losses, both ambiguous and concrete. And I’m dealing with a spotty Spotify that won’t let me listen to John Cougar Mellencamp on my TV like God and America intended.
Endlessly troubled,
Jodi