Sick And Tired

I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.

I feel like crap.

Not every day, not every other day, but often enough that it's become a real problem for me.

I take antidepressants to make it through the day.

I take sleeping pills to make it through the night.

There are days in which I still have trouble getting off of the couch.

There are days in which I barely eat.

There are days in which I eat everything in sight.

I believe that there's a lot of shame surrounding the grieving process. It's human nature to want to protect the people we care about and so those of us who are truly in the depths of despair don't talk about it. We don't share with people what we're going through. We suffer in silence.

We suffer.

I don't want to suffer anymore. That's a big part of why I started this blog. Writing has always been therapeutic for me and I truly believe that we're only as sick as our secrets. 

I refuse to be sick anymore.

As my daughter would say, this blog is about to get real.  :-)

Another Goodbye

I lost a friend today although, admittedly, friend is much too strong of a word to describe our relationship. What lies between friend and acquaintance? I'm not sure; all I know is that he was one of us. One of the good guys. And this is the only way I know to say goodbye.

Two weeks ago a parent at my daughter's school suffered a massive heart attack. A parent I've talked to every single school day for the past 4 years. A parent who stood beside me on the playground as we watched our children run and climb and wrestle each other into the dirt. A parent who always had a kind word for those around him. A parent who never failed to make me smile. 

I prayed for him every day for the past two weeks. I prayed that his wife would never know the pain that I'm experiencing. I prayed that his children would have much longer with their father than my daughter had with hers. I prayed that he would make a miraculous recovery and that in a few short weeks he'd be back on the playground, talking to Blythe and I about what tattoos we want him to design for us. Unfortunately, my prayers and the prayers of countless others did not come to fruition. 

When she is ready, I will offer my support to his wife. I will offer to pick up her son from school, to cook dinner for her family, and to sit with her when she doesn't want to be alone. I will give her my copy of Option B, by Sheryl Sandberg, and tell her how much it helped me. I will give her the name and number of my therapist if she wants it. I will let her know that she can call or text me day and night.

As so many others have done for me, I will let her know that I am here.

Fall

Dear Lorenzo:

It's finally Fall.

Last week we were hit with a heatwave.  It was hot enough for us to keep the windows closed and the air conditioner on all day.  Hot enough for me to sleep under just one comforter instead of the three you always complained about. Hot enough that I began to seriously wonder whether or not I was going through the Change.

But after a week of that hellfire, Fall has finally arrived. Football season is back in full swing, Halloween decorations abound, and pumpkin flavored everything has invaded both Dunkins and Starbucks.

You loved Fall; it was your favorite season. I hated Fall because it seemed little more than a precursor to the cold. I remember the first time you came to visit me; it was Fall 2007 and you refused to sleep under my many blankets and comforters. "How can you sleep like this?" You asked. "I can't sleep any other way" I replied but you ignored my pleas and threw all but one blanket on the floor. "Don't worry" you insisted, "I've got you, I'll keep you warm."

And that's what you did for almost 10 years.

I took Amira to hip hop class today. Afterwards, we went to lunch at the Chicago Diner, then to Target to get her the slime she's been begging for for the last three months. By the time we got home it was early evening and when I went to grab my robe from the radiator where I'd last flung it, I was shocked to see that the heat was on. Apparently, the temperature in my bedroom had dipped so low that the heat had automatically kicked on. In lieu of the baggy shorts I wore all summer long, I'm currently wearing one of your old Bob Marley shirts, pajama pants, winter socks and my robe. In a moment, I'll make myself a cup of warm tea before getting more blankets for my bed.

Fall has just begun and I'm already feeling the cold.

I wish you were still here to keep me warm.

Acceptance

Dear Lorenzo:

I've been to Target three times in the past two days.

Yesterday, I went to buy Amira a new pair of sneakers.

This morning, I went back to exchange said sneakers for a bigger size.

And this afternoon, I went back yet again with the receipt I'd forgotten to bring on my previous trip.

Suffice it to say, I still have to get Amira a new pair of sneakers since Target didn't have any that I like in her size but...something good came out of my time there anyway.

While shopping for juice boxes and school snacks I passed both the liquor and potato chip aisles several times, but unlike what I've done for the past 14 months, this time I was able to walk past those aisles without purchasing anything from their shelves.

I think there will always be a part of me that wants to hide under the covers whenever I think too much about what I've lost.  A glass of prosecco, a container of stacked lays and an episode of NFL Live makes it so much easier to temporarily alleviate the pain but...I don't want to live there anymore. I don't want to live in a make believe world where I'm so busy trying to forget what I lost that I eventually stop appreciating what I still have: a healthy and happy daughter, a warm and loving home, supportive friends and family who've been by my side through every step of the grieving process.

Numbing myself from the pain doesn't work anymore. It's a temporary palliative at best. Inevitably, the fog lifts. The empty potato chip cans go into the recycling bin; the liquor bottles are rinsed and set to dry on the shelf above the sink; football season ends and ESPN moves onto sports that I don't care about. And through it all, you still can't come back to me. That's what I realized while weighing the pros and cons of getting a cheapo bottle of wine from Target this afternoon. No matter what I do, no matter how long I put it off, no matter how much alcohol I drink, potato chips I eat, or dumbass movies I watch, the fog is going to lift eventually.  And I'll have to face reality head on.

So today proved an important step in my journey.  In not buying the potato chips and wine, I chose to accept the inevitable truth. I chose to face the pain of loss without my usual "coping" mechanisms. And that's a damn good start.

Do You Know What Today Is?

Happy Anniversary, Babe.

10 years ago today we fell in love.

We were supposed to be together forever, we would have been together forever, bickering and driving each other CRAZY, if not for the drunk driver who took you away from me.

I don't remember how I spent our last anniversary.  I know I wrote about you, but the rest of the day is a blank.  I'm willing to bet I spent a good deal of time on the couch, watching ESPN and blotting out your memory with potato chips and Mike and Mike In The Morning.

But I didn't do that today.

I got up, took Amira to school, then went to Target to get her a new pair of sneakers.  I came home and had a salad for lunch, before folding and putting away at least four bags of clean clothes.  I picked Amira up from school, brought her to theater class, then went to the Pick Me Up Cafe to get her chili for dinner.  After theater, we went to Open House at her school.  We talked to her teachers, toured her classrooms, then came home and had dinner while watching The Thundermans.

I didn't binge eat my way through the day.

I didn't attempt to blot out the memories with television.

I didn't have a glass of wine with dinner, or a Heinekein while watching the Bears game (they're playing at Lambeau tonight; even you would have bet against them).

Lorenzo, I'm ready to move on.

Not from you, not from us, but I'm ready to let go of the grief.  I'm ready to say goodbye to the past and start looking forward to the future.  It won't be the future we planned together, I've finally accepted that. We're not going to get a condo in Vegas and spend our summers there with Dwight and Danielle. We're not going to grow old and fat together.  You will never get the opportunity to convince me to have another child, and we won't ever have the threesome I once promised you if we ever made it to our ten year anniversary.    

Instead, I'm going to have to create a new life without you.

One of the things I HATED most about you was the relentless way you pushed me to be perfect. You could never just accept me for who I was. The Khadija I am today, the Khadija I was 10 years ago was never good enough for you. I resented you for that. I resented the way you tried to turn every single moment into a life lesson. I resented your lectures, I resented your unasked for opinions, and I resented the amount of control you attempted to exert over my life.

Like every other couple on the planet, we had our fair share of problems, but now that you're gone...I find myself replaying some of the lessons you tried to impart upon me. Now that you're gone I find myself missing that unsolicited advice. In 42 years, no one in my life has ever pushed me the way that you did.

In 42 years, no one ever believed in me the way you did either.

And I miss that.

I miss you.

But now that you're gone, now that I'm healing, I'm finally ready to believe in myself.  I finally get what you'd been trying to teach me all along. You were right. With hard work and determination I really can do anything I set my mind to. Absolutely anything. I finally get the lesson you tried to teach.  And that realization is probably the best anniversary gift I could ever give to a natural born teacher like yourself. 

Except of course for the threesome, but alas, that ship has sailed.  :-)

I love you.

Happy Anniversary, Babe.

The 100% Brand Spanking New and Improved Khadija Jamila Brewington!

Dear Lorenzo,

2017 was supposed to be my comeback year.

Remember when Adrian Peterson got hurt during the 2011 season and we weren't even sure if he'd be able to play the following year? Remember how, despite all of the odds against him, he made his 2012 comeback, breaking all kinds of records and winning all different types of accolades? (NFL MVP of the year, NFL Offensive Player of the year, etc.)  He didn't just play the game, he played his heart out and had the comeback of a lifetime.

Well that was supposed to be me.  

I was supposed to be comeback player of the year, or at the very least, comeback mommy of the Peirce Playground.

I had a plan.

Every morning, I'd wake Amira up at 6:45 a.m. and she'd get herself dressed before joining me in the kitchen for breakfast.

Aferwards, she'd take her inhaler, brush her teeth and wash her face while I got her lunch together (homemade black bean stew, organic, sugar-free juice and a serving of fresh fruit all stored in her brand new, bpa-free lunch bag).

Next, I'd get myself dressed in a casual yet fashionable outfit, and we'd stroll to the busstop, hand in hand, and be off to school on time.

Afterwards, I'd walk the 30 minutes back home where I'd proceed to: clean up the kitchen, wash the breakfast dishes, do laundry, workout and then write. By the time I finished these tasks it'd be 2:30 p.m. and I'd walk the 30 minutes back to Peirce to pick up our daughter from school.

I'd give her an hour of playtime at the park before we'd head home to complete her homework, have dinner, play a boardgame, take showers, brush teeth and meditate our way into a peaceful slumber at last.

Today is the 3rd day of school and so far...

This is NOT shaping up to be my comeback year after all.

I woke up this morning with a start.  It was 6:45 a.m. and Amira lay snoring beside me.  I jumped out of bed, grabbed Amira's already-FILTHY-even-though-I-just-washed-it-two-days-ago pink jacket, and ran downstairs to put it in the laundry.  Next, I raced back up the stairs and attempted to wake our daughter. Epic fail. After a few minutes, I grabbed the clothes she'd picked out the night before, and dressed her myself while she continued to sleep.

Next I hurried into the kitchen, grabbed the leftover pasta from two days ago, threw it in a pan and began to heat it up for Amira's lunch. I microwaved two frozen pancakes, put syrup on them, and brought them into the dining room/Lorenzo's media room/the room Amira and I still sleep in. I put the breakfast on an end table in front of the futon, turned the TV from Mike and Mike to Liv and Maddie, and shook Amira awake so she could hurry up and eat her breakfast.

After packing her lunch (trader joe's pasta arrabiata, whatever juice box was in our fridge, and a snack sized bag of lays) I rushed into our bedroom and in lieu of the casual yet fashionable comeback outfit (that I know for a fact I don't even own) proceeded to dress myself in the following: the exact same jeans and long sleeved shirt I wore yesterday; a black knit cap to cover my uncombed, still gray-rooted hair; and one of your Chicage Fire jackets to cover up the entire ensemble.  Next, I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I put toothpaste on Amira's toothbrush, ran back into the dining room, gave Mira her inhaler, turned off the tv, handed her the toothbrush and told her to hurry up. I grabbed a facecloth and washed her face while she brushed, before we hauled ass into the living room, put on our sneakers, and made it to the busstop with exactly 2 minutes to spare.

I suppose today could have gone a little more smoothly had I gotten more done the day before. But I didn't. You see, yesterday wasn't a comeback day either. I was SUPPOSED to wash my hair yesterday. I was SUPPOSED to work out. I was SUPPOSED to crock beans for Amira's stew, finish up the laundry, and head to the hospital to visit your mom before picking Amira up from school. But I didn't do any of those things. I couldn't. Because yesterday was one of those days where I couldn't muster the energy to get off the couch. It still happens from time to time; turns out, I'm still human. So instead of crocking the beans for Amira's homemade stew, I sat on the couch and watched Will Kaine on Mike and Mike in the Morning. Instead of working out, I sat on the couch and watched Parks and Recreation on A&E. Instead of finishing the laundry I sat on the couch and watched repeats of Worst Cooks in America on Food Network.

Everyday isn't like the day I had yesterday. I truly am getting better, bit by bit, moment by moment but there are still days in which I can't get off the couch and that's okay too. There are still days in which I watch ESPN and text updates to your brother because I can't text you anymore.

I may not be comeback player of the year, I may not be comeback mommy of the Peirce Playground, and I may never, ever, EVER be the 100% brand spanking new and improved Khadija Jamila Brewington.

You used to tell me you'd love me no matter what. If I gained 100 pounds, if I got sick, if I had brown hair and gray roots, you'd love me regardless. Now that you're gone, I'll have to learn to love myself enough for the both of us.

Don't worry, babe, I'll get there.

Just One Of Those Days

Dear Lorenzo:

Today is Tuesday, September 5, 2017 and you've been gone for exactly 14 months.  After less than 20 minutes of meditation, Amira is finally, peacefully, mercifully asleep. Normally, this is around the time that I'd be turning on the t.v. Right about now I'd be watching "Pop Star, Never Stop, Never Stopping" (you would have LOVED it!) before swallowing 2 gelcaps of Tylenol PM and shutting off the dining room light. But with the craziness of Amira's first day of school finally upon us, I wasn't able to write this morning, and since I promised myself (and promised you) that from now on I'd spend an hour writing every day, I figured I'd better get this down before going to bed.

Jabez started Kindergarten today and just as you'd hoped, he's going to Peirce, too.  Amira's thrilled to have her little cousin at the same school as her, and at 3:00 p.m., I stood outside of Jabez's dismissal door, hoping to catch a quick peek of him to make sure he'd had a good first day.  As I watched him interact with his dad, I couldn't help but remember Amira's first day of kindergarten.  As usual, you had taken so long in the shower that I feared Amira would actually be late for her first day of school.  I took pictures of her in her brand new uniform while you were busy getting dressed and when you exited our bedroom, I was shocked to see you in a shirt and tie.  Normally, on your days off from work you wore nothing fancier than a pair of Chicago fire sweatpants but on this day, you insisted on overdressing and making a good impression on her teacher.  After walking Amira to her classroom door and videotaping her with soon-to-be new friends, it was time to let her go.  When she walked into Mrs. Fitzgerald's classroom with not much more than a casual goodbye wave in our direction, you turned to me in shock.  "That's it?" you asked incredulously.  "I'm just supposed to leave my baby here, with these strangers?" And I laughed at the look of horror on your face.

"Ummmmm, yeah" I responded. "This is school, you know how it works, you used to be a teacher. This is what we do, we can't go in with her." You were despondent for the next several hours and at 11:40 on the dot you shouted at me to hurry up, get dressed and meet you in the car.  To my surprise, we headed back to Amira's school, where we sat in the car outside of the playground, and spied on our daughter and her playmates during their 20 minute recess.  Your plan was simple: we'd watch her while she played to make sure she was having a good time; we'd watch her to make sure that she was safe.  

At your insistence, we did this every, single day for a week.  

You used to call me Disneyland and Rainbow Bright.  You said you didn't know what the hell they put in the Cambridge water to make me so damned happy all the time.  You rolled your eyes at my "glass is half full" outlook on life.  You smirked at my ever so sunny disposition.

It's hard to remain an optimist after losing you.

It's hard to watch all of the other dads dropping their kids off in the morning or playing with them at the playground in the afternoon without feeling that pang of longing. It takes some effort to remind myself how lucky we were to have had you in our lives for as long as we did.

Missing you is hard.  Some days are harder than others.

Today was definitely one of those days.