On Living, Dying, and In Between

Looking back, I can't believe it's been nearly a year since my last post. At the age of sixty-three, time speeds by like a blinding light—so very different from my childhood years when a day at the lake became a plea for five more minutes in the water and a parental punishment loomed larger than life. Some days droned on with interminable boredom, and exciting holidays arrived at a snail's pace. Then—I transitioned into adulthood, joined the military, and vowed to make the service my career.

My choices were far from linear as I faced decisions concerning the location of military assignments, higher education to assist with promotion, and selecting a partner to share my life and raise a family. I married a dear friend during my senior year in Nursing School at Old Dominion University (ODU)—a man I'd known since high school. Together, we travelled for my work, first to Native American reservations in Zuni, NM, where I served as a Labor and Delivery nurse, and then to Rosebud and Pine Ridge, South Dakota, where I served as a midwife after obtaining my midwifery degree and certification.

Through it all, my husband Jim was my life and my emotional support as I worked for a better life for him and for our two children. Later, we ended up in Yokosuka, Japan, and both Jim and I watched the television in shock as two planes hit and destroyed the twin towers in New York. While the world around us changed, one thing remained constant. Our love for each other and our children—the family we built. Toward the end of my career, my husband suffered significant brain damage from a bicycle accident while we were in Ventura, California. I'd already put in my retirement papers, so remaining with the military was not an option.

I searched everywhere for a midwife job, but none were available near where we lived. We struggled and ultimately decided to return to our roots by returning to Virginia. That decision was extremely hard. By then, we had almost nothing, and our bills were beyond our control. My daughter had moved to San Francisco not long after her high school graduation, and my son was in his final years of high school and in love with his high school sweetheart. Knowing how much he'd already gone through, changing schools and leaving friends, we gave our son the choice of whether to stay in California or leave with us, and he chose to stay. It broke both our hearts, but we understood, and we supported both our children's decisions as they led their own lives.

Five years ago, my husband Jim was struck by a motor vehicle while he was cycling on the road in Fork Union, VA, and he died (I can only hope) instantly. Today, his death feels both like yesterday and a lifetime away. After his death (and a descent into the darkness of grief and utter depression where I seriously contemplated joining him) I made the decision to crawl out of my personal abyss of despair and live. My kids had already lost one parent--and I vowed that they wouldn't lose two if I could help it.

With a gentle nudge from my dear friend and long-time martial artist, Alice, I donned rainbow boxing gloves, and began transforming my tears into punches. I joined a local karate studio (Lake Montecello Karate Academy) with an excellent Shotokan karate instructor Shihan Rob Silverman. I also connected with my college martial arts sensei and fellow students at Old Dominion University, and began applying my memory of past karate training to new karate training. Over the course of a year, I went from 235 pounds to 135 pounds in weight.

Gradually, I became more and more interested in self-defense (because I was terrible at it), and wanted to know how to handle myself on the ground as well as standing in the event of an attack. That interest brought me to Gracie Brazilian JiuJutsu in Charlottesville, where all of the instructors are great--but where one instructor in particular captured my attention as a strong capable woman I knew immediately I wanted to study with--Kristen DeBruycker. Not only is Kristen a high-ranking belt in Gracie BJJ, but she is ranked “Kru” in Muay Thai and teaches Kali stick fighting and self-defense among her many other talents. It's been a gradual journey so far, where now I simply study/train in various martial arts when I can, as well as scuba dive and weight lift to maintain my mind/body/spirit fitness.

Three years ago, I was fortunate enough to have my daughter and son-in-law move to Virginia, and they now own a home about 20 minutes from me. I have two lovely granddaughters, and though life is tough for all of them (as it is for many) it is also filled with laughter, and we at least have the support, love and endurance of our family. I don't post the children's photos online--as a forensic nurse, I'm well aware of where those photos can go and how they can be misused, but trust me--those little girls are adorable and ever so precious.

My son lives in Colorado with his wife and mother-in-law, and though I miss him so very much, we've been able to see each other at least once a year. They enjoy Colorado and their life there, and my son takes pride in his voice acting career (he's really very good!). Still, having family at a distance can be hard, and it is important to know/understand that even if you miss them, you can't always be there or visit often. My life takes me to Japan for events, and I've learned scuba diving and take a trip once or twice a year, but that doesn't mean I miss family less--it only means that I'm taking advantage of my own well-being, going to places I haven't seen before or sharing moments with friends in martial arts training or scuba. I think it's important to realize that--if you've ever wondered why a parent or loved one has decided not to visit all of the time--the person still loves you and misses you but in their adult life they need to participate in life as it unfolds around them. I know I do, and my children do. It's part of what has helped to keep me alive all this time.

And so--the month of September is here. It is my most dreaded month, to be honest. My husband died on the 2nd of September, my mother died 19 September, 1997 when I was pregnant with my son and living in South Dakota. On 11 September, 2001--our family was living in Yokosuka Japan and my husband and I watched with shock as the twin towers fell in New York. That moment changed all our lives. Jim's mother Helen Ferguson also died in September. (Side note: "Wake Me Up When September Ends" by Green Day is this month's song.)

Those events listed make this month the hardest month to go through and yet they also make me grateful. Grateful that I lived much of my life with the most wonderful man, that I had a mother, who I didn't always get along with very well, but who loved me, grateful for a nation like the United States where--despite such a tragic day--had people who worked hard to recover, renew and refortify its strengths, and grateful for a woman who raised the man I loved. I try to remind myself of the gratitude on days that seem especially dark, and take a moment to look around me and be grateful for the life, the love and the joy I can see. Some days are much harder than others--but that is life--that is living--isn't it?

It's not just the living, or the dying, of those we care for that make us who we are. It's all of those "in between" moments and emotions we choose to embrace, the decisions we make (or don't make), the places we go, the people that we meet and the memories we share that become something akin to a four-dimensional mosaic of our lives. And inside that mosaic beats the essence of our life--faster than a hummingbird's heart, softer than the air beneath a butterfly's wings, torrential as a Category 5 hurricane and as achingly beautiful as a vibrant sunset of oranges, reds and purples right before the sun slips beyond the horizon.

If, in your life, you have a month like September, maybe some of these thoughts will help you find the peace, discover the gratitude and embrace the gentle understanding of life around you to get you through. I truly hope so. I hope you'll stretch your mind and really 'feel' that you are not alone, even though our life journeys are independent and one-of-a-kind.

I'll end with a nighttime song that Jim and I used to sing to the kids every night before bed. We learned it when we took a short trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico and stayed at a place called "Ten Thousand Waves." We were enjoying a health ritual of soaking in a hot tub for a few minutes, then sitting in a heated sauna to raise our core temps, only to step outside and jump into icy water of the 'cold plunge.' While we sat in the sauna, one young man began singing what he later told us was the Unity Song: "You are the sun. You are the moon. You are the space inside this room. You are the Earth, and you are the Sea. And I am you, and you are me." After his first round singing, the rest of us all joined in. That was a very sweet moment.

We are all unique in our own way, and seem so separate--and yet when you think about it, we are not. Our bodies are stardust. The water in our bodies is ancient--it has spanned the globe in rainstorms, oceans, and tears. Our hearts beat with an electrical energy that can never be destroyed, only transformed (per the first law of thermodynamics). And so, my friends, I am you and you are me in many, many ways. May your September be one filled with gratitude, inner harmony and the unity of everything around you.