Hibernation/Hiatus

whatever it takes

I did a little writing…to Annie on New Year’s Eve.

I’m back.

I think.

My plan, when I “closed for the holidays,” was to simply remove any writing deadlines from the holiday weeks when I’d (hopefully) be baking cookies and hauling decorations down from the attic. I hadn’t anticipated any real danger in heading into Christmas…I wrote about it, for Pete’s sake! That’s how I handle all my really big emotions—by writing about them. In addition, the universe had been quite clear that I needed to slow down by accompanying nearly everything I undertook—walking into a room, picking up a pan, writing an essay—with a trip, a spill, a typo. More than typos—it was like I forgot where the letters on the keyboard were.

I was going to slow down, take a break and focus on having a good holiday—as good as I could given all the grieving I’m doing. I was going to bake, lightly decorate, attempt Christmas gifts, and fill the stockings. I also thought about sending out cards, but that didn’t happen at all. I was barely able to open the ones that were sent to us.

First—decorations. One of the first indications that Christmas wasn’t going to go as smoothly as I had anticipated was thinking about Annie’s stocking. I hadn’t even brought down the clear crate with the red lid yet, and I was already crying thinking about hanging it with the others. But I did, and then I added some holiday cheer to the corner of the bookcase where I’ve created a little Annie shrine. Once all the stockings were up, I felt a little better.

Then, baking. I attacked baking almost maniacally, buying about 57 pounds of chocolate chips and three pounds of butter at Costco, thinking I would bake my way into the Christmas spirit. In addition to my old stand-bys, I thought I’d add toll house squares and bourbon balls, but neither of those got made. The shortbread and the holiday cocoa cookies did, though, so at least there were some goodies in my Christmas cookie box. (And about 56 pounds of chocolate chips left.)

But I wore out easily and cried at the drop of a hat. My mom’s birthday lands in the middle of Christmas preparation on December 21^st and that always tugs at me, too. When my brother arrived a couple of days later, he helped finish decorating the tree. By Christmas Eve, we pulled together a little smorgasbord and the next day we celebrated Christmas in the presence of the delightful Aria, because who doesn’t love to watch a child experience Christmas? The rest of the week was filled with cleaning out the apartment where Annie and her family had lived for the past two years and finalizing the move into the new house.

Then I stopped.

I didn’t touch my computer and I neglected the follow up emails I typically send after my writing groups meet. I tried to write every few days, but as soon as I sat at my computer, I got restless. It was ironic—writing is the way I make meaning from my lived experiences—so I wasn’t processing things the way I usually do. But, I couldn’t concentrate. I returned to my chair, where Angelo sabotaged me by building a fire in the fireplace. Since not writing gave me a break from the responsibility, it also left me to my own devices (slight pun…I was on my phone a lot…). I stayed under my blanket.

I slept.

It appears I needed the rest. During the years of caregiving, I was often heard to say, “I’m exhausted” to the point where I think people thought I had changed my name. Back then I used to fantasize about going to a hotel and just sleeping the whole time. During the weeks of Christmas and New Year’s I spent more time on a recliner than I ever have in my life.

I didn’t just need to rest—I needed to recuperate. I looked up the word to make sure:

recuperate
1: to get back : regain
2: to bring back into use or currency : revive

I don’t know if I can get back to what I was before—and I’m talking since Dad moved in with us eight years ago. The level of energy and responsibility required to care for another human being is constant—a 24/7 vigilance that I believe I’m still recovering from. I needed the kind of down time that means not lifting a finger, not rushing towards a deadline, not having to think about someone else’s needs.

And it turns out I had that kind of time. But what’s amazing is, I took advantage of it. And more amazing? I didn’t feel guilty. I know…that was the most surprising part. It seems now, with the kind of recuperation I was able to get, I can work on the second part of the definition—to bring myself back. Revive some of who I was and what I want to be able to do again. I don’t think I will ever be the same person I was before losing Annie—I’ll never recuperate from that. But I might be able to go forward knowing how to take care of myself better.

It shouldn’t take eight years, a pushy universe and a major holiday to force a person to sit down and stop for a minute, but that’s what it took for me. I might be taking it slow for awhile, but for now—I’m back.

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PS: One thing I did get done was to finish the website for Annie’s nonprofit, Pocket Full of Rocks. Take a look and let me know what you think. xo