Nitty Gritty Dirty Grief

What would I Tell her?

I had my next blog post all written out. But I hit a detour. By this…..

My friend Heather posted these pictures along with the caption “favorite picture of my friend…bachlorette party.”

First of all….rule of the bachlorette party….new moms are the worst! I remember going out on this night, telling my husband, “Oh everyone is a new mom. They will be tired. I’ll be home by 10.”

HOOEY! ….new moms can party like they have never given birth. I don’t know what it is, but they can ralllllly……this was a wonderful, fabulous, unforgettable night.

10:00….yeah right.

What is up with those nails?

Tonight I thought about this woman and I thought, what would I tell her?

Nothing… Except that she is strong and beautiful. And to wear that tiara with pride, never bustle that train, to love this time and to dance like she was a diva-disco, sparkly, party ball.

Because perhaps she is.

It would do no good to say that life is hard and never what you expect and blah, blah, blah….. We all believe we are different. And we will beat the odds…..

even odds that we didn’t know we had to beat.

And we SHOULD believe this….with all of our hearts. Because if we don’t, we would never move forward.

We would never know how strong we are when faced with the unimaginable, incomprehensible and the tragically sad.

But we DO move forward, stronger than we ever thought we could be. And no one could tell you that.

And even if someone did tell us the odds, the unexpected, the unknown or sad, we wouldn’t listen.

Nor should we.

Nitty Gritty Dirty Grief

I found my undies

Hubby was gone for over two weeks.

The house was oddly quiet without him. It felt cold and I felt lonely….so I decided not to be at home at all.

For two weeks.

I would come home at night to sleep in my own bed but would be out of the house at 7:30 and not return until after 9 at night.

Don’t get me wrong, I had a great time and reconnected with my inner social animal during my two week-only-to-be-at-home-to-sleep-extravaganza.

My inner social animal is quite busy.

You know you’ve connected with your beastie when it’s 8:30 on a Sunday night, you’re sober and singing Copacabana at a local bar in Loveland. To my credit it was karaoke and my friends make fabulous back-up singers….nevertheless….her name was Lola, she was a showgirl

I also noticed my underwear drawer was dwindling, so much so I thought it might be time to hit the jockey store.

But the dwindle was so dramatic, I started to worry….what has happened to my delicates???

Perhaps the dust bunnies high jacked them.

Hubby came home last night so I spent yesterday getting my life back in order; washing the two-week old pasta off a forgotten plate, watering my neglected Lilly, shooing dust bunnies out the door and doing loads, loads and more loads of laundry.

I connected back with my domestic self and find her quite handy. Amazingly, she is the finder of lost undies….they don’t just disappear, they just end up at the bottom of the hamper.

Ah yes…. the hamper.

Welcome home Sugarpop….I can’t find my underwear without you.

Nitty Gritty Dirty Grief

Next event!

Our Canvas and Cocktails event is featured on the website of The Children’s Hospital!

Come join us on April 4th and paint this….

It’s called Mother’s Love and I do love it.

The proceeds will go to the Special Care Clinic and the Mitochondrial Clinic at The Children’s Hospital; those places who helped us and Samantha.

Tonight I attended the kick-off for the Courage Classic. We are riding again as Summits for Samantha. I felt proud to be there, representing our team, talking about the jersey we want to design; how we want to decorate our bikes in pink and green…..I felt like she was right there.

Over a year ago I called Samantha an ‘Infectious Little Miss’, I had no idea how Samantha, by just being who she was, has changed how I go about my life.

Tonight I also met the PR person who worked with us during last year’s Courage Classic. We had talked many times but never met until this evening.

We hugged.

“Your story,” she said, “just effected me. I have never been in that situation, never met you, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Samantha and how you all are doing. I’m glad you’re still here.”

I looked around at the room, the bikes, took in the energy, the good work we can do for the hospital…..and felt glad that I was there too.

Nitty Gritty Dirty Grief


I was skiing with friends this Saturday. In between our shushing down the mountain, we sat on the lift and talked about everything…life, death, schools, family relationships and bodily functions.

It was a good day.

My friend Heather recently had to put her black lab down. Gretchen had been part of her life for a very long time. As we stood in the lift line, we watched a couple playing with a chocolate lab and an adorable lab puppy. They were playing with a stick….it was a perfect puppy moment.

“Ugh,” said Heather, “I really want to dislike anyone who has a lab right now.”

“I know,” I said and then it just popped out….”I really want to dislike anyone…..”

And then I stopped myself short….

But my friend Ginger finished my thought, “Anyone who has a child?”

I started to laugh, realizing my brutal honesty, “Yeah, sometimes.”

Ginger and Heather both have young kids. In fact many of my friends have young kids. It would be incomprehensible, lonely and unfair to dislike anyone who has children.

But it felt kind of good to say it.

And it felt even better to have my friends laugh along with me.

We saw Grief standing in the singles line, waiting for us to move over but there was no room; only room for my friends, brutal honesty and the occasional conversation over bodily functions.

Nitty Gritty Dirty Grief


I have a trainer.

And now a schedule, which I have committed to adhere to.


My trainer is a GREAT friend who knows me and has incorporated yoga into my schedule.

Thank you Tracey.

So today, I felt inspired; in spite of a bout with stomach flu and bit of a nutty week…I found myself at Bikram Yoga.

Bikram is another word for really hot, sweaty, humid yoga. It requires that the room be 105 degrees and 40% humidity.

Hot, sweaty, jungle yoga.

I prefer to call it stinky yoga because that’s what I am. At one point, in the middle of the class, I thought What is that smell???

I realized it was me.


We did a pose that I thought would be simple. It’s kind of an on-your-knees back bend. As I tilted back, I realized I was nauseous, super dizzy and needed to lie down on the mat.

What’s up with that

I laid down and heard the instructor explain my nauseous pose.

“This pose incorporates your hips. Your hips hold a lot of emotion and stress. It is not uncommon to feel sick or dizzy in this pose if you have a lot going on in your life. Just be patient, it takes a while to work these things out.”

Well then.

It was a good class, a stinky class and apparently I need to do something about my hips and a back bend. I guess my body is holding a lot of emotion.

Go figure.

All in good time…according to my yoga instructor, it takes a while to work these things out.

Nitty Gritty Dirty Grief


In my old and wise age, I have learned that life is peppered…..

with the good and bad….

The incomprehensible wrapped up in solace, the cloud with the silver lining, kind of like a pigs-in-a-blanket, dipped in sweet and sour mustard, it is untimed, it is what we do not expect, the happy can make us sad, the sad can make us realize how much more we have.

Last week I attended my first funeral since Samantha. My Grandma Bishop was 94 years old and passed away a week after being diagnosed with terminal cancer.

She lived a good life and was ready. She even made brownies beforehand for those who came to visit her during her last hours.

How’s that for peppered?

I took a train from NYC to Washington to attend the service. I was nervous. I know death all too well and was not sure how my response would be.

But I sat next to my cousin Meredith and her lovely baby daughter Tristan. I held Tristan in my lap as she vigorously munched on my bracelet and screeched out in delight when the organ played.

Her head smelled like baby shampoo.

Sweet little head.

And there were times when I cried and there were times when I laughed to myself as I watched Tristan chomp on the church pew.

It’s a crazy cycle; a cycle that moves forward, propels us forward, ready or not. It’s not always good, not always bad. It’s holding a baby while listening to a funeral service and the sweet scent of baby shampoo that makes it all a little more bearable.