My Journey Continues

Today I want to express how grateful I am for so many things.  Its been hard to be positive in the sea of Cancer, Alzheimer (my mom recently diagnosed with) and grief.  Life continues like a speeding freight train when I feel like I'm standing stock still, watching it all go by in a blur. I truly believe that we have some intuition of why we are here on Earth and what our purpose is, even though we all get lost sometimes.  Everyone alive experiences life and is connected to each other in some way, but we are at different stages of our individual journeys.  Deans intuition to always take care of me, eased my transition into life without him. My husband and I did not have much when we met back in 2003.  We each had a small nest egg that we combined together in which we used to build our beautiful home.  As time went on, together we worked hard and created a nice comfortable life.  As cancer destroyed our savings for his healthcare, I didn't worry, as my main focus was savi

I haven't posted for a few extra days.  It has been an emotional week for me.  I don't know why my feelings ebb and flow so strangely.  There is no rhyme or reason for when I get the blues.  When I have these affecting setbacks, I lose all motivation for work, writing and life.  The melancholy usually stays for an unwanted visit around five to seven days until I muster the energy to boot it out the door and get on with things. My daughter is struggling for her life.  Just typing that sentence makes my eyes well with tears.  It breaks my heart to see her so ill and her joy seems to be slipping away.  She is not who she was and I don't know if she will come back the same.  Cancer robs our innocence and wonder.  It strips excitement for future plans and dreams and makes daily living a thing to get through, until the fight, pain and worry are gone. But there is no set time with Cancer, and the battle seems never ending.  I hate that it is hurting my baby and I would do a

Every once in awhile, I start to feel suffocated with life.  The overwhelming sadness from Dean's passing, to my dad's death, my daughters illness and my mothers diagnosis weighs on my mind in layers.  The depth of this thickness drags my joy down and I lose my focus on what my purpose is all about.  When that happens, I make an appointment with my intuitive personal adviser, En-May.  I call her my medium.  She helps me get perspective on life in ways a licensed therapist cannot.  Maybe because she can see beyond the physical and hello...bonus....I get to talk to Dean. Anyway, I went to see her about a week ago feeling frustrated and lost after suffering some emotional setbacks.  Just as we started our session she told me, "I meditated on you this morning and I felt that you had lost your joy." I was astounded, because that is exactly why I had come to see her. She continued "I focused my positive, happy energy into a ball and sent it to you."

As far back as I can remember, I hated Sundays.  It meant from childhood that I had to go to school the next day, to as an adult, that I had to be ready to work for five more days.  The small excitement I felt every Friday that the weekend was here was gone.  Sundays meant my freedom was over and that the drudgery cycle started again of work, cleaning the house and bills.  Sunday's were a day to regroup, go grocery shopping, finish laundry and go to bed early.  It was the sacrifice day, all so I could organize myself with the illusion that I was in control of my time. Since Dean died, Sundays have an all new meaning. From the moment I first wake up, I miss my husband.  Sunday was my sleep in day and he usually woke up first.  As I transitioned from sleep to being cognizant, I could hear the sound of dishes being clinked in the kitchen, the smell of coffee and Dean scooping the dog food into a bowl for Cady.  The quiet movements of his activities were like an alarm clock.  I in

Something I never experienced before is post traumatic stress.  My mind has a way of remembering an event, whether its unwanted or not, at any given moment.  The memory can be of a smile, a smell or a sound.  It can remind me of anything from lost happiness to death and bring me to sadness in a nano second.  So much emotion that has nowhere to go.  It wells up from the corner of my eyes and drips down my face in tears. I hate most that I can't control it.  I can be in a store, driving, at a movie, home or anywhere for that matter.  I loathe showing emotions in front of others so I wear sunglasses everywhere, hoping they cover the trail of tears on my cheeks.  If I am hiking, I have no problem blowing the snot out of one side of my nose onto the ground, because I hate the constant sniffing.  I try to remember to carry tissues.  I guess that's better etiquette, but usually I don't care. The flashes of him sick, helpless and in pain are the worst.  I wanted to fix everyth

Sleep.  So elusive.  No one told me that when I reached the age of 51, sleep would become my most coveted achievement.  Something I took to be my natural right, a subconscious part of being alive was now gone and I could no longer slip away into the night. Previously, I had been a nine hour a night gal. I became desperate, so I started with pills.  Over the counter, then prescription from friends who had spares.  The problem was that I suffered hangovers from the drugs, which gave me rebound headaches.  Each type of medication would only last up to a week, then the cycle would repeat. Until one day, my husband was diagnosed with a brain tumor.  My body went into a complete state of adrenaline.  I learned a whole new meaning of sleep deprivation.  I was exhausted each night, the liquid feeling that infused my limbs right before my mind went blank was still there but instead my brain would not shut off and the thoughts continued in a full stream of conscious chatter. As a woman, wh

Tomorrow morning, I am driving to the ocean.  The sun, saltwater, waves and sand are calling my name in the late Indian summer we are currently experiencing.  As far back as I can remember, we have not had a summer this hot and dry in Seattle.  Dean would have loved it.  He was a sun worshiper and he lived for the water.  I have wisps of sadness all day that he is not present to share this time with me. Getting the truck gassed up, packing the cooler and loading the chairs and blankets were Deans job and it feels foreign to me that I now have to do it all.  I am still missing my other half and even after seventeen months, I can't get used to living without him.  But I am determined to enjoy each day to the fullest and so Cady (my yellow lab) and I, are heading to Ocean Shores, so that I can feel the sand in my toes and breeze coming off the water.  There, I'm told, I will hear Deans voice in the wind or feel his touch in the sand. I look for him every day, in the woods by