Sunday, December 21, 2014

Yoga, Gas and Cancer

I kept busy today.  Not realizing why until 20 mins ago.

Dad had a skin cancer procedure done today.  They cut a piece out of his leg, tested the skin, if there was still cancer, they kept cutting.  And testing.  I was on standby in case he had a lot cut and needed me to pick him up.  I prayed for healing and good news.  His procedure was at 8.  By 930 I hadn't heard anything, so I email my mom.  No response.  So I call her at work.  Voicemail.  I call Dad's cell, straight to voicemail.  I call Mom's cell, no answer.  I am on the verge of total panic attack, convinced it was really bad news and they didn't know how to tell me so he and Mom were at the dr's office figuring out how to tell me awful news.  Well, Mom was home sick today and dad only had to have 2 cuts, Praise the Lord, and they got it all.  This whole total anxiety, panic filled existence sucks.

Finally went to the gym.  But it wasn't without drama and tears and anxiety.  I used to be so independent.  There wasn't anywhere I wouldn't go by myself.  Was never a person that had a problem going to the movies or out to eat, I loved the time alone.

Not so much, now.  I am good with going alone to places that I have established as ok I guess.  Can go to the store, no problem.  Gym, alone?  Not a chance.  I've been wanting to go for months.  Wanting an outlet, wanting to get healthy, wanting to just do something.  Jason has been getting up at 4am and going to work out in the morning for a few weeks now.  I've made promises to myself and him, that I'd go.  Today he asked me.  I wanted to.  But I panicked.  I started crying, had anxiety, couldn't make myself go for anything.  Then I get this.

And I went.  Jason met me there after he got off work and as he'd already worked out this morning, he went in to change and met me outside.  He walks up and he's wearing the exact same tshirt I had on.  My first time at the gym and I'm matching my husband.  We have 1 matching shirt, one of Landon's baseball shirts, and we had both worn them.  I was so embarrassed.  I tried turning my shirt inside out and there were deodorant stains so I couldn't do that.  I finally cleaned out my car so I had no spare clothes.  So, we walk in all matchy matchy and hopped on the treadmills looking like sickening sweet dorks. 

I wanted to try yoga.  Last and only time I'd ever done it in a gym was years ago with a friend of mine.  A man was in the class and during downward dog, he let out the biggest gas bomb that just echoed and neither of us could control our laughter.  We got several mean stares and never went back.

Well, today, I tried a yoga class and that handsome, supportive husband of mine was right beside me on his mat.  We'd catch glimpses of each other during downward dog or warrior pose and it was so "yoga-y" in the room, that laughing isn't really happening.  And you know what happens when you aren't supposed to laugh.  I was about to start snorting a few times.  Then I'd look in the mirror to check my form and I'd see me, doing my pose and my tshirt twin beside me, doing the best he could.  And then, laying on my mat, listening to the instructor, trying to center myself and relax, I had to choke back sobs.  Yoga is healing.  For the body, for the soul.  It centers around what my grief counselor has been trying to get me to do for months now, breath.

So I'm relaxing, I'm letting myself breath, I'm stretching, I'm focusing on the reason I am doing this and it was overwhelming.  I'm doing this for me.  I'm doing this for my family.  But I'm doing this to get myself to a place where we can move forward, healthy in body and mind, to try this whole growing our family thing again.  She had us all close our eyes, really dig deep, relax and breathe and then she told us to smile.  Everyone's eyes are closed so you can feel comfortable doing your yoga facial moves and all and I looked over and there is my husband.  My best friend.  My boy's daddy.  With the biggest grin on his face, laying on his yoga mat, relaxing and breathing.  And he did it, all for me.

It's been 6 months since we had Fletcher.  It's been half a year since our world collapsed on top of us.  Seems impossible.  When I think back on where I was this time last year, it just knocks me over.  Because a year ago, I thought we had our worst day ever when we went in for insemination and found out Jason was dry and would have to do IVF and surgery for him.  We couldn't imagine anything worse.  We went to the beach, this time last year, and I sat there, watching the waves, knowing that our life was going to change in the next year.  I had no idea.

I can't be mad.  Tucker and Fletcher were the best things I've ever done.  I miss them.  Everyday I miss our boys.  I read something that said, a woman is always a woman, until she gives birth and becomes a mom.  My boys made me a mom.  Their deaths can't take that from me.

Jason and I fight.  We argue.  We get frustrated with each other.  Only ever because we grieve differently.  We grieve separately.  That's one thing you can't share, how to deal with loss.  Each person has to figure that out on their own.  But we come together, we love each other, we encourage each other and we are getting healthy for each other.

6 months later.  We made it this far and I know we'll make it the rest of the way.  Best way there is, together. 

No comments:

Post a Comment