Tag: CRC

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Goodbye 2022

*Disclaimer: I am writing and posting this blog from my phone in an airport. So please forgive all typos, and grammatical errors.

So, without question, 2022 was THE. WORST. YEAR. OF. MY. LIFE, & I am more than ready to kick it to the curb. 

I am truly hopeful that 2023 will be better. I’d like to think that there’s no way it couldn’t be better, but I don’t want to jinx myself, or challenge 2023 & have it say “Here, hold my beer.” 🍺 

And not only was 2022 AWFUL, I will say that it isn’t going quietly into the night. In the last few weeks of this wretched year, I was bitten by a dog on my face, a tree fell in my yard knocking out our power for almost 20 hours during one of the coldest spells I have ever lived through in Alabama (silver lining, that event forced me to really up my fire making skills,) 2 sinks leaked & flooded my cabinets, & if all that wasn’t yuck enough, I either twisted / sprained or developed some sort of infection in my ankle causing me to literally hobble home. 🤦🏼‍♀️

But there have also been some wonderful moments closing out this heinous year. The girls & I swam with a dolphin 🐬& snorkeled with turtles 🐢 in Mexico. Yes, we have cried, but together we have also laughed. Halli committed to the most perfect college for her & received a size-able 4-year scholarship. Friends have rallied around us & seen us through in a million little & big ways, & I am grateful. But grateful doesn’t mean I’m not ready to wash the remnants of 2022 off & down the drain, & I almost wonder if God is not trying to help me do just that too. 

When I went to Napa with friends in September it rained like it was Alabama for most of the trip, which is very unusual for that area. Then when we tried to run away from grief by going to Mexico 🇲🇽 for 🎄 Christmas; it rained for 4 whole days, again a very unusual weather pattern for that part of the world. And don’t forget the sinks I mentioned earlier & my poor flooded cabinets. So so much water!! I googled it, & it seems that water 💦 is referred to 722 times in the Bible, more often than faith, hope, prayer, and worship. But it doesn’t always symbolize the same thing. Sometimes it symbolizes difficulties in life (check.)

 “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you…” – Isaiah 43:2

Sometimes water is used to symbolize eternal life. Sometimes it symbolizes the word of God. Sometimes it symbolizes cleansing.

     “…let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water.” – Hebrews 10:22

Likely I’m reading too much into all this water, but when your world, your life, your heart, is ripped so tragically apart, I imagine it’s not all that uncommon to try & find meaning in things, because random is just too hard to accept. But though I share the same first three letters of his name, I was not gifted with the skills of interpretation like Daniel in the Old Testament, so what God might actually be saying to me is a bit fuzzy, but I’m leaning into the idea of cleansing. I’d like to think He is trying to rinse sadness & heartache & sickness away. I’d like to think, I pray, 2023 will be better. 🙏🏻

And with that, I wish everyone a very happy (& dry) new year, & I thank you all for loving my little Family 2.0 through this last year. 

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Celebrities with CRC and Taking Out the Trash

You know how when you are focused on one thing, one thing that for whatever reason God has said you can’t have, or that you at least can’t have right now, all you can see everywhere you look is other people who have that thing? Like when your maternal clock ⏰ starts ticking (do men even have paternal clocks???) and you want a baby so badly that your teeth hurt, but for whatever reason another month goes by and you aren’t pregnant again, but THE ONLY people you EVER see are all the beautiful pregnant ladies of the world?? Or how, in my case, I seem to be surrounded by the cutest older couples around every bend walking & holding hands, literally, absolutely anyplace I ever go when I venture out of my house.  It’s like our minds just like to focus on whatever will torture our psyches the most. 

My dreams, my plans, of growing old with Jamey, puttering around & helping each other fill in the blanks to a shared story, or being this eccentric old couple rocking out at some concert we are much too old to attend, all went up in smoke with cancer. It seems so very unfair. But all the why’s & what ifs that keep me up at night are all asked in vain. But now I’m wondering, is it just me? Is it because I’m hyper focused on colon & colorectal cancer that I hear about it ALL the time?? Does it seem more common to anyone else but me?? I mean Kirstie Alley? Really? Rebecca from Cheers was a victim too? It’s insane! This is a preventable disease! But it’s also kind of a taboo one. No one likes to talk about the symptoms, everyone wants to, excuse the pun, poo poo, any oddities dealing with their bathroom habits, but you know what is even less fun to talk about? Dying! Dying is way less fun to talk about. It’s also way less fun talking about how your daughters no longer have their daddy to cheer them on & off the soccer ⚽️ field, or to watch them graduate high school, or to talk to them about boys, or to have their daddy talk to boys about treating them right, or way off into the future, how they won’t have their daddy to walk them down the aisle at their wedding.

I’ve heard there are 5 stages to grief, (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, & acceptance) but that you don’t really move through them in a linear line, you bounce around in and out of them like a person with attention deficit disorder. Well, I’ll share, up until recently, I don’t think I’ve really spent any time in the anger stage. Maybe I’ve been able to avoid it because my friends have loved me so well. But spoiler alert, I think I’m starting to dip my toes in that miserable pool of emotion. I’m angry. I’m angry that my husband, who always teased me about being a closet hypochondriac, didn’t do every single thing in his power to make sure he didn’t leave us alone. I’m angry that he didn’t even tell me anything was wrong for at least 6 months, because I know without a shadow of doubt, I would have Googled that mess & nagged until he literally got his toosh to the doctor. I’m angry that I’m alone. I’m angry that when I look at the trash can & think someone needs to take that outside, that it takes me a second to realize that someone is me. It’s all me. Everything falls on my shoulders all alone from now  until forever. I’m mad. I’m angry, & I’m sad. 

But the only thing I seem to be able to do with that anger is swing the fire 🔥 out of some kettle bells, yell at cars in traffic, & use it to fuel ⛽️ my message about getting screened. Yes, the prep stinks (actually quite literally 😂) but it is sooooo much better than the alternative. If you love someone, anyone, a person or a pet, or someone, anyone, again person or pet, loves you, GET SCREENED. Supposedly all signs are suggesting that by 2030 colorectal cancer will be the leading cause of cancer deaths for people under 50. Now by 2030 I’ll be fortunate if I’m still here, but by 2030 both of my two beautiful daughters, because now they have a family history, should have been screened a few times. But they wouldn’t be, nobody would be, if we didn’t talk about it & make it as common place as getting your annual physical or your twice a year dental 🦷 cleaning. I totally get that Heaven is going to be Agh-mazing, but those people & pets left behind sure would miss you here on earth. So if nothing else, don’t do it for you, do it for the love of someone else.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go take out the trash.

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Thankful for much, even the suck..

So, here we are, facing the 1st of the Hallmark holidays without Jamey, Thanksgiving. 

Thanksgiving used to be kind of a big deal for us, because it was the 1st big family gathering Jamey & I, several years ago, finally felt equipped & ready to host on our own. Early marriage we always trekked it back down to Florida to be with my parents & grandparents, but once we lost my grans & moved into a house with a little more elbow room, we were ready to host. Now that’s not to say we did do so seamlessly, as it took us a few years to get the hang of it, but we did it & loved it. 

However, we most certainly learned a few things along the way. We learned that if Jamey was intent on smoking the bird 🦃 in the Big Green Egg, Thanksgiving lunch @ 12:00 PM was not a good idea, because it meant he (we) had to stay up most of the night monitoring the temperature, & you can’t stay up all night without imbibing 🥃🍺🍷 at least a wee bit, so subsequent feasts were all dinners versus lunches. I learned that it’s really over kill to deep fry the onions on your back porch in your new Fry Daddy for the green bean casserole, & store bought, fried & dried, onions are really delicious when comparing the ROI. Yes, lots of tweaks were made over the years. We even moved the festivities out to Smyer Lake one year, where the kitchen appliances may not have been as nice, but the ambiance was top drawer. But then Covid 🦠😷 side swiped our newly acquired hosting hats, & we had to settle for a low-key family of 4. Oh, how innocent & naive I was to think that Thanksgiving with just the 4 of us during a pandemic was rather somber & sad. I mean what I wouldn’t give to go back in time & relish it more, appreciate it more, cherish it more, & imprint every minute of it into my wretched memory more. Just writing that makes me sob big hard tears that I’ve been managing to keep at bay for longer & longer periods of time as of late, but I guess it just goes to show you that grief lives in a deep dark well that never runs dry. 😥 But despite the tears, I’m truly thankful for the many, many happy memories. I just sometimes still can’t believe that they really are just memories, and that realization sucks, but life goes on for the rest of us.

Our “feast” this year will be small & mostly ordered from a local delicatessen, but we will get by & try to focus on the many, many good things & countless blessings in our lives. For example, our oldest has been receiving college acceptances & both girls just might be able to squeak out an all A report card. And friends! Oh my goodness our friends! Friends continue to show up & support us in the most unexpected & beautiful ways, whether it be by coming to the the 18th Annual Finish The Fight Iron Bowl Kickoff Casino Party last week, or by stomping out my boa that may or may not have caught fire 🔥 recently, or by leaving THE. MOST. DELICIOUS. loaf of “Rosemary Remembrance” bread on our front porch. (It was sooo good; I’ve even asked for the recipe & I don’t bake, & I’ve never made 🍞 bread in my life!) The kindnesses & support are nothing short of phenomenal, & I’m so thankful! But the suck is never too far off. In the last 2 weeks, 2 dear & longtime friends have shared with me that loved ones in their inner circles have been diagnosed with CRC. It feels like it’s everywhere, but my daughter says it’s just because I’m hyper focused on CRC. Maybe so, but I’d be negligent if I didn’t put in a plug here for everyone reading this now, if you haven’t yet, schedule your colonoscopy sooner versus later. I don’t want anyone else to feel compelled to write a grief blog, maybe some sort of happy blog, but let’s prevent anymore pathetic grief blogs.

I’ll close out this post on Thanksgiving Eve, with a PSA that’s not about colonoscopies: Love on your honeys. Squeeze ‘em tight. Don’t sigh or fight if someone overcooks, undercooks, or forgets to cook anything. Just squeeze their hands & give thanks to God, & try with all your might to remember & appreciate it all. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

P.S.  Apologies for not posting last week.  I was running around with my hair on fire (It was apparently out of control!) and pealing in everywhere I went on two wheels. Then throw in one of your besties visiting from out of town, a fundraiser to “Finish the Fight” with a dozen or so friends all gathered in one place, and journaling / blogging was just not happening. 😊

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My Grief Tiger

In some ways I think Jamey would love that I am comparing grief to a tiger since he was such an avid Auburn fan (though for his college football loving 🏈 ❤️ heart’s sake, I’m kind of thankful he’s in heaven and not able to watch Auburn play 🏈 these days. 😂) 

But I think Aubie is a much more lovable tiger than what I have come to know as the ‘Grief Tiger.’  I first started thinking about grief as a tiger 🐅 after listening to a podcast about grief by Anderson Copper, All There Is, and it resonated with me.  In the podcast, Stephen Colbert says that those who mourn are forever after accompanied by a tiger 🐯 who sits next to them for the rest of their lives taking up space.  (I also appreciate that he didn’t use an elephant as a metaphor, because we were a complete house divided when it came to college football, & I’d like to keep my mascot, Big Al, in a happy, positive light. 😂🐘 🏈 RTR!)

But I totally get the ever-present tiger metaphor, because with time, I am discovering that I can have moments of real happiness and laughter, but then a split second later, I can feel deep sadness and heartache, like a homesickness that cuts straight to the core of my soul. 

Sometimes that sadness leaks out onto my face, or appears in my eyes, or can be heard in my voice, or felt by the sudden extreme heaviness of my feet. And sadness is such a vagabond, for it just shows up, unannounced, & at the darndest times. Like when on a Microsoft Teams meeting with my manager last week, our landline, (yes, we still have one of those ☎️ 😂 mainly reserved for telemarketers) it decided to join our call. I was on camera chatting it up, & then that d**** tiger got up and growled right in my face & slashed my heart with a razor-sharp claw, right as Jamey’s voice started explaining, loud & clear, that ‘we’ can’t come to the phone… It undid me. And right there on my video call, with my manager (who is actually also a dear friend – treasures in the darkness right there), I had to bury my hands in my face & sob 😭 for a moment. Other times I can just feel the warm, foul breath of the “Grief Tiger” on my neck, or the swish of its tail as he circles me staring me down & daring me to make a sound & carry on. 

But fortunately for me, as I have come to know him, the “Grief Tiger” is not just your regular old tiger.  The grief tiger, while ever present, does sleep a lot, praise God, allowing the mourner, me, to function. I attribute much of my tiger’s sleepiness to the fact that I wore him out with my “anticipatory grief” the whole 10 months of Jamey’s fight against cancer. I literally cried every day & most nights, frequently & hard, but the thing about a sleeping tiger is that you (I) never know what memory, what sound, what smell, what phrase, or what place will wake him up. But when he is awake, he often pounces, and his claws are sharp, and his fangs cut deep. 

I can only hope that eventually, with time, those claws and fangs will dull, and while I am guessing his attacks will still hurt, I hope I’m building up some thick ole scar tissue that will protect my heart & prevent the attacks from ripping through me as completely, or hurting quite as much in the future as they still do today. But whether sleeping or awake, I am coming to realize that he will always be with me, my “plus one” for the rest of my life. Maybe I’ll luck out, maybe tigers don’t really like turkey, because otherwise, oh what fun Thanksgiving will be. 

🐯+ 🦃 = 💔❤️‍🩹

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A Work in Progress & Progressively Working

Friends, 

Through all the grief 😢 support systems & tools I’ve been leaning into since Jamey’s passing, one of the things I keep reading / hearing about is that it can be helpful to channel your hurt, anger, & bewilderment into something positive. Well, in the truest form of love, I think Jamey, knowing that already, put things into motion, before he left me, that would not only help others, but help me too. By standing up the Hollingsworth CRC Awareness Fund (HCRCA) he not only actively modeled the second greatest commandment in Matthew 22: 39 “…You shall love your neighbor as yourself” but by asking me & the girls & his dear, dear friends to champion his vision & see it through, he is, from heaven, not only actively saving others from his fate, but saving me from an abyss of negativity & loss. Words really can’t express (though I do tend to speak & write a lot them 😂) how therapeutic it’s truly been to feel like I/we, with God’s blessing, have the power to turn our nightmare into good for someone else.

     (Genesis 50:20 “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today.”)

 Tuesday night the HCRCA board met, & it filled my heart to see all the good work we are all working on together. We have so many events & message campaigns in the works, it’s truly flabbergasting, & I know Jamey would be proud. (He might also have a few opinions & tweaks he’d make, but …) I won’t hit you with a long list of things to come, but I will leave you with two things.

  1. If you are in the Birmingham area, or within proximity & would like to enjoy a fun night out for a good cause, Uber over & join me & the other HCRCA board members on 11/17 for the Iron Bowl Kickoff Casino Cruise. This year I’m the Honorary Women’s Committee Chair, & while my date is in heaven this year, I’d love to have as many friends who are able, to come & keep me company. 
  2. Please watch & share this < 3-minute video with everyone you know between the ages of 40 – 55. 

Until next week, I remain a work in progress & progressively working. 

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Public Journaling: To Share or Not Share?

Someone recently asked me why I feel the need to publicly write about my grief?  At first, I will admit, that question kind of ruffled my feathers a bit, but it’s a valid question.  She wasn’t asking me after all, why I felt the need to write at all.  I think the therapeutic nature of writing has well been established and accepted.  Is it therapeutic for everyone?  Of course not! For some, writing is about as much fun as manipulating spreadsheets is for me.  Zilch! But after pondering her question, I think my answer is a mish mash of a lot of different things. 

1. American culture doesn’t really have a tradition of acknowledging someone in mourning.  It was once commonplace for a widow to wear black for a full year. I think there was something beautiful in that.  Mourning garments were easily recognizable, and I am sure it thereby offered the mourner grace. It’s been a little over 3 months for me, and while grief in general sucks, I am fully aware that I have been exceptionally blessed. I was able to take 10-weeks to try and get my life and my head together before going back to work, which is a luxury of the highest order denied many.  I also have an amazingly strong network of friends and a stellar faith family who have & continue to support me in countless ways! But do I feel 100% myself again after 14 weeks?  Heck no!  Do I still choke up at the darndest times?  Yes.  Did I have a full out boo-hoo session into the scruff of my very squooshy dog’s neck JUST the other night?  Yes! But I know Cosbo 🐶will never talk smack about me or make me feel weak for again being knocked sideways & onto my knees by grief. Grief is a sneaky B****! But still, I think wearing something that identified me as ‘in mourning’ would be helpful.  I think it would explain my state of mind now, and cut me some slack here and there for those who don’t know me well, but then again, we live in a broken world, and perhaps mourning garb today would just make widows targets for scamming. I mean I already question if I’m getting taken advantage of every now and again. Like did I really need 4 new tires this week???

2.  By sharing my journey, I am finding comfort and common ground with others who are grieving or have grieved the loss of someone they love.  There is a kinship between mourners.  Like Harry Potter who was able to see the thestral horses because he had experienced the loss of his parents, mourners are now all a part of the same sad club, and we will forever see things differently than our friends and family who have been fortunate enough to have not gone through this hell yet.  There is also comfort and camaraderie knowing you aren’t the only one who is hurting and that there are others out there who just sort of “get it.” Plus, grief is not often talked about in our society today, so none of us really know how to comfort and support those who are grieving.  And so, I guess I am also trying to share my journey to serve as one relatable experience for others to help them understand and empathize with people in their lives, should they or someone they know experience deep loss.  

3.  And finally, I think I am enjoying sharing my journey, because I loved Jamey so much.  I love talking about him.  I love talking with other people who loved Jamey.  I think that the sadness one feels is in direct proportion to the love that was lost, and just like when you are giddy with new love and want the world to know, I want the world to know that I lost a great love, a great man, a great friend, & a fantastic father to our girls. It still boggles my mind that he is not coming home ever again. It boggles my mind that the world keeps spinning and that time keeps moving on, and look out, ⚠️ the holidays are right around the corner, but Jamey isn’t. 

And to further support my weekly practice of public journaling, I will share an excerpt I read in one of my daily meditations about grief called, ‘Healing After a Loss.’

“To read the works of others who have gone through grief is another way of keeping the process going, and of finding another understanding friend. When a writer describes for me how I’m feeling, she or he becomes, my friend; I am not alone. Somehow if that person has achieved some peace with the pain, enough to write it down. Maybe I too, will find my way through this.” – Martha Whitmore Hickman.

My hope is to not only write the pain out of my heart, but be a friend in grief to others and maybe encourage other believers in their own struggles when they read how I believe He (with a capitol H) is walking with me & continues to strengthen me.

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Rings & Middle Fingers 💍 🖕🏼 Oh My!

So, I’ll start by copying a phrase I’ve heard a friend use. I believe I’m somewhat of an “emotional anorexic.” Don’t worry; it’s not anything clinical or worrisome, but when I get sad, like really, really sad, I also tend to lose my appetite, & thereby pounds. But again, don’t worry.  I am consciously eating everyday, & since I’ve gone back to work, I’ve been eating more. (Why is that? I guess working makes me hungry? 🤷🏼‍♀️)

Anyway, I remember there was a time after a relationship break-up when I also lost quite a few pounds in a six-month period just a few years after college. It worked to my advantage then though, because that was right when I met Jamey. I was at a Christmas cocktail party, wearing a nearly backless dress when a friend pointed me out to Jamey, and he supposedly said “Dude! That girl is wayyyy out of my league!” Clearly, I wasn’t. I was 💯 in Jamey’s league, but still we talked about that night for years afterwards, & he always claimed to have said that. In fact, he even referenced that night, that dress, & his reaction to me, all teeny tiny in it, in the last voicemail message he left me from his hospice bed in July.  (FYI, I will never ever delete that voicemail.)  And of-course being the emotional & sentimental keeper of things that I am, I still have that dress too, though I would never again wear it at my age. (Not only is it practically backless, it’s also scandalously short! 😳) 

All that to say, I have dropped several pounds during our cancer journey and Jamey’s passing. So much so, that my wedding band was starting to slip off my finger when I exercised. 

So, I started researching what to do. What’s acceptable? What did other widows do about wearing their wedding bands? I talked to widows. I paid attention @ grief groups to what other people had or didn’t have on their fingers. And basically, I realized it’s a free-for-all out there. Some take them off and put them in a drawer forever more.  Some move them to their right hand. Others wear them on their ring finger forever. Some have them made into a more fashionable piece of jewelry.  None of those options seemed right to me. But as my ring 💍 got more & more slippery, it weighed on me. Finally, one night while talking to a friend on the ☎️ phone, they clarified it for me by saying, “Dany, you have to do whatever feels right to you, & you alone.” I don’t know why hearing that was so freeing, but it was, and it helped me turn down the interference in my head about what other people did & didn’t do or what Uncle Google thought I should or shouldn’t do. And so, I was able to make a decision that feels right for me & me alone.

As such, this week I had my ring sized, and I moved it over one finger. I envision wearing it forever, but not on my ring finger of my left hand. So, I moved it to my middle finger of my left hand where it can still nestle up against the finger where it’s been for almost 22 years. The few days that it was at the jewelers, and I couldn’t wear it at all, my hand felt naked, and I felt off kilter, which confirmed for me that NOT wearing it was not an option for me.

So, as with everything else these days, here I go alone on my own forging my own new path. (Coincidentally, I can’t find any Google articles, or any widows who seem to have chosen to wear their wedding bands on the middle finger of their left hand like me, but again, I seem to march to the beat of a different drummer, so that doesn’t surprise me.)  But when I picked it up from the jeweler, the same young clerk who helped me mount Jamey’s wedding band on a necklace was there. This is the same clerk who had a tattoo of the same inscription we had put in Jamey’s wedding band, P2. To me, I felt like this was another God wink. I felt like God was condoning my decision and giving me a nod and a wink that I was doing the right thing, & that He blessed my decision too. I know I’m probably reading too much into things, but it gives me comfort, nonetheless. 

So, there it is. My ring has moved. I’ve read that wearing rings, rings of any kind, on your middle finger, of either hand, is symbolic of power. I don’t know about all that, but I definitely feel stronger when I look 👀 down & see my wedding bands. I feel like I’m carrying a piece of Jamey and that he is still with me, still cheering me on, still encouraging me from above. He’s just changed seats in the cheering section, but he’s with me still, in my (bruised) heart & on my hand. ❤️‍🩹💍

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2 Steps Forward 1 Step Back

I literally just woke up crying. It sucks so much trying & mostly holding it together all day, only to have my subconscious wake me up crying in my sleep, & that’s only after it finally allowed me to sleep in the 1st place. 

I feel like I’ve been doing so👌🏻 “ok” lately. I’ve even had spells of happiness, & I thought 💭 I can do this. We, the girls & I, can do this. 

But I guess, two steps forward & one step back, is still at least one step forward, right? 🦶

After wrestling with insomnia for three + hours, I finally gave up & turned on the light (a sad perk of sleeping alone) to do my Bible study. In a better place, & with a new sense of peace & calm, I was able to go back to sleep only to have a Jamey dream. 

Several friends have shared their Jamey dreams with me. Theirs are always happy & contain messages from Jamey about how he feels grrrrrreat, & how heaven is awesome! Now I’ve had a few Jamey dreams myself, but they are very infrequent, & they have yet to be happy. They have moments of happy, like in one he hugged me, in another we held hands which was so marvelous. It’s amazing how much I miss hugs & hand holding, but no messages of peace or love 💕 or instructions from above are ever shared with me. 

In this last one, he & I were sitting at a table together going through the mail. (Can you say mundane??) I opened & read a sympathy card while he watched me. I can still see his face in my head watching me react to the card. I started holding back tears & clinching my fists. (I’m not sure I even clinch my fists ✊🏻 in real life, but again, cue the warped subconscious.) He asked me “What is it?” I told him about the card & started explaining that it just hurt so, so much. Then he asked me if I still loved him. 😳 As if I could EVER not! And all I could do in my dream was close my eyes 👀 & nod yes over & over while tears 😭poured out of my eyes. I woke up like that, all wet faced & sad. 

So, yay! Here I am, all rested & refreshed & ready to face another day, but with a bit of guilt woven in. I tell you, this whole widow’s walk is complicated for sure. Sometimes I feel strong & capable for holding it together and making plans for the future, mostly plans Jamey & I had already discussed as possible options I should consider, but still plans. Other times, I feel guilty for feeling hopeful about those plans, for living without him. I’ve been told how blessed I am. I know that to be true. But it’s not like I wouldn’t trade my blessings for a chance to rewind my path & change directions if I could, but I can’t, and the last time God & I talked, earlier this morning, He wasn’t asking me for advice or any navigational tips. 

I know I most certainly didn’t choose to walk this path, & I’m just shuffling along as best as I can figure out how. Some days, heck some moments, are better than others. Some days, again truly some moments, I’m stronger than others, but it apparently is not yet my turn to pass through the veil, so I’m just keeping on, putting one foot in front of the other & seeing where I end up, but walking forward doesn’t mean I don’t ache or that I don’t still love. It means life keeps going, & so too must I, regardless of what my subconscious self is throwing at me. 

But I do think I’ll pause for a bit soon & tend to a bit of personal business. It’s time to prep that wicked & backstabbing subconscious of mine for upcoming sale. I envision my marketplace post sounding something like, ‘For Sale: One Twisted, but in “Good” Condition (you have to sugar coat things in sales, right?) Subconscious. All offers will be considered, because this one is no longer serving me or my heart ❤️‍🩹 well. 

😢

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Jamey and the Coat of Many Colors

So, backstory: I often told Jamey he was like a modern-day Joseph, as in Joseph and the coat of many colors. (If you are unfamiliar with the story of Joseph or want a refresher on the story, you can check out a synopsis here.)  Basically, Jamey was the last of four (not 12) boys, but unlike his three brothers before him, he was given the opportunity to attend not only a private high school, but a private undergraduate college too, his own little coat of many colors.  And while I don’t think he was braggadocios like Joseph, that just wasn’t who Jamey was at his core, he was always humble and modest, I was his wife, and not his brother, so I don’t know how it felt to be his brother during that time. But I do know for certain that they would have NEVER thrown him into a pit or sold him into slavery, though I do recall some good healthy, brotherly teasing during a particular toast 🥂 at our rehearsal dinner many moons ago.  

But the comparison didn’t stop there for me, for in my eyes, everything Jamey touched turned out well for him and with the most ah-mazing timing. For example, as soon as we moved into a new home that was a bit of stretch for us, he would get promoted right before our first mortgage payment was due and his raise would exactly equal the difference in our mortgage, and it didn’t just happen once, it happened all the time. He was brilliant and blessed, and it was evident, to me at least, that like Joseph, God was with Jamey.  (Genesis 39:2 “The Lord was with Joseph, and he became a successful man, and he was in the house of his Egyptian master.” 

Fast forward to today, and I still see this comparison, even in his death.  Because Joseph had so impressed the Pharaoh, he was promoted to a position of power and able to store up grain, saving the people in Egypt, and even his own family in Canaan from famine.  Now, obviously, Jamey was not much of a grain storer, (though I have come to realize he was a bit of a paper storer. I might even go so far as to call him a paper pack rat, as I have found project files dating from the early 2000s and then sentimental paper files filled with email correspondence and receipts from when he planned our 👰🤵 honeymoon. Confession, I too am keeping those particular paper files.) But by establishing the Hollingsworth Colorectal Cancer (CRC) Awareness Fund, he is saving people, not from famine, but from a totally preventable cancer, that if caught during early detection, can truly save lives. And so though knowing that doesn’t make the loss of my husband or our girl’s father, hurt any less, it does give me pause and remind me that despite my only child nature, Jamey’s sole purpose on this earth wasn’t about me.  😯 LOL!  Which also means that his loss isn’t really about me either, though losing him has irrevocably changed the trajectory of my life forever.  But I mean, if we think about it, none of us are meant to live on this earth for our own purpose, but for His purpose. 

We are all just characters in God’s story, and we are not even the main characters, we are minor characters moving the plot forward.  So, while I personally feel like a pretty sad and tragic character, and I cry at the slightest bit of reflection, I am honored that God chose my husband to save others.  And throughout Jamey’s fight against cancer and even after, I have had a countless number of friends and acquaintances, near and far, tell me that they scheduled their colonoscopy and had precancerous polyps removed all because they had read one of my Caring Bridge posts or even this blog, and were motivated to get screened.  How ah-mazing is that?!  So maybe, just maybe, God is choosing to use me and my verbosity for His purpose too.  Maybe, by me sharing our story, others will continue to be motivated to be screened, so other characters in His story don’t have to lose their life partner or father or friend or brother or uncle or son or colleague. 

And while I might consider myself a tragic character in this chapter of God’s story, I have to also consider it a privilege that He just might be using me for His purpose, and His purpose, while most definitly not the way I would have written this story, will be for good. I put my faith and trust in His word. “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11 

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Fall Planting 🍁 

Fall Planting 🍁 

     Yesterday I decided to spend part of a glorious Fall Day, my last Monday before returning to work, digging out my summer plants from my four deck hanging baskets that Jamey had gifted me several Mother’s Days ago and plant some Fall friendly beauties.  I don’t know why I have never actually done this before, but this weekend when a mom friend was telling me on the sidelines that is how she had spent her pre-soccer ⚽️ game time, I was at first like, “Why in the world would you do that now, when we are starting to have cool crisp mornings, weather clearly unfit for summer flowers?”  (Obviously, I missed this adult homemaking skill, likely because I did not grow up with my biological Gardner father and his green thumb 👍🏻 gene did not get passed down to me. In fact, I used to tell Jamey I could only keep so many things alive at once, and at the time, our young girls trumped our houseplants.  Well, they are teenagers now, and they are both a wee bit more self-sufficient, so I am “branching” out so to speak.)

     In the past, during this time of year I have simply doubled down, and being a nurturer by nature, I would just keep watering 👩‍🌾 and fertilizing and watering and fertilizing and trying to squeeze the last bit of life out my tired, sad little summer flowers 💐 all the way into 🎃October. A process that sucked the joy out of their remaining bit of photosynthesis and any pleasure I used to get from tending to them. Probably out of desperation to try and please me, they too kept literally hanging on in their hanging baskets, but they generally started to look like Halloween 👻 flowers, all withered and skeletal. 

     But yesterday, with my hands wrist deep in soil, the parallels to human life, and especially to the end of human life, were suddenly very apparent to me.  During Jamey’s last few weeks of life, the hospice team kept telling me “It was time,” and that I needed to let Jamey know it was O.K. to let go. At first, I didn’t listen to them.  He may have been in a hospital bed in the middle of our den, taking pain pills the very second the bottle said he could again, but he was still in there.  He was still enjoying Phish🐟🎶 concerts on tv, we were still talking and holding hands, and so I kept watering and fertilizing. But as the pain got worse (for both of us), and his lucidity started to fade, he was kind of like my withering summer flowers that I kept pushing to hang on.  To be honest, he was fighting the inevitable too, and so when I did muster up the strength to push words out of my mouth between my sobs telling him that though I loved him with my whole ❤️ heart, and that though things would never be as good without him, and that though I would miss him forever and ever, the girls and I would be o.k. and we would find our way, because he had loved us so well, so he could now let go and be at peace.  Out of the blue (also the name of his favorite restaurant in Ireland) he would come back to me and pat my head and tell me he wasn’t going anywhere. I think, like my tired summer flowers, he and I were trying so hard to hang on and please one another that it wasn’t until my aching and aging lower back sent me to my bed versus another night on our soft couch for the first time in 3 weeks, that he did let go and walk into the light. 

    The hospice team and friends have told me repeatedly that is how it often goes.  The dying often don’t want to pass with their primary caregiver at their side.  Why?  I don’t know.  But yesterday, as I stood on our deck with my new Fall cabbages and pansies at my feet, I was at first stupefied.  I didn’t know what to do with the struggling summer flowers taking up residence in my hanging baskets.  Should I replant them somewhere else in my yard???  How could I in good conscience tell these sweet flowers who had delighted me for four months that it was time to let go? As ridiculous as it sounds, I actually shed tears 😢 as I dug up my summer beauties, but as I did so, I saw how brittle their little plant bodies had become, and I was sure that letting them go was the humane thing to do.  They were never meant for Fall.  They had lived and flourished to their fullest, and they had brought me joy during a very dark and sad summer, but their time was over.  Like Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 states, “For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.  A time to be born and a time to die.  A time to plant and a time to harvest…A time to mourn and a time to dance…”  The summer flowers had to go.  Replanting them elsewhere would have been cruel.  I needed to let them go as much as they needed me to dig them up.  And as for me and our girls, we are all three clearly in a time of mourning, but I do hope that one day we will all dance 🪩 again.  But for now, I am cognizant that God is in the process of not only pruning our family 2.0, but also our individual ❤️‍🩹 hearts, and I look forward to the day that we three are more fruitful and full with the growth that HE is planting in our hearts, but that day is not today.