Month: November 2015

This evening I finally made it to sweaty, stinky yoga. 

Thank goodness. The goings-on of life has once again tightened my psoas. 

I started in mountain pose and our yogi asked us to dedicate this practice to someone to whom we are grateful. 

I stood, eyes closed, hands towards the sky, waiting for my mind to choose the object of my gratitude. 

Hubs. My mind said.

What? I replied back. 

Hubs.

Really? Because honestly, he is not the savasana kinda guy. You’ve seen his Happy Baby and it’s not pretty. 

Really, Hubs. 

By this time my Yogi had intervened. “Usually your first thought, is your best thought.” 

So my practice was dedicated to Hubs. It was a good practice; sweaty, productive and at the end, wrapped in lavender hand towel placed delicately across my eyelids. 

I came home and met Hubs at the door.

Honey?  

Sweetie? I totally should have corrected him and said it’s Sweaty, not Sweetie but I like being Sweetie, no matter how sweaty I am. 

Today in yoga I was asked to dedicate my practice to someone I felt gratitude towards and you were the first person I thought of and I couldn’t get you out of my mind so I dedicated my practice to you! 

Aw, that’s sweet. Thank you. 

And just so you know, it was really stinky, sweaty yoga. 

Yeah, thanks. 

And it’s funny, because Hubs is not a yoga guy. But apparently I am a sweaty yoga monkey; no matter how tight my psoas is. 

And we meet halfway. 

I got home and read my book of reflections and here was tonight’s: 

It’s Safe to Open Your Heart: 

It’s not that life and people are different, although how we see life and view people has probably changed. We’re different. We’ve learned about our powers. We’ve learned to take care of ourselves. We’ve learned how capable we really are. 

Don’t be afraid to love. Now it’s time to learn about the powers of the heart. 

Love is a risk. Add a topping of rich, complex grief and that risk can be intensified. BUT add another layer of gratitude and acceptance of who we are as our own and maybe it’s like a relationship flambe’….Like a Crepes Suzette. 

Which reminds me of French cuisine….and Paris. Hubs and I honeymooned in France. We shared a bottle of wine on the train and ate the most amazing cheese on crusty bread. 

Le Poop. 

But I did make it to yoga. 

I have no title

I really don’t have one. I can’t think of anything snappy or cute. 

If you read my blog, you probably catch up with me on Facebook and you might know that we lost a mito kiddo today. 

Caleb, I know you are with Jack and Samantha. Please tell Samantha to be nice and remember to share. 

On the other side,  I will sit with your Mama and we will have a glass of wine and we will share stories of you. 

I read the news on Facebook. In the midst of cat videos and arguments over Starbucks Christmas cups was news that a world had completely changed. 

And so I left work and went to check out a new yoga studio. And I did what I always do when I always check out a new yoga studio, I got lost and missed the class. 

This might be okay because I would have lost my composure in downward dog. 

Instead I ended up at King Soopers because we were out of coffee. 

I also decided I needed comfort food so I bought beef jerky.

Milano cookies are comfort food, Cheetos? sure….beef jerky? Not so much.  

I drove home and realized I was out of sorts. 

And I should be. 

To Caleb’s Mama, I have no platitudes….no what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger or that your Love is in a better place….

I will tell you I am sad with you. 

And our community is sad with you. 

And we are here, to sit, to cry or curse or run or scream with you. 

You are not alone. 

Do you like beef jerky? 

In Sweet Memory of the cutest Minion 😉 

I want you to know that if you ever decide to moderate a grief group, you should not invite me. 

I tend to be a little rebellious……sit down in my leather jacket, slumped in my seat all like “yeah….grief group moderator….what are you going to tell me about my grief process….yeah” 

Someday I’m going to get kicked out. 

Heather, you take yourself and your bad grief attitude into the hall! 

And I know, I know, when I’m going to turn off the poor person trying to facilitate. It’s when they start talking about themselves and how they got into this field. Which I totally appreciate but I don’t care. I’m grieving and it should be about me. 

Hubs would sigh and say it’s always about me. 

I think it’s hard to talk to a group of bereaved parents about how to deal with grief if you are not a bereaved parent yourself or if you don’t approach the topic with humility and grace. I think it would be great if someone came in and said “Hey, I have not lost a child. I cannot even pretend to grasp what you have gone through. I have no clue. But I will tell you what has worked for other people and maybe something I say tonight will stick. If not, kudos on getting dressed and being here. And help yourself to TWO lemon bars” 

That would be refreshing. 

I was asked to help in a grief group yesterday and I swear they will  never invite me back. I wasn’t awful but I did roll my eyes a lot and when we had ‘table discussion time’, I could not hold back. 

Lippy some might say…..lippy. 

And it wasn’t that this session seemed like a bad topic! It was about about transforming your life after loss, something we all try to do, to put this into something livable. 

But I have hard time with the whole what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.

No one in that room wanted to be stronger. No one wanted to be told to put on the big girl pants…they do everyday. 

The final quote that left me giggling in the back was from Nelson Mandela, who I admire and think was an amazing man but the quote was about prison and the fact that when he came out of prison, he “came out mature.” 

I have felt many things in this five year journey mature seems to be an odd one. I am many things, mature is not one of them. 

“How is Heather doing?” 

“She is fine. She is mature.” 

And my point here is not to bash this group or this woman but you now know why you would not invite me to your grief group because I am many things but not mature. 

I do find it frustrating the lack of resources for bereaved parents: a lack of understand about this process and what we will carry with us for the rest of our lives. We will carry it proudly, we will carry it with sadness, we will dance as will carry our load

Or not

But we will carry it 

And you can’t fix it. And that is okay. 

The group ended with a metaphor of taking the pieces of a shattered vase and turning it into a beautiful mosaic. My job as the table monitor was to ask the group if they could modify old assumptions about life to conform to this new reality….to take their shattered vase and turn it into a mosaic.  

I hate the word conform. Especially when it comes to grief and newly bereaved parents. 

“Screw it,” I said to the table. “You don’t have to conform to anything. You just lost your child. You can tell your mosaic to go to hell.” 

Now granted, I did say it a whisper as I gathered the table around. Because although I’m a lippy insurgent, I am also a chicken. 

“Thank you for saying that.” One woman said. 

“Can I take a hammer to the mosaic?” Said another. 

That’s right, Heather Schichtel….grief group rebel….living on the edge. 

Oh Halloween…..

You Holiday of adorable children dressed in fabulous costumes. 

How I love and despise you. 

How I wonder where I fit with this holiday. This holiday of ‘what do you want to BE for Halloween??’ 

So many things I would like to be……but alas, cannot.

So instead, I think I will identify with Dia de los Muertos. Although I have to say, the skulls still seem freaky, I love this holiday more and more. 

Check out this video of how we honor our dead, or maybe could….http://www.latina.com/lifestyle/our-issues/dia-de-los-muertos-short-film

And even The Smiths got involved…of course

http://www.npr.org/2015/11/02/453951997/one-mariachi-band-brings-morrissey-to-dia-de-los-muertos

All disgruntled teens of the 80’s thank you,  El Mariachi Manchester. 

I will not lie. When I said a couple posts ago that you have to find joy everyday…..Joy at times can be an elusive bastard. 

Today I sat in yoga. I joined a yoga class because ever since my half-iron man, I’m as tight as a discarded, sun dried piece of jerky.

I have the knees of my Grandfather. I love my Grandfather but he has horrible knees. 

The other day? After Masters Swim Practice? I went to get out of the pool and fell back in because my tight knees gave in. 

Did you hear that??? I FELL BACK IN THE POOL!!!!!!

So, I am in yoga. 

In savasana today, our yogi asked us to think of what makes us grateful. 

I laid there and thought, “I got nothin,” In the words of my dia de los muertos friends….nada. 

Because I didn’t have ANYTHING and I’m sorry, but I won’t force a good thought if I can’t find one. 

So I searched, the whole time for a good thought.  I stretched my tight knees and searched for gratitude. 

Nothing. 

And then I walked out of the studio and found the 30 days of gratitude challenge!!!!!

I have to do 15 days of yoga in the month of November. 

And of course I signed up because for every class you attend, you get a GOLD STAR by your name!!!!

I love gold stars. 

I have to do 14 days of yoga until the end of November. I looked at the calendar and the very best I can do is 12 days but we will see. You want to be grateful with me? Come to CorePower Yoga in Broomfield on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. 

I do get a gold star by my name. 

I walked out of the studio, passed by my yogi and a bucket of Kit Kats. 

“I think today I am grateful for Kit Kats,” I said. And I took TWO. 

“Aren’t we all,” she replied