For Gran

Two years ago, on this day, my Grandmother, my Gran, Lorraine Marion Conyack Harle Yahn, left her tired, hurting body behind, released her physical tether to this world, and set off on the ultimate journey to the great beyond.

My earliest memory of my grandma is her driving me and my friend David to school. David lived across the street and he and I went to a Montessori kindergarten across town. David lived with his grandmother, he saw her every day, but this was the only time my grandma had ever taken me to school. She lived on the other side of the country, so this was an occasion, it was special. It was Christmastime and my parents were out of town. This would be the only time in my life I remember seeing my grandma during the holidays and the only time she was the sole caregiver for my sister and myself. Our relatives lived too far and flights were too expensive. Summers were for visiting. Holidays were for staying home. She would later tell me that her boss didn't want to give her the time off to come, but she came anyway, and was fired. She said she never regretted it, because she knew that it was important for her to make that trip and stay with us. It was just as special for her as it was for me.

I probably only saw her a handful of times over the next ten years, but she always called and sent cards on holidays and special occasions. Then when I was fifteen I went to the East Coast over the summer and stayed with various relatives for a few days at a time. It was the summer after my grandpa died and my aunts were still going through the house trying to clear it out, my grandma fighting them every step of the way. I was to stay with her a week and distract her while they threw out truckloads of old magazines, empty mayonnaise jars, my grandpa's lifetime supply of vitamins, and donated their own childhood toys and clothes and unopened items from The Home Shopping Network. One of the things we did was go see a movie, which neither of us had researched well, called Scary Movie. If I had to make a list of movies to never see with your grandmother, that would be one. Neither of us laughed, neither of us looked the other in the eye, neither of us ever spoke of the movie ever again.

I saw her more frequently after that, being older and having the means to travel to the East Coast to see her. Later in my twenties, I started calling my sister, my parents, and her, every Sunday. If I didn't call, when I awoke Monday morning there would be a voicemail from her berating me for not calling her. I hardly ever missed a call, but I still have a few of those messages saved on my phone. We talked about everything and nothing. I told her the zany things I was doing and the places I was visiting and she told me the things she or my mom, or aunts, had done when they were young. We laughed and laughed.

For her 80th birthday, a bunch of my family gathered in her town to throw a birthday party for her. She told me it was the best day of her life. On that day, we asked her questions about her life and sat around soaking in her answers. We knew they were important questions to ask and somehow we knew it was the last chance we'd have to ask them. We asked about her childhood, her loves, the places she'd visit if she had the chance.

"The rocky coast of Maine," she said.

That was the last time I ever saw her. But I had made her a promise.

"I'll take you there, someday," I told her. And so, I did.

That was two years ago, but this is the first time I've looked at the photos and videos. I wasn't ready until now. But today I'm also five years clean and sober, and I'm working on letting go of painful things I'm carrying around, or things I've put off because they'll bring about strong emotions. Today, something inside told me it was time to to visit the emotions around her death and let them go. So I'm doing just that.

I had two great friends with me on the trip, and the three of us and Gran had a blast. I could hear her laughter in the waves.

We took her to some local eateries for old fashioned ice cream and donuts.

   

 We took her to beaches, lighthouses, and islands.

And then on the last day, I left some of her there, and some of myself, too, and brought part of Maine back with me.

I just watched the video of that moment, and it was simple and poignant, and the perfect send off to someone who will always be with me, no matter where I go.

Just like the trip Gran knew she needed to make to see me when I was young, this was a trip I needed to take with her, and it was the best promise I've ever kept.



“I wish you could have been there for the sun and the rain and the long, hard hills. For the sound of a thousand conversations scattered along the road. For the people laughing and crying and remembering at the end. But, mainly, I wish you could have been there.”  -Brian Andreas, Story People

FOUR-Ever

Four years ago I went skiing for the first time and it forever changed my life. Little did I know that crossing that activity off my Bucket List would create an avalanche of misfortune, that would take me three years to claw my way out of, and would throw dynamite into the center of my life, destroying everything I revered, while creating a staggeringly beautiful new life as the ash settled.

I started this blog in June 2010 after being diagnosed with Aspergillosis, the result of falling on my face skiing, which I recounted two years later, if you care to revisit those narratives. Fast forwarding to a year or so after that, I was told that the fungus was no longer growing, and then a little time later, I was informed that my illness no longer posed an immediate threat but was still hovering on the horizon.

Then last year, I got some news that allowed me to let out the leaden breath that I had been holding in for the previous three years: my illness, the one I was never expected to survive, had subsided. I was not cured, per say, but the fungus was not active, and they expected it to stay that way indefinitely, which it has. It has been 8 months since then, and in that time I've had a few sore throats, ear infections, and upset stomachs, but no noteworthy active threats! While I still experience residual effects of the ordeal, they are now an integrated part of my life and no new problems have arisen. I've actually felt ALIVE, for probably the first time in my life.

If you'll recall, I got sober a few months before I got sick. It's one of those situations where my drinking habits helped create the situation that got me sick, getting sober kick started it, and on the other hand, if I hadn't been sober I wouldn't have survived, nor been able to emotionally handle it. Life is complicated and layered and oh so weird.

I feel like I've lived five lifetimes. I'm not the person I was a few years ago. That person wasn't really alive. That person was surviving. And when push came to shove and I was face to face with my addictions and my mortality, this me, the real me, fought like fucking hell to be alive and, let me tell you, it was worth it. I don't know if I would be this person if I wasn't an Addict/Alcoholic with Aspergillosis (that's a lot of A) or not, who knows. Maybe something else would have prompted the shift. I think this me was always there, flying under the radar and popping out from time to time, so maybe I just needed a stick of dynamite to get out.

This is a really long-winded intro to what I'm really trying to get to...

When I shared that amazing, important news, I didn't know how to feel, or what to say, or how to be, or what to do. My life was moving really fast then and I wanted to grab as much of it as I could, because I could. So I pushed those feelings aside and went on with my days. Then yesterday, I spoke on the phone (can we take a moment to note the fact that the previous me NEVER spoke on the phone to anyone) with someone who went through a similar situation with their health and is also doing better these days, I learned of a young woman named Sarah Jones who tragically died while filming on location for a movie, and I looked at a calendar and realized today's date. Then I couldn't sleep. All the thoughts and emotions I'd been ignoring for the last 8 months caught up to me.

I think what I've figured out is that I don't have it all figured out, and that's okay.

I don't know why this happened to me or to others, or why some of us survive and some don't. I don't have anything profound to say today about my survival and there are even some days I completely forget that shitstorm even happened at all. There are other days when it's all I can think about, or other people in a similar situation come to me for advice and I don't know what to tell them. Some days I'm really fucking angry because health care in this country is a joke and because people in other countries don't even know what health care is. Some of the time I'm profoundly sad over the fact that my illness means I can never physically have my own children and other times I'm thankful to have something to blame if I don't actually want to have any. There have been days I was thankful for the things I've learned the last 4 years and days that I recounted all the things I have lost or missed out on.

I'm resentful toward myself for not having a more profound reaction to the news and I think part of it is fear that if I don't have death staring me directly in the eyes that I may lose my zest for life and start taking things for granted. I fear living a lackluster life far more than I fear dying. Now that I know what it feels like to be fully, deeply, really ALIVE, I'm afraid of losing it.

That's what I've been running from for 8 months: fear of losing my urgency to live. Now that I've admitted it, I am ready to confront it and I encourage all of you to confront what you fear. We can all help each other live life to the fullest, to do the things that make us happy, and to help others find and do what makes them happy. Deal?

I made an active decision along the way to find joy even in the bleakest moments, to find something to be grateful for every day, and to say no to things that don't make me feel alive. If I could turn on that mentality while writhing in endless physical torment, I guess I can summon it when I'm grumpy or uninspired. So, I guess the whole point I am trying to make is that I choose to be happy and I hope to continue checking that box every morning, no matter the circumstances. I hope you'll join me in doing the same.

I'm so grateful to be here and, as always, thank you for accompanying me on the journey.

“Have the courage to live. Anyone can die.” - Robert Cody

Happy Birthday Addy G!

To my niece, Addy G! 

A year ago you rocked by world. No literally, the morning you were born, an earthquake originated under my neighborhood to announce your arrival. Not everyone can claim they arrived with a Birthquake, but you have that distinct honor. And you have lived up to that honor, our "Little Bull (In The China Shop)," as your Mommy likes to call you, or "Scrumple," as Geepaw calls you (because you leave a debris field in your wake). You are a force to be reckoned with.

You may have gotten your rhythm from your Daddy's side, but you got your coordination from your Mommy's. I'm eager to see how that paradox plays out for you. I see Break Dancing in your future- as in, I see you dancing and breaking things. Or limbs. Probably both.

You are ridiculous, and always on the go, and hilarious (I don't know where you got that...). You are stubborn, and opinionated, and too smart for your own good (I don't know where you got that, either). You hate going to sleep because you think you are going to miss something ( I may know a thing or two about that...), but, rest up while you can, little one, for many adventures await you!

You and I are going to cause a lot of trouble together, and butt heads, and see whose eyebrow can raise the highest. I'm going to teach you things, and spoil you, and put you in your place. 

I have many wishes for you, far too many to name, but here are a few.

I wish you enough frustration that you learn patience, but not so much of it that you give up.

I wish you enough disappointment that you learn learn hard work, but not so much that it breaks your spirit.

I wish you enough stumbles that you learn how to pick yourself up, but not so many that you crumple.

I wish you such joy that your heart is full, but no so much that you are unappreciative.

I wish you ample opportunities to achieve your dreams, but not so many that you become complacent.

I wish you laughter to balance out your tears, and faith to battle your fears, and peaches for every pit.

I wish you roses to stop and smell, and mountains to climb, and barriers to break through.

I wish you friends who you can count on, and partners you can trust, and faith in something bigger than yourself.

I wish you strength for the journey, comfort when your path diverts from course, and peace with wherever the road may lead.

I wish you compassion, love, and empathy, both for others and for yourself.

I wish you resourcefulness, street savvy, and book smarts- with them you can accomplish anything.

I wish you silver linings, and second chances, and gratitude- they will bring you hope and happiness.

I wish many things for you, Addy G, but most of all, I wish you as much glee and love as you bring to me.

Happy Birthday, Adelynn Grace. May you embrace life with the same eager hunger that you showed your first cake.

“Congratulations! 

Today is your day. 

You're off to Great Places! 

You're off and away!” 

- Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You'll Go!

How I'm still doing it

The question I am asked the most in regard to my health is "how do you do it?"

I mostly shrug or laugh this question off. I make light of it, because it puts others at ease, and because it is a means to distract myself from the weight of the question.

Sometimes, I say "I don't know," because honestly, I don't. There are times I am bewildered that I was able to peel myself from my bed at all that day, so your inquiry is just as baffling to me as it is to you. I really wish I knew!

I wake up each day with every intention of combating whatever beast is running at me, but sometimes I find that instead of a sword, I've been equipped with a shoestring.

Many times, on those kind of days, I simply tie a pretty bow around my woes with that string, tuck it under my pillow, and admit that my only triumph for the day will be my ability to sleep through it. On those days, the only way I can survive, is to admit defeat, roll over, and go back to sleep.

Most of the time, however, I am not offered that choice. I have physical torturists to see, flesh to be punctured, children to pick up from school. On those days, I tie that string around my waist and pull myself forward. If I haven't the strength to do it myself, I ask if someone else can pull me. And if no one is able to, I tie it to a remote control car and whip out the remote. I am constantly, daily, looking for new ways to do things- more efficient, less tiring ways to get what I need to get done, done. Sometimes the remote control runs out of batteries, but I'll at least try.

Then there are the days I wake up with a blowtorch in one hand and a chainsaw in the other. I charge at the day, full speed, and slay every dragon in my path. But, I can't plan those days. They don't always happen when they should, despite how hard I will them to be. I never know what each day will throw my way and I never know if I will be hitting home runs, or striking out.

My main line of defense has always been and will probably always be my ability to make fun of any situation and myself.

"The only way to get through life is to laugh your way through it."
-Marjorie Pay Hinckley

So that is how I'm still doing it. By laughing my way through.

"Through humor, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers. And once you find laughter, no matter how painful your situation might be, you can survive it." -Bill Cosby

And that's the only answer I know, the only solution I can give, because sometimes life is hard, and sometimes it downright sucks. Sometimes it just won't let up and sometimes you can't even stand up, but you can still laugh your way through and that's the best you can do.

"If you can’t find humor in the shit life heaps on you, you really will grow miserable."
-Sherrilyn Kenyon, Born of Night

If you can laugh, you'l always make it through.