Making Progress

I am pleased to report that I am making visible progress in several areas in my life.

I visited my doctor recently, and I have finally been able to remove meds rather than add them.  We halved my anti-depressant dose and removed the Abilify and Ambien.  It took about six days to wean off the Ambien, and my sleep pattern isn't completely back to normal, but the fact that I can sleep without the meds is fan-freakin'-tastic.

I also went on a writing retreat this week and finished editing my book (it comes in at a whopping 410 pages).  The hardest part wasn't the editing; it was when I began reading the entries starting around last July.  Seeing what we were doing this time last year; how we were making plans; trying to figure out our bifurcated life and seeing what we could do to make it work because we thought we needed a long-term solution.  We believed Patrick had a future.  Seeing the hope I had.  The fear.  The naivety.  Reading those entries again was gut wrenching.  It made me cry, but I wasn't a functionless puddle.  I was still functional.  I could still edit.  And yet, I wasn't blocking the feelings.  I let myself have them.  It felt like real progress.

In other news, I am starting back to work in mid-September.  I am really excited to see my co-workers and finally feel like a productive member of society again.  Phil and I have found a house to buy that will give us a fresh start, Mira has given the house her seal of approval, and we should be closing in October.

Fall is coming.  It's going to be full, but I'm feeling optimistic.  As Phil and I like to say, "We're standing up and looking forward."  Not to mention, pumpkin everything is coming. :)  So, here's to my progress.  Let's hope it continues.

I Dreamed of You

As I headed out to Denver for my week of writing and relaxation, I found myself thinking a lot about Patrick.  Between swiftly approaching anniversaries and editing my manuscript in which he features prominently, my mind has been full of thoughts and pictures of him, so it was no surprise that I dreamed of him the night before the trip.  Thus, I found myself sitting in the airport, wanting desperately to write something, but not feeling like working on my book.  I was surprised to discover that I wanted to write more poetry.  See, I am not really a poetry person, or, at least I didn't use to be.  Apparently, among all the changes that I have undergone from these experiences, feeling like writing more poetry is another to add to the list.  So, sitting in the Detroit airport, sun blazing in the windows, I wrote a poem to Patrick.

I Dreamed of You

I dreamed of you last night;
that you were here with me.
I held you in my arms again
and rocked you fast asleep.

Closed eyes framed with lashes.
Your soft, contented sighs.
My heart swelled with maternal love
that made up for your cries.

Your small but wild patch
of red and curly hair
matched with a wicked grin and laugh
you never failed to share.

You wore a hooded shirt
of sea foam green and white.
It almost hid the cannula
that wrapped your face so tight.

You were alive again.
Just like in your last days.
I was so sure that it was real,
so piercing was your gaze.

Instead, it was a dream
But one I'm glad I had.
I got to feel your love again,
although it made me sad.

And though sometimes I'm broken,
and struggle with dismay.
Knowing you still watch over me
helped get me through my day.

Untethered

I've had a rough day.  Between witnessing the baptism of two adorable baby boys at church this morning--which reminded me of the two times we tried and failed to do the same for Patrick--and the realization that friendships have changed--resulting in feelings of loneliness and not belonging--I have just felt like running away and starting over.  Fortunately, I had someone who could talk me down from the proverbial ledge and got me through the worst of it.  And then I did what I do best--processed through writing.  Here, without further comment, is the result.


Untethered

I tried to put down deep roots.
I thought that they were strong.
Until the wind uprooted me,
And taught me I was wrong.

Like a kite, free of its flyer;
Like a tent, with pegs pulled free;
I have become untethered,
From the life I built for me.

My thoughts are unrelenting,
Regardless of their truth.
I hope things will get better,
Although I have no proof.

So, with a faith that's shaken;
With a heart shattered and frail;
I try again to take root,
Before the next wind gale.