It Has to Get Better Than This...

It's been two long years since I last made a blog entry. I have spent so much time waiting for something good to happen; something worth 'blogging' about and I have realized I have been thinking and going about it the wrong way. Blogging isn't like other social networking sites where you are only trying to put your best foot forward with your prettiest selfies, highlights of fun social events and public displays of affection so everyone knows how happy and in-love you are.

Blogging is introspection. It is the gritty, real-life experiences that make a worth-while blog and a blog worth reading. It is the therapy of putting (non-literal) pen to paper and mapping out your thoughts and hopefully you open a window for other people to reflect and learn from your mistakes and if your lucky, they might have some useful advice or perspective. My dream was to have a witty, illustrated blog that was fun to read and jam-packed with sarcastic humour. I just don't have that in me right now.

This past year has been the hardest year of my entire life. It has been a year of transition and heartbreak and continues to be a roller-coaster I just can't seem to get off of. For the most part my journey has been partly reflected on Facebook, though it isn't really an outlet for expressing the day-to-day and I try to limit the number of posts because you'll find your 'friend count' decreasing as people delete you for being the annoying user that floods their news feed.

In November of 2012 I used my life savings for Slimband weight loss surgery. This is not something that I advertise and I never planned on making it public knowledge, but considering everything that has happened since, it seems less important and I want other people to learn from my experience. Weight has been a struggle for me my entire life but more than anything, my decision was motivated by self esteem. Slimband promised a permanent solution to the problem of yo-yo dieting and worrying about every meal and every calorie. It was supposed to take the thought out of weight loss so that it would happen naturally and consistently and free my mind up to think about other things. The reality is a very different scenario. We will revisit this in a future blog entry. 

In May of 2013 I ended what would have been an almost 9 year relationship with the person I spent almost every day with since I turned 19 years old. This was the person I thought I would eventually marry and build a family with, however the reality (again) was something very different. After living together for two years and watching my relationship transition into a fraternal bond and more of a friendship, I worried that perhaps all relationships eventually turned into co-dependent friendships. I sought out friends in long term relationships and asked them how they felt about their partners after all the years spent together. The answers I got were inspiring and somewhat disappointing for me. People still felt in-love and attracted to their partners. They still maintained their independence and rejoiced at their time together. Romantic love was still alive in their worlds, while mine had been dead and buried for years. I realized that although we had connected well as young people (still teenagers), we had turned into very different adults and didn't relate well to each other anymore. I saw glimpses of what a real adult  romantic relationship could be and decided to risk everything for a shot at it. Despite fear of the unknown and possible failure, I took the risk of my life and walked out. I jumped in with both feet and have never looked back. I am now living with the love of my life and we have built a really healthy, mutually respectful and loving relationship together. The transition has been stressful and not without its' trials, but I am happy where I am and would choose this path again. We have just moved into our second condo together and are picking out paint colours for accent walls.

On November 13th, 2013 I lost the other love of my life. My almost 10 month old Niece Aspen passed suddenly and unexpectedly while at daycare. She was the first and only baby in my very small family and I cannot describe the depth of this loss . Life has been a constant nightmare, waiting for answers that may never come and hoping against hope for justice. We were astounded by the overwhelming show of support from our friends and family. A service that should have been under 150 people (followed by a public visitation) turned into an overflowing chapel and improvised 'video room' service for nearly 400 people. With no strength for words at the service, we compiled photos and videos into a montage to paint the picture of this tiny life. Everyone viewing was wracked with sobs watching this perfect little angel laughing at books, smiling in the sun and running with her buggy. 

How does a family recover from something like this? The answer I get most often is: they don't. They become empty and jaded shells of their former selves until one day... they decide that life might still be worth living and you trudge on. In the meantime, I still feel like I am in an ocean fighting the current with wave after wave hitting me and not letting me catch my breath. There is no 'How To' guide on how to be a support system to loved ones facing such a loss. It is hit or miss. I struggle between bypassing the issue and offending when I think I am trying to help. I bring it up, only to cause my beautiful and strong sister to break down in a restaurant. I avoid, only to be told I should be in mourning  and should stop acting like nothing happened. I talk about my own struggles and am told I am insensitive or I become too forward and worry I am hurting more than I am helping. 

I know I am not alone in this. My sister told me an anecdote about being in a mall cafeteria with her husband on a Saturday morning. They were eating a meal in silence when my sister looked up and said "it has to get better than this..." in an attempt at morbid humour. Her husband broke down and wept while she scrambled to pick up the pieces. I think every day must be like that. A delicate balancing act between keeping it together and falling to pieces. We're like Jenga puzzles. Say the wrong thing; pull the wrong block and we come crumbling down around you.

Trigger (no pun intended) was my last game changer. The weekend of my Mom's birthday (November 11th) we searched Kijiji and found the perfect kitten for Aaron and I. I brought him home from Peterborough and we were instantly and passionately in love. Trigger was my first pet and represented a 'next step' in my relationship. Aspen died two days later. The weeks and months to follow were a blur, interrupted only by my intuitive kitten licking tears from my swollen eyes and cuddling me through every night and waking me during every nightmare with a soft paw on my face. He turned 6 month old and we made arrangements to have him neutered.

I got the call while I was at work. My vet- "I'm sorry, but there was a complication during surgery and Trigger's heart stopped. We were able to resuscitate him after around three to five minutes, but he still hasn't woken from the anesthesia. We're hoping that if you and Aaron come, he will hear your voices and come around". I hung up the phone and dropped to the floor wailing, while coworkers rushed to my side. My worst nightmare was happening again. The chances of a perfectly healthy 10 month old child's heart stopping with NO preexisting conditions is less than 1%. The exact same thing happening to a perfectly healthy kitten, previously screened for anesthesia allergies is less than 1%. I was struck by lightening twice in less than half a year.Another teary phone call to my mother, another rushed car ride to the hospital. Another broken heart. 

Aaron and I sat by his side while he lay comatose on an examination table for four hours trying to coax him awake. Most cats recover from anesthesia within 20-30 minutes following a procedure. Trigger did not wake up for nearly three days and when he did, it became apparent that he had suffered a traumatic brain injury while he was flat-lined. Aaron and I spent 6 weeks of sleepless nights, IV fluids, syringe feeding, daily vet visits, incontinence and physical rehabilitation before our vet told us that our Trigger would never recover.

 

We opted for euthanasia with broken hearts and shattered spirits until a late night phone call from our equally broken-hearted vet begging us to surrender Trigger to the clinic where they could place him in foster care for cats with brain injuries. We jumped at the opportunity to save the life of our sweet cat that had once offered me so much comfort in my time of need. He needed so much more care than we could offer (being mostly blind and mostly deaf and mostly incontinent), but he still showed promise to live a happy and fulfilled life if someone would be willing to provide him with the love and care he required. The foster family will not allow contact and my heart still aches with his loss, but my vet will text and call with occasional updates and photos and I know he is being well cared for.

Walking back into work in a daze, I did my job day in and day out and over time I noticed my health starting to fade. While I was being handed more work and more responsibility, I found I had less capacity to focus and get through my days. Migraines, nightmares, sleepless nights, vertigo, chronic 'feminine' medical conditions, back pain and an inability to keep down food. I went to my general practitioner and BAM- not cleared to return to work due to medical conditions aggravated by stress. What now?

all people deal with stress and grief differently, I guess. My sister warned that time alone away from work was the opposite of what she needed to cope. Work gives her purpose and sustains her, while her darkest days are the ones she is left to her own devices, alone with her thoughts. These days my thoughts alter between fear of becoming useless and bed-bound and trying to find productive and healthy ways to spend my time. I worry about my relationship. In a single year my fabulous (but relatively new) man has been through the ringer with me. I went from having everything: a perfectly happy and lovely family, a good job, a happy outlook and prosperous future to this. Now we are all broken with our eyes turned towards the past, my balance is precarious (I feel pessimism and often go from tears to anger) and my career is sidelined while I try to heal my mind and body. I hope he continues to stick it out with me, but this is more than I expect any one person to be able to contend with. 

In one year I will be 30 years old. Why is that number so scary? If I could paint a picture of my life, would it look anything like I thought it would? Probably not, but I am not so jaded that I still don't see the beauty in the small things. Just yesterday I went and got a memorial tattoo (my first one EVER) of an Aspen leaf on my foot. The heart-shaped leaf of the Aspen Tree will always remind me that we must tread lightly through life because it is delicate and could be swept away swiftly, as if carried on a summer breeze. As it whistles though the trees, I will look upon my foot and find a quiet peace...