​I wrote this Christmas morning, 2012. My dad passed later that night. I've always loved Christmas, and was crushed when my grandpa died on December 23, when I was 21. When my dad became so ill in another December, I know me--and I expected to fall apart. But our family survived and as time goes on the good memories overcome the sadness. We remember the good times and remind each other during the new experiences that, "Oh, dad would love this!" Or, "Dad would have a fit about that!" We can laugh, and he would love that he can still crack us up. Christmas has its difficult moments, but it would have anyway. Life is like that. 


​December 25, 2012

I have been mourning the loss of my “real” dad bit by bit over the past few years, since he began showing signs of some form of dementia. He still knows my mom and us kids. He’s pretty good with the grandchildren, but the great-grands are cute little kids and he wonders who they are. Last Saturday, when I got word that he was in the hospital, I feared the worst—my grandpa died on December 23rd and now it looked like my dad may do the same. When we got to the hospital and saw how he looked (gray) and sounded (like he had milkshake in his lungs) I was sure it was going to be another sad Christmas which would shadow our family for years to come. This is the time of year we all want to make happy memories with our families, and I had plans that did not include a catastrophic illness. I’m not one to ask, “Why me” or “Why now?” But I strongly feel that people shouldn’t die at Christmas—there should be a reprieve for at least a couple weeks in either direction.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the grave. I started to see Jesus in ways I never had. Instead of feeling surrounded by darkness, I feel surrounded by light. Instead of seeing Christ’s birth as an event to celebrate, I am seeing his whole life as the celebration.  As I see Excessive American Christmas everywhere, I don’t even mind, because know what Christmas is really about and my mind is sort of skimming over His birth and death and going straight to His resurrection.

Have you ever been in an urgent situation—alone at the side of the road, out of gas . . . standing at customer service with a red face and a cart full of un-paid-for groceries . . . stuck in an elevator—and suddenly you see the familiar face of your rescuer. It’s your spouse with a gas can, or your kid with your checkbook that had fallen on the floor, or the elevator repair guy.  You are flooded with relief and joy as you say, “OH, you’re here!”  

As I’ve prayed for my parents, not knowing what to expect (and really not expecting much), instead of overwhelming fear and sadness at the contrast between happy Christmas festivities and a hospital room, I see the face of Jesus our Rescuer and I think, “OH, you’re here!” And I am flooded with relief and joy. 

I'm not a historian, an anthropologist or a biblical scholar, but I imagine that ever since Adam woke up on the seventh day of creation and said, "Hey Eve, that light in the sky we had before that disappeared . . . it's back!" people have noted the passing of time. I wonder when birthdays caught on. I wonder if Adam and Eve celebrated their anniversary and how they chose the date. Maybe they made notches on a tree or rock or cave wall to mark the days and if a conversation could have gone this way:

Eve gives Adam an icy glare.
Adam: What now?
Eve: Did you forget something?
Adam: No. I made fire. I brought you a dead rabbit. 
Eve: Thanks. You don't even know what today is.
Adam: (sighs) What is today?
Eve: Do you NEVER count the marks on the tree of love? 
Adam: Tree of what? 
Eve: It has been 100 marks since we first . . . you know . . . hid in the bushes. You could have brought me flowers to celebrate.
Adam: There are flowers all over this place. Why would I have to bring them to you? 
Eve: You men just don't understand!
Adam: What "men," I'm the only one!
Eve: No kidding.

Birthdays are exciting when you're little. Your parents make a big deal out of your first few, before you can even understand why they're giving you a big plate of cake you're supposed to squish, topped with fire you're not allowed to touch. Then you start getting into it. Ten is a big one, the double-digits. Thirteen is another milestone; you're a teenager. Sixteen is huge--driving! Twenty leaves the teenage years behind, and we all know what twenty-one brings: lower insurance rates. Thirty is cute--"Oh, I'm so ollld, tee-hee!" At 31 it hit me that I was going to keep getting older. Forty is ok--you start to realize who you are and quit caring so much what other people think. Fifty. Ok, it's not funny anymore. When AARP sent me the good news that I was eligible for their services, my husband thought it was hilarious. The next year when he got his own good news, he got us a membership. It was a bit of a shock when they put Dennis Quaid on the cover of AARP magazine. An old person should be on the cover of AARP, right? But Dennis was 55. I heard one of my hips crack.

Here's the thing about aging: I don't feel any older. Wiser, maybe. At least I hope so. But other people seem to think I'm old. They treat me like I'm old. They call me ma'am and there's this weird lack of eye contact that says I'll be nice to you but we have nothing in common. I think to the under-30 crowd there's not much difference between 50 and 80. My 8-year-old grandson thinks his 30-year-old dad is old. I’m in a little shock myself that two of my kids are 30+. I wonder if 90-year-olds think 80-year-olds are young punks. I'm not exactly in denial about aging but I'm not going to go peacefully. I will ride my nerdy cruising bike with pride. I am determined to overcome my fear of Snapchat. I’m aware of my age, I just want to face it with a good attitude about the future, yet with the knowledge time and hard knocks have brought me. I'm proud to be 50-gulp-9. I've earned it. I've worked hard to get here so well-adjusted.

​Now excuse me, it's time to rinse my pink hair.

Imagine that you're standing at an intersection in Chicago. Just as you step off the curb to cross the street, a city bus whooshes by, inches away. You jump back and as the full realization of what almost happened sinks in your heart races and a chill shivers down your spine. Now imagine having that same, cold-sweat feeling of horror but you're lying on your comfy couch at home, and that feeling has just come over you out of the blue.

All my life I’ve had some level of anxiety buzzing through me like an electric current—sometimes nearly incapacitating, usually barely noticeable. It's my normal. I can’t even list all the ways I have let fear affect my life--places I wouldn't go, things I wouldn't do--and I hate that. As a kid, the more people tried to get me to “come out of my shell” or just be reasonable, the more deer-in-the-headlights I became. From childhood through college there were times I couldn’t speak, I was so paralyzed by the idea of talking to other human beings. There was a time in college when someone asked my name and I literally could not answer. I just sat there. I didn’t even know this had a name or that anyone else had the same struggle until my mid-30s. During a really bad weeks-long bout of what-the-heck-is-wrong-with-me, when I was waking up at 4:00 every morning and my heart was pounding so hard all day that I could see my shirt moving, I finally asked for help. I had no idea how one would go about finding a therapist, and I thought therapy was for the insane or the very rich anyway. My greatest fear was that I would be locked up and lose my children. (Looking back on that I do almost have to laugh. Drama much? I probably got that idea from reading I Never Promised You a Rose Garden in high school.) I just knew that I couldn’t go on like I was, so I got the courage to call a college friend/therapist who talked with me for a while and recommended that I talk to my family doctor about medication. I couldn’t even bring myself to call the doctor’s office—what would I say when they asked what the appointment was for? So I waited for one of my kids to get sick so I’d have an opportunity to talk to him. And I honestly thought that when I spilled out my story he would say something like, “Weird! I’ve never heard of that!” (He didn’t. He could not have been kinder or more understanding and helpful.)

That was a long time ago. But even now some days I feel like I can handle anything life throws at me, and other days I feel like I can’t function in the smallest ways. Most days/weeks/months I’m fine, but on a bad day I work very hard to act like everything is ok, and then when everyone around me believes that, my life feels like a lie and nobody really knows me. Last week I had a wicked panic attack. I haven’t felt that bad since 2008 when I said bye-bye to my ovaries (that’s a chat for another day but let's just say those bad girls matter). My heart was hammering. My stomach was in a knot. I was lightheaded and hypersensitive to every sound, movement, and thought. I was moving in careful, slow motion and it took all of my energy to “act normal” and get ready for work as waves of adrenaline and fear washed over me. I desperately wished I’d saved a few Ativan from 2008. I was frantic. (It’s a good thing I don’t drink, because I would definitely be a self-medicator.) But I was also determined not to make a fuss, call off sick, or call attention to myself in any way. And here’s one ironic detail: I work for a staff of therapists and a nurse practitioner!

I’m not going to get into the benefits of counseling and medication (which I certainly believe in) because that information is best addressed by a professional. The only reason I’m blabbing this at all is that maybe there’s someone like me who needs to read it, and I’d like to share some things that have helped me in the heat of overwhelming anxiety, when I need help RIGHT NOW. There's nothing new here--better information is out there--but only I can tell my story.

1. PRAY--I don’t meditate per se, but when I read about the health benefits of meditation I feel like that’s why God tells us to pray. Besides being a means of communication with our Creator, the One who made us knows how our bodies and minds work, and sitting quietly with our attention focused on a power greater than ourselves helps us in many ways.

2. BREATHE--Duh, right? But when I’m panicky my breathing is very light and shallow, which makes me lightheaded, which adds to the vicious circle. Certain types of yoga breathing are very helpful.

3. WATCH MY SELF-TALK—Here’s me: “What is wrong with me, why am I feeling like this, nothing is wrong, I’m just sitting here in my living room, I shouldn’t be feeling like this. This is ridiculous, just suck it up. Why am I so weak, am I sick? Is there something wrong that I can’t see? What if this is a heart attack, they say women’s symptoms are different . . . “ and on and on. Here’s what I try to remember: I wouldn’t tell a friend she’s a crazy loser. I wouldn't hand her a list of things to be afraid of in case she had missed any. If I wouldn’t say it to a friend, why would I say it to myself? And the word "should" is just a way to beat yourself up.

4. FIND A CREATIVE OUTLET--I might write down how I’m feeling to get it out. I might paint a picture or draw on a sketch pad, even if it looks like a kid’s refrigerator art. I’ve bought some cheap houseplants and arranged them around a room that needs some life. Sometimes I like to walk around a local antique mall. It makes me feel serene and gives me creative ideas for my environment.

5. SENSES—I recently read about “grounding exercises.” A quick technique is to find five things you can see, four things you can hear, three things you can smell, two things you can touch, one thing you can taste. Smell has a powerful effect on mood and I like to use essential oils (you can’t go on Pinterest or meet up with an old friend without hearing about essential oils so plenty of info is out there!) or wear a favorite perfume on a bad day. Smell something that smells good. Eat something that tastes good, even if it's a carb.

6. EXERCISE—Taking a fast walk when panic hits is helpful. It’s even more helpful (and preventive medicine) if I exercise regularly. Plus I’m less likely to pile on the guilt if I can pat myself on the back for exercising. Guilt—false or real--can be an anxiety trigger.

7. READ something inspirational or informational. I have a favorite devotional book that I suddenly remember to read on the bad days. Pinterest has lots of good (and bad) resources for coping skills. Look for legit ones, like university counseling centers or actual licensed therapists, not just any old pop-psychology sites. Studying my problem like a bug under a microscope takes some of the emotion out of it.

8. KEEP MOVING--Go to work. Go to church. Go to Walmart. I make myself be with people even though it’s the last thing I want to do. It gets me out of my own head—it’s a mess in there! Sometimes I do some “therapeutic cleaning,” where I use my nervous energy to clean a room or a closet or whatever mess I’ve been putting off. It burns off some energy and gives me a sense of accomplishment. Much better than hiding under the covers. (I know, because I’ve done that too.)
​
I find that DOING something to help myself makes me feel a bit better just because I’m taking action, and taking action reinforces to me that this will pass. And I need to remember that it WILL pass.

In early February it seemed like everywhere I turned people were talking about Lent. Growing up we didn’t really “do” Lent. Ash Wednesday and Fish Fridays were things our Catholic friends did. I feel the same way about fasting something during Lent as I do about making New Year’s resolutions: Every year I give it about five minutes of consideration, but I know I’ll last about three hours before I go completely off-track and hate myself for my lack of discipline, so why even try?

But an idea came to me that I couldn’t shake. I stink at giving things up, but what if I added something instead? I’ve been doing a modest workout two or three times a week since last summer, but—full disclosure--I treat myself to a lot of days off. Could I set a goal to work out every day for the 40 days of Lent? ME? Every day?? That’s just crazy talk!

But I decided to give the crazy idea a try, the way you get into a cold pool—one toe at a time. I worked out two days in a row, then hey look, three days . . . hey look, five days . . . . I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want to make a dork out of myself when I gave up after a few days, nor did I want to seem like I was bragging, and I sure didn’t want anyone to expect me to drop 50 lbs. But here I am at Day 20. I’m halfway there! (Except that I just looked it up and NO, I’m not halfway there, because I’m an underachiever and can’t do math or count boxes on a calendar and Lent is actually 46 days this year! So I’m almost halfway there. Meh, close enough.)

A couple things you should know:
1.       Do not expect any amazing weight loss stories here. They say you get fit in the gym and lose weight in the kitchen, and I’m still eating cheeseburgers and leftover Valentine candy. One goal at a time.
2.       I’m not really doing this as a spiritual endeavor, just mostly as a way of committing to a time frame and marking a finish line. If I wanted to be fancy I’d say there’s a connection between caring for my physical health and my spiritual health, and developing discipline in either area can’t be bad. But I’m not that fancy. If I have any spiritual epiphanies I’ll let you know.

A couple things I’ve noticed:
1.       Gyms are COMPLETELY different places at night than they are in the morning. I usually go early in the morning, but one day I missed my chance and went around 6 p.m. Huge mistake for an introvert. The place was full of people--sweaty muscle guys, girls in matchy-matchy outfits watching the guys, it was stinky, the music was loud and if my sister hadn’t been there I’d have left. I was panicky, and when my fight-or-flight response kicks in, I’m all about the flight. I much prefer the early mornings, with my old people in t-shirts and baggy sweats, professional-looking women who work out and then get ready for the office and leave looking perfect, and the most courageous group: the ones who look like their doctors scared them into going.
2.       Just when I think I’ve created a rock-solid new habit, there comes a morning when I’ve slept badly or I’m just sick of winter and it would be easy to tell myself I deserve a break and it’s not like I’m going to make it to the goal anyway. Even this morning, knowing I intended to post this, I struggled with that voice: “It’s cold. It’s dark. There could be a bad guy in the parking lot. You don’t have to do this. Nobody will know you started and gave up.” But I’m happy to say that if I can just get vertical, my body clock says “let’s go” and I go. That’s a first for me.
​
This is NOT me giving any kind of advice. I decided to share this now, at the halfway point, because it will make it harder for me to abandon this commitment if I’ve told people about it. Also I have set the bar low. You’re welcome.

After a quick weekend trip to Chippewa Falls/Eau Claire, Wisconsin, I would like to offer the following suggestions for new state mottos:

Wisconsin: Take Your Shoes Off, We Just Cleaned
(Seriously, the whole place looks freshly scrubbed. Don’t go tracking your out-of-state dirt all over the place.)

Wisconsin: Cranberry Bogs—Who Knew?
(I thought they were only in Rhode Island.)

Wisconsin: Even Our Walmart Employees are Polite
(And they have that adorable accent.)

Wisconsin: More Culver’s Than Starbucks
(You can see the next Culver’s from the last one. I’m fine with that.)

Wisconsin: We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Street Lights
(Would it kill you guys to light up the interstate, or does everybody just go home before dark?)
 
Other travel thoughts:

My souvenir policy: t-shirt or it didn’t happen.

When I see someone walking into a motel with dogs: “Cute dog! How nice that they allow dogs here!”
When I’m trying to sleep in a bed that’s not mine and somebody’s dog is barking: “^%#@&*&&$%# dog!”
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No matter where I am or how “foreign” the cable channels, if I can find an episode of “Law and Order,” I’m home.

Note: Not a light pole in sight.