HopefulLeigh

On the Periphery of Divorce

"Buddy!" I exclaimed with glee when I saw his name on the Caller ID. He is one of my favorite people but rarely does he call me.

He responded just as exuberantly but then added these words, "I'm not calling with good news."

My heart sank. I had no idea what could have possibly happened.

The call came through shortly after I crossed Tennessee's border. I'd been keeping an eye on gas prices and realized I should've filled up while I was still in Alabama. I figured I'd stop at a gas station somewhere before reaching Nashville and hope for the best.

Instead, I answered the phone and didn't stop talking until well after I parked in my driveway. Gas can wait. Loved ones with bad news can't.

 

Sharing at A Deeper Family today. Please head over to read the rest.

A Symbol of Grief, A Symbol of Hope

One of my favorite pictures with Scottie. We were quite the pals when we were little!

 

Scottie died and I flailed, trying to make sense of the senseless.

We were 22 years old- he a mere 3 months older- when his heart stopped for reasons we'll never know. It used to be Jon-Scottie-Leigh in a cousin clump but now there was no Scottie with his artistic bent and sage wisdom. He measured his words, dispensing them when he felt he had something to contribute and we all learned to listen to this quiet young man.

His quiet demeanor left a larger hole than I knew possible.

The wake ran late and it must have been 8 o'clock before we headed to a steakhouse for dinner. My parents and brother sat with my aunt and uncle and cousin in one booth and I sat with Jon and Adam in a booth across from them.

We perused menus and Jon told me he was buying my drink. I ordered a gigantic strawberry margarita to my parents' chagrin. I didn't need the drink but I needed the drink.

Jon, Adam, and I talked about Scottie, the night we'd just experienced, and the impending funeral. The three of us moved over to the bar after our families headed back to the hotel. We weren't sure we could sleep. Adam bought me an Amaretto Stone Sour and we started talking about how we could honor a life ended too soon.

We talked about tattoos. Adam and Jon wanted to get ones done in Scottie's honor. We knew Pat, Scottie's brother, planned one, too. And as the alcohol rolled around my system, blurring my grief for a short time, I began thinking about what tattoo might memorialize Scottie.

Before the funeral began the next day, I whispered to Aunt Laurie about the idea slowly forming in my head. She loved the thought of us doing this and said she'd do it but she wasn't much of a tattoo person.

Grief made me long for the tangible. I could cry and I did. But I hated the lack of control in this situation, knowing how Scottie went to sleep after work and didn't wake up. 22 years old is so young. Far too young.

I needed to do something.

I thought about my first tattoo for a good couple of years before I actually got it. Here, the idea took hold and I knew there would be no waiting once I settled on the components.

A couple of months later, I walked into a local tattoo shop late Friday night with an image. The artist had recently rendered his own version, simple with minimal shading. I saw it as a sign. I decided to put it on my ankle so I could glance down and remember.

Celtic symbols had long resonated with me because of the beautiful design and my love of all things Irish. I chose a Celtic trinity symbol but not for the spiritual meaning.

When I looked at it, I thought of the past, present, and the future. I appropriated it for my time of mourning. I chose to remember the times we had together when Scottie was still alive, miss him now that he was gone, and look forward to the day we'd meet again in heaven.

Instead of adding his initials and dates of birth and death, I decided to let the symbol stand on its own. Since then, I've lost more loved ones and the tattoo reminds me again that this world is not all there is.

One day there will be no more tears or sorrow.

I look forward to that day.

 

The story of my first tattoo

The story of my third tattoo

 

Linking up with Embodied Stories at A Deeper Story

Matriarch-in-Training

Once the visitation for my aunt started, I tried to keep to the edges, darting into the middle of the fray only as needed. Hundreds upon hundreds of people poured into the church hall to pay their respects. I checked in with various family members to see how they were holding up. I helped a second cousin set up the food she'd brought us and then let everyone know where it was. I hugged people in the receiving line and listened to their stories about Aunt Sue.

Then I would find a chair and sit, giving my feet and myself a break. But still, I'd talk and listen and counsel. Bereavement counselor that I am, I poured into others for a few hours that evening. It comes naturally to me. Taking care of others is in my blood.

Our family has experienced more loss than anyone should. I worked for the same hospice that cared for my great-aunt and grandma and shepherded my family through those goodbyes. My cousins looked to me for support and I gave it.

I found a role in my family without even looking for it...

 

Please head over to A Deeper Family to read the rest.

The Box I've Created

Two wooden boxes alight the hope chest next to my bed. My eyes glance past them daily, rarely stopping to consider their treasures, and I suppose that's the point.

Out of sight, out of mind.

The hope chest, a Kramer original, bears old journals, autographed posters, and books to pass down to future children. Every few months, I'll clear off the top to retrieve a journal. I surround myself in bygone days and then store it away again. Every time I move, I prune the contents further down but much of my past life remains. The incarnations of who I've been. The nostalgia of it all.

Today I opened the two boxes and poked around their insides. Pins from Comiskey Park, various elections, patriotic ones for 4th of July, funny pins made by friends. They tell me little stories from the past decade. There's Thai currency, reminding me my time there was real and someday I'll visit again. Funny mementos from high school.

I don't know why I hold on to so many things but I can't bear to throw them out either. My house speaks of hand me downs and gifts and memories, memories, memories. A growing chorus of friends and family accompanies my day through pictures on the wall and the decades-worn couch. I'm no hoarder though. I contain the tangible in chests and boxes.  Good or bad, it's all in there. I try not to keep the things I want to forget but we don't always have a choice.

The other box belonged to Grandma; it became mine after she died. Her cedar chest is in the office but this box stays close to me. Its contents are more complicated. Senior pictures- I've lost touch with half of those friends. Pictures of Aunt Teresa the year before she died. A St. Francis medal. Memorial cards of the ones I've loved and lost. Even a picture of a former hospice patient.

I've created a coffin. I hide the trinkets and dose myself with them periodically. I don't know why I keep these items near and far. I don't know why I keep the memorial cards at all. Those deaths are seared in my memory.

For now, I put it all back. I tidy, I look, I remember. I shake off the constraints. I breathe. I begin.

 

Linking up with the incomparable Amber Haines for #concretewords

The "Saturdays are for Self-Care" Outfit

I could talk for days about the importance of self-care. We each need to develop tools and tricks to take care of ourselves, no matter what our profession may be. My background in social work helped me figure out the best ways of looking after myself- crucial for that line of work, yes. But crucial for me to be the best version of myself.

I have general self-care routines but in times of loss or high stress, I make conscientious choices about it. I kick those routines up a notch. I grieve and mourn in specific ways and my self-care routines reflect that.

This time around, previously planned travel wreaked havoc on most of this. There's not much I can do about the grief-related insomnia or appetite changes, other than wait them out. I tend to sleep poorly when I travel and this only intensified. Eating out most meals two weekends in a row after the funeral made me feel not like myself, mostly because I could not attack the dishes with my usual gusto. As such, by the time I arrived home from Austin a week ago Sunday, my exhaustion knew no bounds.

I did something shocking: I went to bed early. Sunday night I went to bed at 10 and in the week since, my typical bedtime has been around 10:45. 11 at the very latest. This may not mean anything to you. I put myself on a sleep schedule after my grandma died five years ago. The usual insomnia kicked itself up into high gear and I was a mess. The sleep schedule got me on track and I try not to deviate from it. The last week and a half I've gone to bed earlier and risen earlier and feel more rested overall, even though I still wake up a few times in the middle of the night (normal for me).

My body is still weary. I'm considering getting a massage to help relieve some of the stored tension. I'm not doing anything to mess with this new sleep pattern: no regular coffee, no caffeine past noon, no alcohol. Zut alors! Ah, but sleep is worth it.

Do you see what the pattern really is? Being kind to myself.

That's what this first weekend home in a month was all about. (Interestingly, this sweater post was about my only completely free weekend in a 10 week span. I didn't have any idea how badly I would need it.)

This past Saturday I woke up at 6:30, refreshed. I read Shadow of Night in bed for an hour. Then got ready for a relaxing day. Your idea of a self-care outfit may vary from mine. This weekend, self-care was all about honoring fall, comfort, and me. This meant a cute light sweater, jewelry I adore, and the option of boots.

I even got out my curling iron to fancify my pony tail. It made me feel like such a Southern girl. I'm low maintenance during the week but I don't mind taking a few extra steps for a special occasion. I suppose finally being home was special occasion enough.

I met friends for coffee at Crema. I ordered a decaf Bourbon Barrel Sorghum Latte, which is as interesting and wonderful as it sounds. They only have it in the fall and their lattes are worth ordering, even if only to appreciate the design in the foam. Should I brag about how it was 70 degrees and we sat outside? Beautiful, beautiful weather. My friends and I talked about everything and nothing, just what I needed.

I went grocery shopping. I baked Sweet Potato Chocolate Chip muffins and prepped French Toast Casserole for Sunday brunch. I dusted the living room. I should have continued cleaning the rest of the house, which moans about the last month's accumulated dust and grime, but I worked hard last week and it's perfectly fine to clean one section of the house at a time when you're in the throes of grief.

I read. I watched a cheesy Hallmark movie. I drank tea. And yes, I cried. The grief lurks under the surface and I am doing my best to let it out.

This is one facet of self-care for me and I am relieved to have had a chance to live it out again.

When I first envisioned my weekend attire, boots played a role. Given the balmy weather, in the end, I switched the boots out for my purple flats. Similarly, I thought I might need a cardigan or a scarf at the very least but the sun was shining so the scarf stayed at home, too. All winning combinations though, yes?

sweater with lace detail, Forever 21 (I was an unwitting beneficiary of an impromptu clothing exchange while in Austin)

tami, Old Navy (possibly the worst name for a tank top/camisole hybrid but I love these shirts)

jeans, Old Navy

Intyce boots, Steve Madden

flats, Target

bouquet necklace, Noonday Collection

earrings, Ike & Co.

scarf, Rachel Zoe

 

Linking up with Dear Abby Leigh for Dress for the Day

dress for the day you want to have . . . not the one that's trying to have you.

 

P.S. My new obsession is Stitch Fix, an on-line stylist program which sends 5 clothing items or accessories upon your request. I got my first "fix" on Friday and I'm in love. More to come soon.