Tag: grief

68* and Sunny

not a cloud in the sky, it was a beautiful day to die

7:40am MDT Sept 16, 2023
Dad: Mom is non responsive this morning
Julie: Can we come be with you?

7:42am MDT
Ash: Oh. Dad what do you need? Should we come over?
Julie: Is it time?
Dad: Nurse Betsy had told Laura and me to expect that was the next phase. A compassus nurse will check later today.
Laura: Julie and I are on our way over
Ash: I’m far away but I’ll be there ASAP
Dad: no hurry, ok

it’s already been a year. Mom was kind enough to die on a Saturday when my teacher sisters would have time to grieve without using all three of their bereavement days immediately.

Four days ago, I broke down like I haven’t in a while. I sobbed for hours. HARD. All of the feelings came rushing forth – I miss my mom. I’m sad about all kinds of ordinary things – like she won’t be able to see my youngest graduate from university. I’ll never get another text from my mom on my birthday to tell me she’s proud of me and loves me. That she chose to not prolong her life. The last time she asked when I was moving back to Colorado, I had said, “2 years, minimum,” and now she won’t be around to be happy when I do finally make it back.

It was 100% her call, and I don’t fault her for it. I just wanted more time.

Therapy has helped me work through many things about losing my mom. Six themes, specifically. A lot of my lingering thoughts and feelings stem from how quickly it all seemed to happen. Living 2,000 miles away prevents the everyday impact of decline – so every time I saw her, she was markedly worse. Mom went from being independent and strong to frail with a whisper voice to frustrated with her body’s growing limitations, to acceptance that her body was failing and no amount of frustration and willpower would overcome that. All of this in 3 or 4 visits over the course of not even a year.

I knew she had things she wanted to do in this lifetime that she didn’t get to do because of how quickly things progressed. If she were here, she would tell you she held death off longer than doctors expected, but reality would tell you she probably should have accepted hospice support earlier than she did. She would have been more comfortable for a longer period of time.

my dad texted me the other day using this group chat and it took me a few minutes to remember it wasn’t Mom texting me

My mind no longer wanders immediately to the final 24 hours of her time on this earth when I close my eyes. I don’t replay the day in my head endlessly. I don’t feel tears automatically streaming down my face when I close my eyes (and when I do, I let it happen because I’ve learned you have to experience the grief in order to let go enough to integrate the loss into your life).

I’ve read books on grief, memoirs of losing a mom, I’ve done a lot of work integrating grief into my life. I’ve come to realize there will never be a day when I’m magically totally OK with this – time will help soften the bruise but it might always be a little sore.

Sometimes I think about those hours we spent with mom’s body before the nurse came by to declare her death. It was intense and raw. Most of us wanting to find something of hers to bring home with us – a sweater to wrap around ourselves like a hug, an old stuffed animal from when we were kids. But she had already cleaned out her closets and donated a bunch of stuff and the specific things we desired weren’t available to us.

The last sense to go is hearing. At one point Dad decided to turn on Mom’s playlist so we’d have music to listen to while we were waiting for the nurse. Mamma Mia comes blaring out of the speakers – it was both perfect and wildly inappropriate.

Last year’s summer, when Mom’s death seemed imminent, I went out to see her. The living room was full of things. Mom already had limited mobility and communicated mostly with a whiteboard and marker. My sister and I went through the stuff to ask her what to keep, trash, and donate. Lots of stuff went to the trash or donate category. But I remember pulling up her old cross country skis that she had bought so many years ago at a swap meet. She wrote “If I survive this, I want to keep these.”

Sometimes I think about the things Mom loved – springer spaniels, sewing, gardening, needlecrafts, doing fun activities with younger children. Being a mom and eventually, a grandma. Making oatmeal cookies with the add-in each kid preferred: raisins for some, chocolate chips for others, gummy bears for the ones who thought that would be funny. She liked to ride bikes but wasn’t a cyclist in the spandex-clad sense. Riding with her on the Elephant Rock Ride was a highlight. She enjoyed hiking as much as her blown-out knees would let her. She played soccer even while pregnant with her third kid. She loved living in Colorado, but missed autumns in Massachusetts. If anyone was going to be able to survive an apocalypse, it was Mom and her backyard greenhouse and garden.

Many times I remember how she was sitting on the edge of her bed and I was helping her get into bed for the night. She leaned over and kissed my arm and mouthed “I love you” because she couldn’t speak or write anymore. I told her I’d be back in the morning. And that’s the last conversation we had.

I know I’m not the first and won’t be the last to lose a parent, to have things unsaid and undone with no recourse. To wrestle with the understanding a person is not just your parent, but also their own Self and someone else’s child. That we are all complex individuals trying to figure out what life means and how we want to live it. Watching my mom make her choices (and seeing the impacts of some of those choices after her death) has given me the initiative to take care of my own affairs: write a will, tell my loved ones what my wishes are, make sure my life insurance is up to date and will make sure everything is taken care of when I can no longer care for my family. Do the best I can to make sure my children know they are loved every single day simply because they exist – and that they don’t need to agree with me on everything.

Thinking about death isn’t comfortable or fun – but I don’t want my kids calling the funeral home 18 hours before I die because death wasn’t considered an option in my life.

We have one life to live – live it well.

miss you mom

Jacqueline Vera Block Haag May 9, 1951 – September 16, 2023

(mom’s full obituary)

Stop!

If you came here just to read about bikes and bike adventures, this is not the post for you.

My body is screaming at me to stop.

I’m tired, I consistently feel nauseated, and/or have abdominal pain where I shouldn’t feel pain; my legs feel heavy, like I’m wading thigh-deep through pudding.

It’s been like this since March, possibly last December when I had the first of a few successive two-week stomach bugs. It’s (exceptionally) slowly getting less intrusive in my life, but it’s still a question if I will wake up any given morning feeling closer to normal—whatever that is anymore.

I took May off from doing anything more than walking my dogs every day. I went mountain biking with my girlfriends for three days, which was fun except for the low-grade nausea and pain.

In June, I tried to go camping and biking with one of my best friends, but I ended up staying the entire time at camp while my friends went off for a ride because my body would not cooperate and settle down.

I’ve continued to train on my indoor trainer and ride outside when I muster the energy, but had to make the incredibly difficult decision to bow out of the 3-day bikepacking ride I’d signed up for in favor of attending the day-ride option. I have zero confidence I can handle the stress of riding and surviving for a few days not knowing how I will feel any given morning.

Egos do not go quietly when a hard decision has to be made.

Yesterday I sat across from my GI doc, reviewing yet another scan that confirms only my internal organs are totally fine and at the pinnacle of health. There’s one more test she suggested. I asked her what she would do if she was in my shoes. So we’re doing the test next week to ensure a weird portion of the image from my latest scan is, indeed, nothing to worry about.

Could stress and grief play a role in this? Probably. The depth of my grief over my mom’s passing is far deeper than I thought possible. I spend my bi-weekly therapy visits sobbing because talking about my mom can sometimes trigger very deep, powerful emotions.

Emotions are like a water line. Some people are out on the branches and can shed a cute tear; some of us are connected to the main, and any break in the facade is a gush. There is only ugly crying for us.

But there are physical issues too – both my doctor and my therapist agree this isn’t all in my head; there is a physical component.

I just want to feel like a human again.

I was going to go for a bike ride today, but my body is screaming at me to stop. I slept 12 hours last night; I was so exhausted yesterday that I was in bed by 8:30 p.m. So today, I am listening (and thankful for the long holiday weekend, so I don’t have to think about work for a few days). I will focus on finishing my house chores and then hunkering down with a book.

Thank goodness for libraries. Reading has been my best de-stressor in the last few months.

Anyway – thanks for reading. I’m hopeful to feel better by the time I head to Colorado next month, but not really holding my breath. I’m going to keep training as if I’m definitely riding SBT GVL, but there’s a distinct possibility I will have to bow out, or reduce my distance, because of health issues.

Not my favorite place to be right now, but it’s where I’m at and I need to listen to my body. And avoid bike-related social media because it’s super jealousy-inducing right now. I don’t need to be reminded that the rest of the world can and should carry on without me.

Until next time ….

Moving forever forward

2023 has been a year of tremendous accomplishment and bottomless grief. I spent some time meditating on what themes 2024 will encompass and two came to me clear as tingsha bells bring us back to the current consciousness.

  1. Bring intention into all decisions.
  2. The right moment to go home will reveal itself in due time.

I’ve started to put bike events on the calendar – Rasputitsa and Lu Lacka Wyco in April and SBT GRVL in August – but am otherwise keeping my schedule clear to ensure I can make intentional decisions on where to spend my energy. Like booking a fat bike weekend in February with my best bike girlfriends and the revival of our annual Girls (+Matt) MTB Weekend over Memorial Day weekend.

Year in Review

January found me in the middle of my first-ever indoor trainer workout plan, fat biking with friends, and lots of dog walks. I had a bunch of photos of my family printed and framed in my home office.

February brought a tremendously fun fat bike weekend in Vermont with girlfriends, a trip to the dog park, and a long weekend in Philly to see my eldest kid.

March saw a long-time friend out to New York for a visit, a trip West to Oklahoma for The Mid South, trailwork, and the passing of my beloved beagle, Beauregard (he was 14.5). I had a very sharp sunburn line that remained all summer. I also completely abandoned any indoor training for three months.

April we brought home two bonded chi-weenie-rat terriers who we love more than anything, a trip to Vermont with the in-laws, my adventure buddy moving away, and the always fun B2G2. I put the two-inch tires on my gravel bike to get used to it for my summer bikepacking trip.

May featured a trip to ride the heart of Greasy Joe’s mixed terrain and the always challenging Farmer’s Daughter Gravel Grinder. My middle kid came home for a visit and fell in love with the new doggies.

June started with my great-uncle Benjamin passing away. The weather was really fickle for the annual KT MTB weekend – so hard to find time to ride without getting soaked or mud-splattered. I spent a lot of time on the indoor trainer again to build capacity and riding the multi-use trails in Fahnestock State Park. My planned trip home to Colorado was canceled – but I ended up having to fly out urgently to see my mom. She had fluid building up in her pleural space that was slowly collapsing her lungs.

July – I was able to get home feeling my Mom was stable again and she was able to get surgery to install a drain for the fluid. I turned 46. We took a trip to Buffalo to see my middle kid and go to Niagara Falls (both sides). Pro tip: border agents do not want to know how funny you can be. I shuttered my Twitter (X) accounts and volunteered to sweep the Macedonia Gravel ride.

August was the taper month and I went to go ride bikes with friends in Connecticut. and then I flew to Minnesota with my friend Jess and spent two glorious weeks bikepacking with zero cares except to eat, ride bikes, and get to the next campsite. Transformative is the only way to describe the trip; by far the most epic thing I’ve ever done in my life. You can read about it here.

September, I got home, sent my tent poleset out for repairs, and promptly got a nasty cold. As soon as my cold was getting better, my mom declined very suddenly. Everything felt nebulous until I was approved to talk to her hospice nurse; I booked a ticket home the next day. I spent Mom’s last 24 hours with her and Dad and the following two weeks in a numb state of grief. Jewish tradition teaches the first month is for the spouse to mourn deeply; for the kids, it’s the first year following a parent’s death. Feels accurate from a kid’s POV.

October was hard. I managed to get out for a bike ride with the women I bikepacked in North Carolina with. I wrote a thank you note to the hospice team who cared for Mom. I didn’t go home for Mom’s interment. Ended the month riding the Gravel Goblin with friends the day before the event (it was 72* and sunny whereas the day of the event was 46* and soggy). Pete and I celebrated our 26th wedding anniversary.

grief is funny – I laughed so hard I cried at this

November flew by – rode a gnarly route I created for an event to check conditions and had to make significant adjustments for the event. Went to Maine for a long weekend with Pete. Mom’s headstone was placed. My dad and my kids all came home for a chaotic Thanksgiving weekend. I found out I was selected as a Bikepacking Roots Community Steward.

And that brings us to December. I rode Ice Weasels in a Bumble the Abominable Snowman costume. I got into SBT GRVL for 2024. I rode bikes and had a blast at my company’s holiday party (it was disco-themed so you know I bought a cheap silver dress and matching shoes). We finally got our kitchen sink and faucet replaced, which means all our kitchen appliances have been swapped out – and it’s functionally a brand-new kitchen. I made homemade marshmallows, which was easier than I thought. I make royal icing for sugar cookies, and while it’s easy to make, it’s not easy to apply if you don’t have the right tools to apply it precisely.

We always say – you only live once – life is short – live life with no regrets. This year has driven home that message in a very acute way. I find myself randomly thinking about my mom or seeing things that bring her to mind. The truth is we find immortality in the memories of those who knew us and loved us.

I still feel the pull to move back West but I need to wrap up things out East first. I am thankful we live in a time where we can video call or text (or yes, even make a phone call) to stay connected with loved ones. I’m relishing the time we have here, whether it’s 6 months or 6 years more.

Hope you, dear reader, have a happy, healthy holiday season and a prosperous new year. May 2024 be better to us all.

Grief is fickle

“I’m not good at this” I told my dad as I let the deep, heaving sobs leave my body.

“No one is” he said.

This past Monday, Oct 16, marked one month since my mom died. On Tuesday, my dad was the sole attendee at her interment. When asked how he was doing, he replied “very tearful because I got to hold Mom for another minute.”

All the Big Feelings flooded in.

Dad holding Mom one last time

This post feels self-indulgent – however, I process by writing. And riding my bike and hiking. But mostly in getting thoughts out of my head.

When I stay busy, when I’m working – I feel like I can handle the moving forward part. It’s the weekends that seem to get me, where my motivation to power through and “be strong” falters. I still get up and do the things I need to do … but more often I find myself simultaneously wanting to do something – anything – to keep my brain occupied … and not wanting to do anything at all ever.

I know that time is the only thing that will reduce the impact of this bruise. I don’t want to stay busy just to avoid feeling sad. My sisters all seem to be doing just fine these days – staying busy, working, being with their kids. I feel like I’m off on an island with a rowboat that is still being built.

It’s OK to feel sad too – even though I know my relationship with my mom was strained over politics the past 7 years. I don’t have any regrets about how we conducted our relationship. I often think back to the stories Dad told about their lives together and how much Mom modeled being the Good in the world. Even if we didn’t agree on the definition of Good every time, I see how she met each of us mostly where we were.

Although even a week or so before she passed, she sent me texts about how she still wanted me to reconsider embracing our Jewish ancestry and become Catholic. For your eternal soul. It’s only been well over a decade since I formally converted. Sitting at the Funeral Mass, I have zero regrets.

I think about my dad a lot too. He seems to be holding up relatively well and for the first time in our lives, we get to hear from him and build a relationship with him. He’s clear-eyed about this and I sense he was grateful for the opportunity to care for Mom in a way that helped her feel loved, cared for, and safe. I know he struggled before her death with thinking he might mess up something – but when someone is dying, we know the outcome regardless of our actions. All we can do is the best we can.

At the very least, it’s prompted me to get our wills written and wishes known to our kids. Dad’s been clear about what he wants when he dies, which I am grateful for. Mom never wanted to talk about it – you’ll know where it (her will) is when the time comes. I was literally calling a funeral home 16 hours before she passed to make arrangements. She couldn’t talk at the time so Dad told me what they had previously discussed and she nodded when I asked her to confirm what Dad said was correct. Spoilers: it took Dad a few weeks to find her will.

Failure was never an option in Mom’s book – but death comes for all of us despite all our protests.

I wrote a brief thank you note to the hospice workers who cared for Mom. In looking for the right card, I found this one on Etsy. I love the vibrancy of the image – truly a living, breathing Tree of Life.

Living, Breathing Tree by Madeline Pires

I saw this on a silly Buzzfeed listicle (53 of the funniest text messages or something like that) the other day and laughed much harder than this image deserves – so hard I cried.

Just let me cry / a little bit longer
I ain’t gonna smile / if I don’t want to
-Paramore

A few weeks ago I dragged myself out of the house to go for a chill bike ride with friends. We rode around on beautiful Dutchess and Columbia County roads, stopping at breweries and scenic overlooks before noodling through the Bard College campus. As we were heading back, it started to lightly rain. We popped out next to a field to a beautiful double rainbow.

A nice reminder that there is beauty after hardship.

The emotional whiplash of completing an epic bike journey and coming home to find out your mom is in active decline was intense.

I had plans to ride bikes with my friends today, but canceled because I didn’t feel like I’d be good company today. Instead I took my dogs for a long walk and took a nap; got my house clean and did the laundry.

Pete got the new light fixtures installed in our bathroom so we got to check another item off our list of things we are fixing or replacing in our house. We’re hoping to be in a place to list the house in the spring. I know my feelings of urgency on that topic come from a place of sadness and desire to be with my family right now – but life is more complicated than just throwing things in a UHaul and driving across the country.

The only way out is through. Thanks for reading.

Chasing Radical Vulnerability

The first time I experienced yoga nidra was the same day as my friend’s funeral. It had been a long morning of gathering with my fellow friends and coworkers, a full funeral mass in Spanish, and bearing witness to the pain in his mother’s cries as his casket was being prepared for interment. I had resolved to not hide my emotions as I might have in another era of my life and cried so deeply, so many times. I found a new level of connection with my friends by being open and vulnerable. We had lost a friend and a work-family member far too young.

Yoga nidra is a state of deep but conscious relaxation. Done completely laying down, fully supported by props, yoga nidra allows the physical body to fully and completely relax while the brain enters a state of consciousness that is awake and aware yet also supporting deep relaxation. It’s like taking a nap while being fully awake.

I had scheduled this initial session so far in advance there was so way to know how raw I would be. I broke down while explaining to our yoga nidra instructor the events of the day, somehow uncovering more tears and heaving, stuttering breath. My head hurt from so much crying and I was hoping yoga nidra would sooth my aching heart.

In this state of grief, I settled in for the practice and succumbed to wave after wave of sensation. It was like floating in a dark pool, the harness of the instructor’s voice bringing me up to the surface to direct my attention somewhere else in my body before lowering me back into the inky water. My third eye ached like it was going to split my head open from sadness.

Image from Netflix

Floating.

Lift.

Gently back into the waters.

So effortless yet so painful. Soaking inside my sorrow.

When it came time to bring my body back to sensation, it as like breaking hard clay off my body to find movement. I had fallen so far into myself it hurt to move.

I’ve been chasing that level of radical relaxation ever since. My brain doesn’t ever seem to stop; my body perpetually in motion. And I miss my friend so deeply … for someone I only had the privilege of experiencing for less than a year, he left a hole in my heart that is slowly repairing itself. But in this loss, I found a way to go so far inside, to the core of my being, to sit with my grief and really experience it.

I wish it didn’t take tragedy to give ourselves permission to be radically vulnerable.