If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t miss it so much

Sadness is a daily reality. Sometimes it’s godawful overwhelming, and sometimes it’s a tinge that flavors life.

It’s a season of loss for me. Loss of my baby — the Old Man Baby Cat, my orange floof of love. Loss of certain experiences, gathering in person with friends and getting hugs, drumming together, high-fiving coworkers.

I’ve been very fortunate to be able to stay home at this time, our effort to keep not only ourselves safe but to prevent being carriers of the Covid-19 coronavirus to others. We’ve been home since March 15, ironically an anniversary day of ours so it’s easier to remember.

It’s now May.

In that time we have left our neighborhood once, for a medical need, and otherwise have been finding our patterns and working on our physical, emotional, and mental health from home. Trying to be of help to others from a distance, as well, but…it’s a time of sadness, which can make it harder to help.

Grief and mourning are never far from my heart these days. I think about loss a lot. I try to think about how to handle it, how to prepare for the upcoming days this month that I know are going to be in that overwhelming hurt category. I’m never very far from crying or tearing up.

But there is also still good. As the Eleventh Doctor said, Life is a pile of good things and bad. Neither one makes the other invalid. Just right now the good things keep having that taste of bittersweet.

Seeing friends via video chats (and learning tips on how to deal with that unique stressor factor…seeing oneself or constantly being aware of what you look like is awkward at best) is a wonderful time. And oddly sad.

But the sad doesn’t negate the glad.

It’s a mix.

And I will take the mix and having the good reminders and sweet times with friends over complete isolation or just bad.

But I guess I’m trying to say, I also need to sit with the sadness. Let it be there. It is present. I acknowledge it.

Somehow that makes it hurt just a little less.

I accept it. It is my companion. It’s not really there for my harm. It shows me what I value and what is dear to me.

That actually shows me something good about myself.

 

 

May is National Mental Health Month. This article from The Guardian has some insights, tips, and links to resources for dealing with mental health needs during this time of physical distancing, including a link to the Crisis Text Line (at https://www.crisistextline.org/). Please know you are not alone.

My diaversary was last week

Three years ago last Saturday. July 6, 2016. That’s when I had official word of something I suspected and feared a decent bit. That’s also when I was finally able to start receiving the life-sustaining medicine I needed.

I knew the anniversary was coming but I kept forgetting and didn’t plan anything (some people celebrate their diaversary — I have — I say any reason for cake let’s go!). Instead I had a pretty good Saturday at work where I did my best to make progress on my plans for supporting others living with chronic conditions, and helped those who called and came to the place of employ, and did my best for my coworkers.

The first two years I feel like diabetes was about all I talked about. Maybe 70% or so. I did try very hard not to make that the only thing. I do appreciate friends, family members, and coworkers who were patient and also genuinely interested to hear me talk about it. This past year I feel like I have been growing more into myself as a whole person again, not only as a diabetic. This is the right direction.

Of course I’d rather not need to deal with this autoimmune disease every day, but I have definitely accepted it as a part of who I am and have been adapting to life with a broken organ. This is also the right direction.

The timing is right and come September I will be all the more able to share my story, what it means for me to live with this diagnosis, and spread awareness and understanding to others with peace in my mind and balance in my heart.

This year I didn’t have a party or eat a piece of cake. But that’s also okay. This year I feel like I’m ready to move forward. I have something of a handle on this ever-changing situation, my instincts are solid, my doctors are excellent, and my support is amazing.

I’ve been building up my house, my sanctuary. Very soon I will be able to open its doors to others.

Old year toast: To Us

I think I tend to feel melancholy on the last day of the year because even though it’s mainly a way to measure passing of time and mark events in life, it is still an ending.

Sometimes I’ve wanted to celebrate and eagerly anticipate the new year, but honestly I haven’t felt like celebrating a new year’s arrival since the end of 2016.

I thought this year I might like to pick a city three hours ahead, toast for the heck of it at 9pm my time, and just go to bed early. But, I’m not sure if that feels right either. Going to bed early is still definitely a good idea though.

I think my soul needs to sit quietly for a time today. The temptation is to sulk, which will help nothing, but a bit of purposeful reflection may do me some good. It’s been a year full of good, and quite a bunch of bad. Perhaps I need to acknowledge this in order to put it to rest and move on to the new possibilities.

There’s still a lot of uncertainty, and quite frankly still a lot of bad that needs to be traveled through. Maybe that’s why the new year holds no particular excitement for me. But I will hold on to a quiet, unquenchable hope, the embers of fire in my deepest being that refuse to be put out no matter what. Sometimes those embers are cooler than at other times, but they’re still always burning, waiting until they can be full ablaze again with new kindling.

Maybe that’s my metaphor for the end of one year and beginning of another. It’s time to clear the ash away and keep it from snuffing out what’s still good. Time to find and bring in new kindling so the embers can create new fire. And then it will be time to place larger, longer burning firewood in a strategic manner to get the most of the fire for as long as possible, shifting and adjusting the wood structure of my life as needed.

This reminds me of a favorite song, Embers, by Owl City, which helped me through emotionally tough times when it was released and is still a heartening reminder.

So, I have my word for the new year. Perhaps it’s time to say a strange thank you to my old word, accept what it helped me with and what it didn’t really do, and contemplate the new word for 2019. Its time to embrace the ending, and remember it’s not final.

And when I wake up in 2019, I have a playlist to wake up and energize my emotions and my body for whatever lies ahead. Please feel free to use it as well or take it as a springboard to custom make one for yourself. Let’s be our best.

A toast to 2018, and to 2019. And mostly, to us.🥂

Diabetes Stopped Me

Two and a half years ago I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, which, especially on this site, I like to call DeTickles.

Just over two and a half years ago I was learning taiko drumming. But my health was mysteriously worsening. Taiko is a physically demanding practice and despite the usual expectation that exercise makes one stronger, my stamina and grip were worsening a couple months into the weekly meetings. I was afraid more than once that a bachi could slip from my hand and hit a fellow drummer instead of the drum in front of me.

I loved taiko, and I was excited by the idea of progressing and becoming a sempai for the next class of beginners, but I didn’t know what was wrong with me. And I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep up. So, even though I loved it, I chose not to continue taiko drumming. A couple months later or so, I was diagnosed with DeTickles.

I have since been able to enjoy performances by my sensei and her group, and I have had the delight as well of seeing two performances in Disney World’s Japan in Epcot (such as this clip from one). The last time, which was just a couple weeks ago, I cried. Joy and longing and receiving something that was like heaven here on earth overwhelmed me. I realized then that I had unfinished business.

I feel like, at the time, my decision to refrain from continuing taiko was a smart one. Something was wrong with me and I took a break to (eventually) find out what that was and take care of it. But as I was watching the outdoor performance in the most magical place in the world, I realized I had since let diabetes beat me in one thing. I had quit because of, though I didn’t realize it at the time, diabetes.

I’ve overcome fear of exercising by running a 5k. I’ve traveled out of state and in state without letting DeTickles stop me. I’ve mowed and done other yard work for hours while managing steady, in-range blood sugar. I’ve learned over the last two plus years ways to be more aware of my needs and how to take care of them better, what to expect, and how to prepare.

Now, I want to drum, despite diabetes.

I will continue to learn to navigate my changed life with this still-new constant companion, but I won’t let it outright stop me from something I long for on a soul-deep level.

I’m signing up to return to taiko.