Month: September 2015

On Jack’s 10th birthday I decided to bike Flagstaff as tribute to his very short time with me. 

I got 1/4 of a mile on my ride and my chain broke….

Snapped. 

In half. 

The one thing that would make my bike go would make it go no more. 

 I looked at my riding buddies and held my sad chain, my crazy metaphor to my day- broken, stretched, snapped. 

“What will you do now?” asked Maria. It was early, bike shops were closed and I had a big, bag of bad juju to unleash.

“I will go to yoga.” I said with fierce determination and turned and coasted down the hill in my chain-less bike. 

I went to a yoga class I hadn’t been to before. I came in, stressed, sad, mourning and needing an outlet. 

And so my yogi stretched my Psoas. 

Now that doesn’t sound quite right, perhaps a tad naughty….even the name, So-Ass…although your supposed to pronounce it with a lipsy quality to make it sound less naughty…pthsoas….

Regardless, mine is exceeding, excruciatingly, tight. The psoas muscle lives deep in your belly, extends to your spine and down to your femur. It is called your flight-or-flight muscle and when you tense up, it tenses up, tightening like a rope from your belly to your legs. The baby boa constrictor of your muscles.

Well that’s no good. 

So on Jack’s birthday, in a short hour, we worked my flight-or-fight muscle, unleashed some pain that had been living in my belly. 

It ended up being a good day. 

Today I got up early to attend a yoga class, found out that yoga class had moved.…missed the class and then later in the day ended up back in the yoga class I attended on Jack’s birthday with my famous psoas yogi. 

Today I stretched, for the first time since my half iron man, I felt my tight, tired muscles and laughed at my sad Warrior II. The windows were open in the studio because it was so hot and the sun lingered over the Flations. 

“Turn your hips, ground your feet and face the mountains”, our yogi instructed. 

I turned and saw the gold of the Fall on the hills, the setting of sun. I settled into my pose and breathed, Ah yes, here I am

This week is Mitochondrial Awareness Week. And many amazing caregivers will post many amazing things about what they will do for their Mito children and their impacted loved ones…..

I thought of you all today as I turned to the mountains.

I know you are many times in a state of fight or flight. I know your psoas too, is tight and wrapped and tense. And I know, you can’t you visit the cute yogi in Boulder after your chain has become so worn, it has snapped. 

And I know that you wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

But I do hope you can find some time to get into your Warrior II, turn your hips and face the mountains. 

I’m trying to think of a snarky funny way to start this post but I can’t. 

This disease can kiss my ass. 

Last week I met a mom of a beautiful boy who has been horribly and quickly impacted by mitochondrial disease. This mom is 29 and has had some candid end of life discussions surrounding her boy. 

I marvel in her bravery. 

We met and talked about Samantha. And how I have navigated through our loss. 

I never know what to say. So much because I am still navigating

And so much because I want to fix this. I am not serious by nature. I am the fly by the seat of your pants girl….the sleep on it you will feel better tomorrow girl….have a shot it doesn’t matter girl…… 

Ironic that this is the life now lead. 

And I never, ever, ever want anyone to feel this pain. 

Ironic that this is the community I love.  

The next night Hubs and I were watching Stephen Colbert’s interview with Joe Biden. 

Joe….who has embraced his loss as who he is; speaks to families of soldiers, talks of death openly and considers himself lucky. Lucky because he is loved and because he has his community that he loves back. 

Last Thursday was also World Suicide Prevention Day. 

I would be trite not to say that many who have lost a child have wondered if the world were better where their children are. I came across a post last week by a quirky writer who I like very much: 

http://thebloggess.com/2015/09/you-are-home/

And she talks about depression- feeling isolated and not knowing where to turn but that we are all part of a community and to accept this hurt, this pain, is part of being part of this horrible, messy yet lovely community. When I read her blog, I realized that this sense of isolation extends to us who have suffered a great loss. All we can do is find a sense of home. Find those who have the strength to love us and reveal in the joy to love them back.  

This loss is so ungodly real.I cannot fix this. You cannot fix this. But we can find a home together…..and then maybe we are not so isolated. I will even make banana bread.