Check that Box!

2017 Thanksgiving came and went and I successfully ran my First 5K in San Antonio, Texas.   

For many this may not be a huge deal, but for me ~ Seriously I could barely run when I decided to make this a goal for myself.  My running instructor had me running 2 minutes and walking a minute when I first started and at the end on Thanksgiving morning, I ran 43 minutes straight.  Yep – it took me 43 minutes to run 3.1 miles.  But I DID IT! 

Since losing Carl and my dad I have had to rebuild my identity.  I have had to learn new things and get comfortable in my new body.  More importantly I am having to learn how to be alone.  It has not been easy. 

Three years ago, I thought to myself, "How will I ever learn to live again?"   

And now when I say three years~ I have to stop and take a breath.  I have gone almost 1200 days without my person.  I feel stronger every day I move forward and away from my incredible Grief. 

I did not think running would be my friend, let's face it, I did not think exercise would ever be my friend.  But then I started into a huge legal battle and needed something to help me.  Help me calm down, work through my frustrations and burn the grief.   

I met new friends through exercise, who know me for me and call me now to see how I am doing without asking about my past losses.  They see me for well, ME. 

As a person who makes checklist after checklists, I go down and know I am moving the needle forward IF I can check off a box.  So, when I started making lists this last year I listed - 

  • Do things to make myself healthier

  •  Maybe start lifting weights 

  • Maybe do a 5K –BEFORE I turn 50 

And in 2017, I have done all three! After losing someone I Loved more than anything in the world who was the athlete in the family, I can now say I feel him in my face when I run outside.  He is the burst of cool air that hits me and the voice I hear in my head ~ cheering me on. 

Loss can lead you down a narrow slippery slope into a very dark place, and I can say I have started to Run myself out of there! 

Vulnerability

Vulnerability

November 8, 2017 

 

Vulnerable.... 

Is how I feel day in and day out now that I am alone.  

Being alone when you are young before you find your soul mate, is one thing.  You are vibrantly unafraid of anything and throw all of your sensibility out the window.  Then one day, you run into your soulmate and Voila! Your destiny is set.  And if you are lucky enough bobbing and weaving through the rough patches you have a some-what normal marriage or union. Kids, dogs, sports you name it, you are in the middle of it all.  Directing the traffic of your life~ you are on top of it! The best part of it is you have a partner to lean on and be the person who will listen and assure you when you are on the right track or reel you back in when you are way off course.  

That was my life.  

Then the other alone happened to me.  I became a widow.  That word makes me want to throw a chair through a window.  That word tells the world you have been left alone.  Your soul mate has left and you are alone in the world. 

The vulnerability sets in, you are fighting to get out of the shadows.  When you have work to be done, you have to ask your friends for help.  Even though they say when you've had a loss, "call us, anytime" you feel like you are a burden.  So, you try and hire people, and when they find out you are alone, you get the elevated pricing.  Or in my case when I hired roofers, I was told not to ask questions and then there was the plumber that charged me $350 to fix a faucet.  I have experienced it all from creative kinds of people who were "helping me" to various contractors, the vulnerability is all the same. 

Vulnerability.  I am having to learn to have a new voice and sometimes I have to stretch a little outside of my comfort-zone. I was told early on after my loss, that allowing others to see your vulnerability is a strength. I am starting to flex the muscle a little bit more ~ and learning to find my own voice ~ even three years later. 

Remembering Christopher Cardenas

October 22, 2017 

7 years- ago today, my nephew, Christopher Thomas Cardenas passed away.   

He would have been 30 years old had he lived on and he would have probably been a sports writer. He loved the Spurs. 

Christopher embodied how everyone should live their lives every day. He was born with many challenges, he chartered a whole new world of medicine for doctors struggling with how to help a child survive that was only given 72 hours to live when he was born.  

Christopher was 23 when he passed away. 

He lived his life to the fullest, he wasn’t the tallest person in the room but he was a giant when it came to his words.  He appreciated life and was grateful to all that helped him.  23 years of surgeries, being picked and poked, he was resilient.  He wanted to live. 

There were so many things we could all learn from Christopher, and while the medical professionals said he would live no longer than 72 hours ~ he proved everyone wrong. 

My brother went to the cemetery yesterday to clean the headstone where Christopher lies peacefully with our mother ~ Lola.   

He sent me the picture of the headstone and I sighed inside and out.  I couldn’t help but feel tears well up in the corner of my eyes.  I thought ~ this is why what we are doing is so important because the fighters in the world show us how to LIVE our Lives.  We all tend to think we will live forever, but for those who come into the world as fighters and spend their whole lives fighting, they remind us how we take so much for granted.   

Christopher and his parents spent his whole life being prepared for the inevitable. The evening he passed away, the light Christopher shared with us slowly dimmed and went out.  But even 10 years later we can say he lived a fuller life than most.   

Rest our sweet angel. 

Run ....

Run.... That is what I feel like doing.  Except I hate running.  Really.  I can spin on a bike, lift weights, jump rope, throw a ball across a parking lot and hop. (and I hate hopping) but more than anything I really hate to run. 

The Run, I mention above is the one I want to do in my head that moves nauseously with my stomach.  It’s a weird feeling I get a couple of times a year.  Once when it comes close to Carl's anniversary of dying and the other is the New Year when I measure my life. 

These last few days have been about Carl, and as we inch closer into the month of September I feel it heavier and heavier in my heart. 

I am hopeful that one day I will not feel this way but let's face it, it has been 3 years. 3 years since I was paralyzed.  So, I tell myself I should be over it.  I have friends who are widows that are already dating.  Moving on with their lives. But in the words of my niece Victoria, "I just can't!" 

Maybe I tell myself it's because I don’t get out, or I have started alienating. (again) 

Maybe this is just how it is going to be.  

I have conversations with myself, "it's ok. Tomorrow will be different." But I know it's all the same.  Don’t get me wrong, I am happy, as happy as I can be without Carl.  My kids fill me up and we have enough energy and joy to last forever. I am so thankful for them. 

But Run is what I feel like doing, so I think I shall try and do the other running, the actual running.  It might make me feel good and tired so my mind stops wanting to Run. 

It’s so easy to just go back home.

It’s St. Patrick’s Day. Downtown is maddening and I am running late through traffic to arrive at a hotel for dinner with the ladies of our Wine Club in San Antonio.

That sounds so crazy to be part of a wine club, but when I moved back I had one brave friend who slowly held her hand out to me on the ledge I was standing on to walk me back into the window.

Just Breathe

I have learned that when you think things could not get any worse, pour yourself a drink and sit down because it’s gonna get ugly.

Yes, Carl was an attorney in San Antonio. Yes, he was really great at it, but like most attorneys he was not organized, so to say I had to “clean things up” is putting it mildly.

The Taco in me

I was the skinny kid growing up. I never really had to worry about my weight and it was a real blessing. I love to eat, and while dealing with Carl’s loss, I ate my emotions.

Then, I wake up in August and realized that the heat in San Antonio had gotten so bad I was swelling and well my clothes were not fitting well.

The Mirror

I have arrived in San Antonio and started falling into a routine, sometimes I think, how am I doing this, day after day? Is this it?

Deciding to come back to Texas was difficult, before my dad died we had a pretty sad heart to heart. He was telling me how much he didn’t want to leave me and made me promise if anything happened I would come home.

Today I Feel Strange

Today I feel strange, not happy or sad but reflective. I am thankful for being a strong woman. Thankful that I am compassionate. It is what makes me different and special.

I miss hearing my dad’s voice telling me I am ok and am doing a great job. I miss having Carl to take over when things get difficult or just to break things down for me.

Indy & Oliver

Dogs have a funny place in my heart, and in January of 2006, we had to make the gut wrenching decision to put our beloved chocolate lab Cesar to rest. He was the dog that set the bar for all the other pets we would own.

The initial sadness of putting a pet to sleep takes you down a very sad slippery slope. I remember getting home and Carl saying “let’s wait to get a new dog.”

My Dogs Saved Me - Walter

How do I explain the little piece of joy that came into my life when all hell was breaking loose? Before my father died, he thought it may be good for me to have a pet to go home to while in Denver.

He wanted me to have a sense of normalcy and not be alone. Everyone has a dog in Denver so I set out looking for a dog that needed to be saved.

My Dogs Saved Me - Cesar

Dogs have always been a part of my life. Carl bought our first dog for Adyn when she was 2 years old. Barkley, named after Charles Barkley (Nathan’s pick) was a yellow lab. He was a beautiful yellow lab who jumped right into the family mix.

Soon he was ruling the backyard. Unfortunately, he was stolen shortly after we had him fixed. And while we sent out the search parties we knew after a few weeks he was gone. The hurt you feel when you lose a pet is horrible.

The Holidays

Thanksgiving, the holidays have arrived. I ask myself, “what stage of grief is this?”

Every holiday before this one has always been the 5 of us. Sitting around the table talking about politics and whatever other subject area happened to make its way onto the lips of one of us. And the eating! We would eat until it hurt. I was blessed.

Staring at the floor

I am lying on the floor of the ladies’ restroom at my employer’s office in downtown Denver. I can hear the heels of women coming in, using the bathroom, talking to each other and then leaving. I am simply paralyzed.

I can’t get up and at this moment in time I am thankful that these bathrooms have doors that go all the way to the floor, so no one sees me.

Texas to Colorado, Part 2

We cross over into Colorado from New Mexico. A cheer goes out in the front of the car and I take a deep breath in the back seat. So many emotions are running through my head and my heart aches. How I will sleep in our bed where Carl was restless his final days of his life?

I am scared. There is a sense of fear I am having about going back to the place he took his final steps. The memories of him dying right in front of me and me not being able to help him are destroying me.

Leaving Again...Texas to Colorado Part 1

My heart sinks as I walk out of my childhood home and get into the rental car taking me, Carl’s ashes, Adyn and our friend Pat back to Denver. San Antonio. I will never think of you the same way again. You will be the place I saw the clouds break when I was holding Carl in my arms and I burst into tears so loud I thought my head would burst open.

You were warm and muggy with mosquitos biting me as I walked outside the Hospice Facility to drown out the inevitable. You were the warm arms that embraced me the minute I stepped outside after Carl died.

 
 

LOLA is a service of Loss of Life Advocates