Tag Archives: emptynest

Midlife, Sandwich, Grief

12 Sep

It’s September and it’s been a struggle to write. I’ve kept a journal since the 4th grade to mostly free write but these past few months I have needed journal prompts just to help inspire thoughts and maybe help put my brain in order. I read a Substack recently by a woman in midlife (Linda Cooper) that really resonated with me so I’m forcing myself to acknowledge this current stage of life and how I truly have been feeling. I do have to say that it has been increasingly difficult to stop the mind numbing daily scrolling and I 100% believe that is a HUGE contributing factor for my inability to focus on complete thoughts and just sit and lean in to what I’m feeling and why.

A few weeks ago I watched a Netflix movie called ‘Don’t Say Good Luck’ and I think I cried from about 10 minutes in, all the way to the end which by then was an all out sob. It’s a great movie that I’d recommend but prepare yourself with tissue, a lot of tissue. I think this was around the time I acknowledged that my normal melancholy personality leaned more into the sad/depressed state. I realize I’ve been in a funk awhile now. After being sick almost the whole first quarter of the year things finally settled down a little and now here we are in September. Here is the line in the Substack I just couldn’t shake…’white knuckling through life, I could lift a dumbbell off the floor but not lift the grief out of my cells. I could strengthen my muscles but could not pull the tension out from the years of bracing for the next big (or small) thing.’ The thing about life and living? There’s ALWAYS going to be a ‘thing’ so here we are.

Midlife and being in the sandwich generation is not for the faint of heart. Your kids are trying to launch into the world as fully independent adults but they still need a little help and at the same time you worry about your parents who are aging (and some dying) right before your eyes and also needing a little more help. And then, if you’re a woman, your body is changing and your hormonal changes are making you feel not quite balanced physically and emotionally; more crying, more anger, more impatience, and frankly more visceral fat added to the wrinkles and grays you’ve already been fighting for the last 5-10 years. Throw in a diagnosis, a sad kid that’s far away, a broken fridge, power outage, or even just a missing item in your DoorDash order, well, anything that changes the expectation of what was in your head of how things should be leading straight to grief. Big things=big grief, little things=annoyance, but if you’ve been white knuckling it for a while, well then, big grief.

Another line from the Substack article was this in regard to surviving and strength (paraphrased), ‘holding on, bracing ourselves for what’s next, can feel similar to strength when it is what carries us through…bracing for the next thing until eventually, the holding becomes so familiar we don’t realize we’re doing it until the dam breaks.’ Well, the dam broke when I watched that movie and I am still over here trying to repair it but life doesn’t stop and again, if you’re living and breathing, there is always a next. After my long recovery post flu I had my usual scans and they were stable back in April but I decided to consult with another oncologist at another institution because he is well known for my specific cancer and you know, as patients, we ALWAYS have to advocate for ourselves and sometimes make decisions based on our gut. Long story short, he referred me to a Physical Med and Rehab doc to look into my worsening neuropathy who told me it was from the radiation from my past and potentially could get worse as time progressed. He prescribed a medication that may or may not help that I would have to take consistently for the next two years because if I stopped I could have even worse rebound neuropathy, hmmm. What made me the most sad was the line, ‘it could continue to get worse over time’ because it’s already bad in my opinion and no, I decided not to take the med. The second thing this new oncologist did was order scans again; it had been 4 months and this was a different institution so he wanted his own baseline. Well, for the first time since being diagnosed Stage 4 in 2017, the results did not say stable. Now, the two measurable nodules were still there and stable, the ‘multiple small nodules’ were still there BUT, there were 2 new measurable (meaning bigger) nodules which were probably previously part of the ‘multiple small nodules’ part. My doc says ‘I’m not really worried about it. This is a baseline so we’ll wait and see what they look like in 6 months.’

The first maybe 5 years post Stage 4 diagnosis I held my breath between every scan, always wondering, always bracing myself for something. Eventually, with tons more stable scans, my mind and heart eased up a bit and the scanxiety happened maybe a month before, even a week before each scan as of late. What used to consume most of my brain most of my days had become the small nudge or flickering light that kept the reminder that yes there were nodules but also I’ve been stable for so long. Now, after the latest scan results, I’m back to how I was at the beginning; Are they growing? How much longer? On top of midlife, sandwich generation, aging, and menopause, I feel like I’m holding my breath for the next 6 months once again. I don’t want to normalize holding or bracing mistaking it for strength and making it so familiar that I don’t realize it. Life can feel like a giant cesspool of grief and maybe it is.

What now? Acknowledge. Ok yes, I’m freaking out. Pray. Faith has carried me. Faith=hope. Hope for me is the same as joy. Put the phone down, be present, and pay attention because today is what we have. Spend time with those you love if you can. Let the dam break and don’t wait until it’s the size of the Hoover Dam. Think kintsugi, fill those grief gaps with gold/glitter/joy moments. Life is beautiful and brutal, not alternating, simultaneous.

Inhale. Exhale. Live

Today I wear Rouge Coco Chanel satin lipstick in Mademoiselle 104. It’s a beautiful neutral pinky brown with a little bit of shimmer. The medium brown base with a pink shimmer looks like hope over the ‘normal’ neutral of everyday. Perfect for how I’ve been feeling. The formula is moisturizing and the feel is weightless. Cheers!

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Hello 2022

19 Jan

It has been a LONG time since I’ve written a blog post and honestly, I wasn’t sure if I would ever write another, but here I am. The last blog I wrote was right around the time Alex left for school making us empty nesters. Since then, I’d like to say that I’ve enjoyed all this ‘independent time’ not having to think about meals, sporting events, clothes for homecoming or prom, etc., but I haven’t. For the last 6 months I’ve been mostly sad. Not only are we in what seems like an endless global pandemic, but I also have cancer; both pointing toward a daily life of uncertainty. Time is my love language so having the youngest leave the house meant that that phase of motherhood and seeing them more often than not, was gone. Cancer already opens your eyes to your mortality so any less time with those you love is exactly that, less time. HOWEVER, I do realize that our job as parents is to grow independent kids and cheer them on as they learn to fly, so I guess I’m sad AND happy.

In the past 3 months I have been to 2 funerals; one a friend from church and the other, wife of a childhood friend that I grew up with. Both women younger than me, both moms, and both passing away from cancer. A friend of my husband’s passed away suddenly, another friend’s dad passed from cancer, and another friend’s young (younger than me), healthy boyfriend passed away just last week. All within the past 3 months. Time is our most precious commodity. Faith in a big God is still my peace.

What now? The pandemic is still raging. I still have cancer. People are struggling. All people are struggling. I am still mostly sad but getting better. All of the kids were home for the holidays which brought me so much joy and watching them come and go and ‘do their thing’ helped me be grateful for where they are AND where I am in life. We can start there, gratitude.

I don’t do New Year’s Resolutions but for the past few years I have picked a word of the year. Last year I chose the word ‘simple’ and it was so helpful. It became a mantra and reminder for me to keep things simple and to really focus on simpler solutions. I had it on a bracelet, and I printed it on the opening page of my planner and journal. This year I have chosen 2 words and they’ve already been SO helpful. My first word is Kairos. There is linear, chronos or chronological time and then there’s Kairos, or my definition of those magical moments not necessarily confined within those minutes. Glennon Doyle has written, ‘Kairos is God’s time. It’s time outside of time. It’s metaphysical time. Kairos is those magical moments when time stands still.‘ Since cancer I have always sought after those magical moments and now more than ever, we need the magic.

My second word is ‘AND’. I chose this word because with most things in life, two things can be true at once. Life can be beautiful AND brutal (an amazing full life AND cancer). I can be both sad that my kids are gone AND happy that they’re becoming these healthy independent adults. We can be grieving lives we thought would be different AND still find joy and laughter. We can be disappointed AND still hopeful. We can be scared AND still be brave enough to take that next step forward. For me, focusing on this simple word has been so powerful. If we can remember that there is an ‘and’, it makes lots of things feel more ok…well at least it does for me.

Have you chosen a word? An intention? We have one life.

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Empty Nest (yes I’m crying)

18 Aug

By the end of this week I will be an empty nester. Who came up with that name? I don’t think I like it. Plus, if it’s being compared to a birds nest, that implies they never come back. Am I wrong? Also, don’t mama birds shove their babies off and force them to fly when they’re ready? Ok. There were/are definitely times I’d love to shove the kids into the world and force them to fly but there are times I equally if not more, want to hold on and squeeze them in a hug and force them to just stay near. ‘The greatest gifts you can give your children are the roots of responsibility and the wings of independence.’~ Denis Waitley. Yes, yes, sure. I am not afraid of being an empty nester, it’s actually exciting to think the house will be more quiet, the tv/kitchen/couch will be just ours, our grocery bill will be significantly less (and I won’t have to think too hard about pleasing everyone for dinner), we can be more spontaneous, whimsical, and maybe even walk around in our underwear in our middle aged bodies.

I have been swallowed up in mixed feelings since Alex’s graduation last June, knowing he chose a college 2000 miles away and that this day would be coming sooner than later. I want to say that Alex is my hardest goodbye but I can barely remember launching the others so I know I’ll be ok. Alex is the baby and that in and of itself makes it harder. I was first diagnosed with cancer just as Alex started kindergarten and am now in my 4th recurrence. I was diagnosed as Stage 4 cancer when Alex was about to start his freshman year and I remember praying to just be alive to see him graduate high school. He has pretty much only known his mom as a mom with cancer. I’m still here, cancer has been stable since then but life was not easy within that 4 year period. Two years ago this month, Alex had a stroke and was right side paralyzed. In fact, almost everyday this month a memory has popped up on FB or in my google photos and it is of Alex at the hospital. This was the week, 2 short years ago, that he started moving his right arm and right leg again. Pictures have come up from the prayer vigil at his high school, of friends sending me encouraging videos, and of the night his friends gathered outside the hospital with flashlights and banners for him to see from the windows from his hospital floor. I lived at the hospital for 6 weeks and it wasn’t for me, it was for the child who is now ‘flying away’ and who had to fight hard both physically and mentally. Every memory and picture brings a flood of emotion. This is a hard goodbye.

A few nights ago we took a packing break and he laid down facing me on his bed and said, ‘let’s just talk.’ As I lay there facing him, I burst into tears. At the hospital, I would be in the exact position, staring into his eyes and praying at first for him to survive, then that he would just get better. I bargained with God to take me instead, after all, I was the one with cancer; the one who should be in the hospital bed. I remember the very last night at the hospital, looking at each other and both weeping about all that had happened, and expressing fear over his future and what leaving the safety of the hospital meant. I could not hold back the tears being in the exact same position looking in his eyes, I guess I have PTSD. All he said was, ‘Don’t let my last moments home be sad, be happy for me.’ I am ecstatic for him…for real!

As I try to process the last one leaving the house, I know that it’s not the fact that we are becoming empty-nesters, it’s the fear of an unknown future for both of us because of our health ‘scares’. I am also filled with questions about whether I was a good mom or not, did I help guide them on the right path, will they be ok and if they’re not, are they strong enough to ask and seek help, so many questions but I know I did my best. It seems the most random things melt me into a puddle of tears like the face to face talk, bringing something to his room and realizing he won’t be in it anymore for a long while (and then less and less), seeing the bag of almost 200 notes and letters he got at the hospital, the stupid picture memories that keep popping up on my phone, and even the random food items that only he likes that are still in our pantry and fridge. I know that as time passes these feelings will soften, he’s not the first kid to leave. It’s just another reminder that time goes so fast and to make each moment count. ‘Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart walking around outside your body’.~Elizabeth Stone.

I learned after the first one graduated high school and left that raising kids is a long series of goodbyes and as they learn to ‘adult’, we learn to let go. Now I prepare myself once again to have my house as a place he visits instead of a place he lives and to leave another piece of my heart someplace else.

‘If you would have your child to walk honorable through the world, you must not attempt to clear the stones from his path, but teach him to walk firmly over them-not to insist on leading him by the hand but let him learn to go alone.’~Anne Bronte

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