I often write about seasons of light and seasons of dark. And I have to say this summer has definitely been a darker time for me. My ex-husband passed away from Richter’s Syndrome, just seven weeks from the time of his diagnosis. This has left me with my own complicated grief for him and our … A Season of Dark Read More »
I often write about seasons of light and seasons of dark. And I have to say this summer has definitely been a darker time for me. My ex-husband passed away from Richter’s Syndrome, just seven weeks from the time of his diagnosis. This has left me with my own complicated grief for him and our twenty year marriage. Even more challenging for me is watching my daughters navigate their grief for him. It is a mixture of grieving for the life that is no longer, at the same time grieving for the relationship that never got to be realized. A sort of mourning for what was and what was not. And I am powerless to do anything but be present, and show them how much I love them.
And at the same time, I am walking a new path in my own health journey. The heart that was predicted to stop functioning when I was a toddler, has begun to fail. Numbers on my blood work, heart monitor, and heart scans keep heading in the wrong direction, despite my cardiologist’s attempts to use increasing medications to stem the tide. A few months ago, I cycled 34 miles during a weekend cycling trip in Wisconsin. This morning, I managed 3.75 miles and was very short of breath for most of the ride. My heart is struggling and I can feel it in every moment of every day. It brings a different brush stroke of grief into the portrait of my life.
This grief for my body’s ability to be active has a familiar feel to other times of mourning in my life. It is moments of sadness mixed with moments of frustration, blended with fear, and encased with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. For to never grieve is to never experience love or joy. And while grief has its own discomfort, it is a symbol of how much I have loved the things I have been able to do in this body; hiking the Canadian Rockies, cycling trips out west, carrying and raising my children, taking in stunning sunsets, tenderly holding my wife, kayaking in the ocean, laughing with friends, and being a therapist for almost four decades. That gratitude does not take away the sadness, frustration, or fear. It just lives next to it and this brings me comfort.
Monday, I will meet with my cardiologist to discuss my current status and treatment plan. During these past few months, she has been calm and measured about my heart. And to be fair, I wish she were a little more upset about how my quality of life has shifted so suddenly. But I think I have been carrying enough emotional frustration for both of us. It is my hope that I will hear strategies that will improve my ability to breathe, move, and play. And as always, I will ask questions, seek education, and advocate for my health and well-being.
Thank you, my dear readers, for going along with me on this journey. I hope you find as much comfort in our relationship as I do. Be well.
