Death, Grief, Healthy Living(?), Repeat
Before Daryl’s cancer diagnosis, I spent a lot of time and energy perfecting my schedule and work-life balance. I had Bullet Journals and graphs and ways to stay accountable. But when he got sick, all calendars and plans were blown to smithereens. It was like Britney Spears’ “Work, Bitch” started playing in my head and did not stop until he died. I never put my physical health first. I grew up an emotional eater and a yo-yo dieter. I was also, as Daryl accurately surmised despite my protestations, a “giver-upper” when it came to physical challenges. I worked out sporadically and spent more time researching quick fixes and weight loss hacks than in the gym. But when he got sick, my body and health became non-negotiable. His body took center stage and, as his wife, friend and primary caregiver, I had to make sure mine did not falter.
When COVID hit and life turned virtual, I started working out more, digging around on YouTube for Zumba and other dance classes. I joked that not being around people made me embrace fitness—it was like the stress of comparing myself to others IRL was lifted, so I was able to do my thing. Other friends weren’t so keen to do online anything, especially not workouts, but I was in a different space mentally and emotionally. Life with stage 4 cancer means living in a liminal and limited space—being flexible and embracing any small good thing is a requirement. I found myself doing online dance cardio classes and even short HIIT workouts. Since his health was failing, I felt the need to double down for both of us.
After he died, I found Maiden Motion, a woman-owned and woman-only studio. During early grief, constants are so important, finding anything you enjoy, to focus your mind and get you out of bed feels miraculous. Good music and instructors who were encouraging helped me push myself physically to prove I was still here, anchored to the earth, healthier than before, ready to live. When the studio re-opened, I signed up for a membership. The small community of women I saw multiple times a week had no idea I was a widow. Complaining about dating and dancing to Taylor Swift, no one was the wiser to what I was carrying unless I wanted to share. I left grief-y me at the door and spent 45-minutes several times a week in that suspended space, just me and my body; loss was an afterthought.
Like most habits, it soon spread into other parts of my life. This past winter, I signed up for a sugar-cleanse with Pure Roots Nutrition, a month of no sugar, gluten or alcohol, only whole foods. I spent hundreds of dollars at the grocery, and was ready. Then, I got a phone call from my dad who only calls if something terrible has happened or to tell me of an arriving Amazon package. This time it was terrible: My mom was in the hospital, she was weak, not eating and delirious. When he called, I was already on my way to my Saturday dance class. I hung up, walked in the door, smelled the familiar candle scent. The owner smiled and asked, “How’s your day going?” like she had a hundred times before, and I burst into tears as I told her. She hugged me, and then we went into the studio and I let the emotions move through my body.
As I prepared for my trip to Michigan, my first thought was “Fuck the sugar cleanse. I’m going to eat chocolate and drink wine.” But then, I looked at my stuffed refrigerator and cupboards and the good foods I had spent a lot of money on and a little voice said, “Okay. BUT, what if you tried? You can quit if it’s too hard.” I packed up the dog, my luggage, bags of groceries, and even prepared food to eat on the road. I was not sure who this healthy person was, but I had to trust her.
A Pre-Made Grief Casserole
During that awful week, every morning, we’d log-in and read through her medical chart, watching it pile up with more medications, interventions, organs failing. It was like watching a tsunami make its way to shore. Control was impossible in the beeping rooms of the hospital. I knew I could not fail, mentally or physically. I could not check-out on her, or on my dad. I had to be present in conversations with doctors and nurses, and when I called family and friends to update them on her condition. I had to help make decisions about her life.
I spent hours when I wasn’t at the hospital cooking and meal prepping, putting healthy foods in my body as I watched hers fail. Temperatures plunged outside while I used her beloved Crockpot to make soups and her annoying kitchen timer to roast vegetables. I dug deep into the cupboards to get at the spices only she used. It made me feel like she was there with me. The recipes, the structure of what had to be put in my body gave me a sense of control. The day she died, I came home and ate a curry I had made for myself, a pre-made grief casserole in a way. I was reminded once more our time is not infinite, our health not guaranteed, and to be present and feel good in the moment is sometimes all we have.
I’ve held on to these healthier habits because they helped me through some of the darkest days of my life so far. In James Clear's book, Atomic Habits, he has a hack for building new ones: "Every action you take is a vote for the person you wish to become." For me that means envisioning the person who chooses their mental/spiritual/physical health over letting their emotions control their actions chooses to move their body over fermenting on the couch. After Daryl died, I found myself voting a lot for the person he knew I could be with a little push. I don’t fully know why it took extremes like COVID or his death to push me to work-out more. I suspect it was a mix of going through a traumatic life event and being overwhelmed with thoughts and emotions that had no clear answer or one easy outlet. My journal could not contain the experience. And rather than only sit and analyze my thoughts and feelings, I chose to move with them and to let them move through me.
“My journal could not contain the experience. And rather than only sit and analyze my thoughts and feelings, I chose to move with them and to let them move through me. ”
In August, after my elderly dog had surgery, my daily life slowed in the way that only illness and worry can warp time—watching him like a hawk, tending to him after he got pneumonia. Worry is so heavy we often don’t know we are carrying it until our bodies or our minds (or both) are exhausted. First, it was pain in my hip, a twinging, sharp and dull ache that would get worse at night. It was a pattern I knew too well, after one of Daryl’s surgeries, my entire left side of my body burst into a flame of sciatica.
Sometimes you don’t know you need something until you are in the middle of it. Last weekend, I went on a retreat with an amazing group of women from Maiden Motion. The retreat been a long time coming, planned and booked in the spring, when the fall felt so far away.
Being in the Shenandoah mountains for three days, the trees and river and green rolling fields with horses, was just what I didn’t quite know I needed. The house was amazing, one of those gigantic vacation homes with endless bedrooms and porches, a sauna, a game room, a pool, a hot tub, but honestly if we had all been in an old worn out cabin in sleeping bags it would have been just as fun. In the middle of it, I realized how much I missed being together with others for more than a few hour spurts—sharing meals, dancing together, talking, laughing. Mornings and evenings are the worst time for grief to grab at me, so having guaranteed companions for coffee or to watch TV and play games at night was a reminder that community and friendship is always out there if I care to find it
Allowing Grief to Move Through Me
The writer and very thoughtful human, Elizabeth Gilbert expressed this beautifully after the loss of her partner Rayaa, “Grief is a living energy field that wants to move through you (the way storms move across the summer sky) and grief can’t move unless you allow it to.” There’s plenty of science to show us that movement matters to our mental well-being. I feel it when I step outside my front door with the dog for our morning walk. And, for me, dance has saved me in so many ways, from literally moving my body to finding a community of other women who feel the same way.