That's a Wrap

This was my Mom. The smile that lit up the room!

One day, well into my Mom’s battle with Cancer, we lay snuggling on her bed in her bedroom at home. We were watching Sally Field in "Norma Rae", one of our favorite films. 

We watched in silence, and suddenly I found myself looking at my mother, and not the movie. I studied the lines around her eyes, that one eyebrow that wasn’t perfect because she picked at it with tweezers all the time. Her freckles stood out more than usual, and I chalked it up to the soft light coming in through the window. She was so beautiful. 

I looked at her, and softly said “I’m not done with you yet.” She turned to look at me, smiled sadly, and said “I’m not done with you yet either.” And then we cried. We wept, holding each other, afraid to let go. We fell asleep hugging each other, tears still wet on our faces.

I am certain that I will never be done with her, nor she with me, and that wherever she is, we will find each other again one day.

She’s with me in everything I do. When I feel the sunshine warming my face, I imagine it’s her. When I’m cooking something new and it turns out amazing, I feel like she had something to do with it. And when I face uncertainty or life’s stresses, I know that she is why I’m strong willed, always pushing forward.

As I approach the 7 year anniversary of my Mom’s death, I realize that my pain isn’t as sharp. I still miss her and I still cry about my loss when I need her most, but I have found a peaceful place I didn’t think existed. 

Loss and grief are a long and dark tunnel. It’s so hard to believe there is a light at the end of it, but I promise you there is. Now that I’m standing at the end of the tunnel, standing in the light, I want to share that today’s post will be my last in Fish Tacos + Monarch Butterflies.

When I started this blog about 3 years ago, it was a tool of sorts. I needed a place to channel my hurt, my loss, and my stories about my Mom. I felt like I wasn’t done knowing her, and typing out those stories made me feel a little less empty. As though sharing my experiences made them new to me again, so that I could feel those feelings once more, both good and bad.

Although this blog is complete in its content, the messages within remain ever present. Sometimes we lose the people we love most. Moving forward doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten them: It just means we are healing.

If you’ve read all or even one post in this blog, I want to say thank you. Thank you for reading/sharing my thoughts and feelings, telling me about your own thoughts and experiences in emails, Twitter and Facebook messages. With you, the healing process was that much more meaningful.  

My final words in this blog are ones I have typed and shared before in a previous post: 

“To those of you reading this who have suffered loss and been judged for how you chose/are choosing to get through your grief: Please never stop sharing. Your stories are not meant to be locked away. You can’t heal if you hide.”

Thank you for walking this path with me. 

Love, 

Amy

Stress Balloons

When my Mom was 40, she was diagnosed as a Diabetic. Following which she was diagnosed with Hypothyroidism, Rheumatoid Arthritis, and Cancer.  In just over 14 years, her 4’11” frame was hit by one health attack after another.

I’m almost 38 and I am terrified. Every time I don’t feel well, have a stomachache, have weird and random pains, I think “This is it. I’m getting the Judi package.”

Just like I do every January, I stare in the mirror on the 1^st day of the year and try to motivate myself to do better for myself. When everyone flocks to the gym to undo the prior year’s indiscretions, I’m thinking: “THIS is the year I make it count.” And then I don’t. It feels a lot like denial. This is probably because it is denial. And yet knowing that it is denial and fear, I still retreat instead of attack.

Right at this very moment, I’m kind of sick. I look fine, give or take bags under my eyes and the occasional pimple. My illness can’t be seen, but my goodness can it be felt: STRESS. Served up often, and always piping hot.  I cannot shake it, no matter how many naps I take, hugs I give my dog, and wonderful times I spend with my boyfriend, friends and family. Stress owns me.

My stress levels in 2011-2012 were so high, that my digestive system is now in defense mode. This means that on some days, I can’t even digest a glass of water without having pain. I don’t have a Gluten problem: I have a problem with channeling stress so it doesn’t attack my stomach.

When I feel sick, my self-esteem plummets. It feels hopeless to try and get better, because “I’m just going to get stressed out about something and then I won’t feel well.” So I stopped going to the gym, and I stopped going to Yoga. I just didn’t feel good all over, inside and out. And that just made it worse.

Over a week ago, I woke up and decided to stop letting stress win. Any time something stressful entered my mind and body, I pretended it was a balloon, and I let it go. This may seem silly, but I had the picture in my mind of me as a scrappy little kid, holding a big balloon, and letting it fly up into the sky, watching it fade until it was the size of a speck of dust. I clearly was not prepared for the ensuing feeling of awesome, and the impact of it was so immense that one of those times I ended up crying in the bathroom at work (Oops!). It was new to not feel the anxiety and anger build up in my gut. I owned my gut, not stress.

Suffice it to say, that feeling was enough for me. I’m seeing a Naturopath to help me figure it all out, and I’m checking out different fitness possibilities to keep my mind and body healthy and awake. Because really, I’m almost 38 and I can’t live like this anymore.

So here’s to no more stress. And here’s to drinking a glass of water without feeling sick. And truly, here’s to my Mom: The fiercest warrior I ever knew. I hope I can kick ass as well as she did.