Soap

This normal looking package of soap has had me in tears all morning... It is one of the last things I bought my husband before he died, and the first of his bathroom items I'm actively going to get rid of.  He told me just before he died that he needed soap and obviously the package was so fresh, he hadn't had time to even open it yet. 

Unlike many widows, when he died I didn't keep his stuff around.  I packed up the things that I really wanted--shirts he had worn that hadn't been washed so I could retain his scent, his cane, his wallet and keys, his hearing aids and wedding ring.  I gave his family the things they wanted, and then I sat with everything for a while.  After 6 months, I cleared everything out.  His office furniture, the clean clothes from his dresser and closet, his shoes.  I kept his coats, a few articles of clothing I could wear, and everything else went.  Except his bathroom stuff. 

The other day, we were in the bathroom cleaning, and Leah opened Mike's drawer.  His razor, deodorant, a box of Q Tips, and a few other odds and ends remained.  I had already packed up and put away the shaver I used to cut his hair, his cologne, and toothbrush.  But these other things had just been sitting in the drawer, and the soap was under the sink.  Leah found it all, looked me square in the eye and said, "Mama, it's time." 

But I can't.  I tried, and I have tried to.  But I just sat on the floor and cried.  So we put everything in the bottom drawer, and left it.  It all feels too personal, too close to home to discard or to give away.  His razor touched his skin, there are bits of hair clinging to it.  I just can't.

But the soap, although it was his, it's just wasteful.  I gave a couple of bottles of electric pre-shave that had never been opened to friends, but no one wanted soap.  I guess no one really uses soap any more, preferring bubbly, soft body wash. 

Last week, I had lunch with friends of Mike's.  Their son, Justin, died less than a year before Mike died.  He was in his 20's and died of carbon monoxide poisoning.  It was devastating and at the time, Mike was so upset and we never thought such a thing happened to people we knew.  And then it happened to us.  To me.  These lovely people have turned some of their grief into a mission at their church to help in Haiti, and went to Haiti last year.  They are going again this year and I asked for a list of supplies of things they needed to take with them.  Soap was on the list.

So Mike's soap is going to Haiti.  I was fairly sure that there was a bar missing from the package, so I was happy to see that the whole thing is in tact.  I'm happy it's going to a place where people so desperately need it.  I'm glad it's being taken by Mike's friends.  I know it's ridiculous to cry over soap.  I don't want to read too much into it, about how this unopened package of soap shows how life just ends and we leave stuff behind, unopened and unused.  It's easy to ascribe meaning to everything, every little tiny thing.  At the end of the day, it's a package of soap, it's not Mike. 

So why can't I stop crying?

Big Update

It has been a LOOOOOOOOOOONG time since I updated my blog, and given that I intended to write a few times each week, the fact that I haven't blogged in well over a month is inexcusable.  I have travel logs to post about our Disney Cruise and Easter in Chicago, we've started Geocaching again, which I could write about, I have lots of opinions to share about current events, and even a few book reviews to post, not to mention the mundane issues of my daily life.  But I've been working on a major life change and I thought that was as good a place to start as any.

I haven't posted anything about this to Facebook, nor have I told anyone but my closest friends and family that my life will change dramatically in 2014.  I am about to have a gastric sleeve done, God willing by the end of the month. 

Having gastric bypass surgery was something I wanted to do 15 years ago when it began to emerge in the mainstream.  Then I met Mike.  And Mike was seriously opposed to it.  He absolutely loved me the way I was.  So even though a couple of doctors mentioned having surgeries in passing, I always didn't bother doing it because I was loved and accepted and that was good enough for me.

I was six years old when I first realized I was fat.  I vividly remember that day, sitting with my friends in the cafeteria.  All of us went around and said how much we weighed, and at the table, I weighed the most.  I remember being bribed, cajoled, guilted, shamed, and coerced into dieting and losing weight by family members, friends, and doctors most of my life.  It was not until I was an adult that I finally had a doctor treat me like a human being and see beyond the number on the scale to talk to me like a person.  It wasn't perfect, I did have the most wonderful GP in northern Virginia, but whenever I went in to see his assistant, she would tell me how I had to lose weight immediately, even if all I went in for was a cold.

"Have you lost weight?" was a common refrain, and at times I was thankful for it when I had, but mostly I hadn't lost weight.  And I kind of resented people noticing my body.  I have always been very modest and find my body deeply personal, hiding it under ill fitting clothes, squirreling myself away in dressing rooms, refusing to shop for clothes with other people for the most part. 

Six years ago, I lost 80 pounds.  I felt totally different, I felt physically great, I had energy, I could wear cute clothes, my body fit into seats and bathrooms and people held doors open for me and looked at me and treated me differently. 

When Leah was born, I was exhausted and began to eat whatever was quick and handy.  When Mike died, I turned to food for comfort.  I've gained all that 80 pounds back.

In August 2012, just 6 weeks after Mike died, I went to Leah's preschool orientation.  As I left, two men drove up in a van next to me.  I was stopped at the crosswalk and they were stopped at the light.  They began screaming at me from the window of their van--all kinds of lewd comments about the way I looked and what they would do to me.  When I started to walk, they followed me slowly, making comments the whole way.  This harassment lasted 2 solid minutes.  I sat in my car and sobbed and I thought, "No one is ever going to love me again."  I came home in tears, and let my mother think that I was just upset about Leah going to school and about Mike, but in fact, I was embarrassed, scared, and furious.  How dare those two treat me like that?  They didn't know my story . They didn't know the hows and whys and whos.  They didn't care that I was someone's mother, someone's widow, someone's daughter, someone's sister, someone's aunt, someone's friend.  They didn't care that people loved me or cared about me.  They saw not a human being, but an object.  Something to ridicule, mock, and feel disgusted by.  I wish I could say it was the only time I had ever encountered this kind of behavior, but it isn't.  Not by a long shot.

I briefly detoured into dating sites for a while not too long ago, and either I was propositioned for sex as an object of a fetish or I was the target of scammers looking for desperate, lonely women to scam.  I have always been 'friend zoned" by men, good, great, but not enough.  My daughter wants to know why I don't look like other moms at her school.  The subject of my weight is something brought up by family members a lot--not directly but in 'suggestions' of what I could eat, how I could eat, buying clothing that doesn't really fit because I'm "not really that big, right?  Oh my God, you are?  Oh my God!"

For the first year Mike was gone, I did a good job of stuffing my feelings inside.  But in the past 10 months, I really have had to make a conscious effort to let things out.  I knew it was killing me.  I knew the grief would be hard, but it has at times been unbearable.  And to face a cruel world without the one person I always felt totally accepted me 100% has been the worst of it. 

In December, I had an eye opener.  I was so sad and I called my father just to talk and hopefully feel better.  And he said, "You know what would make you feel better?  Go down to McDonalds and get an Egg Nog Shake."  And I realized, "This is what has gotten me to where I am today.  When I feel like crap, I go find something to eat until I feel better."  And then I realized, I don't actually feel better, I still feel badly, but then I feel a heaping helping of guilt and self hatred on top of whatever feeling it was.  I knew, I knew then that I had to change my life. 

I started doing some research on bariatric surgery and found several options that my insurance covered.  I went to a couple of seminars and ultimately, I chose to go with Dr. Halmi and Bluepoint Surgical Group.  I met with him in January and during the course of our consultation, we decided I would be a good gastric sleeve candidate.   (I don't intend to become a bariatric surgery educator, but there are 3 types of bariatric surgery: LapBand, sleeve, gastric bypass.  The band is when they put a band around your stomach that they can fill with or remove saline to restrict how much food you can eat.  Gastric bypass is when they cut your stomach into a tiny pouch and re-route your intestines.  The sleeve is right in the middle--they cut your stomach into a sleeve and remove the hunger triggering hormones to help you restrict what you eat and not feel hungry.)  My insurance company required 3 months of classes and consultations, but what with the snow and everything, it has taken quite a long time.  So here we are in June and I'm hopeful I'll have the surgery done in a matter of 3-4 weeks.

As part of the pre-surgery, I've been working with a behaviorist, my primary care doctor, a personal trainer, a nutritionist, and a psychologist.  The meeting with the behaviorist was enlightening.  She made concrete suggestions for what I could do about eating and I thought "Do people actually do that kind of thing?"  Nothing earth-shattering, things like regular meal times, eating at the table with no distractions.  It was easy to see how much our lives have changed in 2 years, how far we have fallen off the wagon of normal family life.  When I think of how we used to live pre-7/12 and how we live now, it IS kind of staggering.

By far, however, the most hopeful part of the process has been the psychologist.  I was only mandated to go once, but during that one visit, I sat in his office and just cried and cried and cried.  He is the kindest grandfatherly older man I have met, and as a result of the trust I felt, I have continued to see him.  We are working on a variety of issues, chief among them a serious lack of self esteem, extremely negative self image, perfectionism, family issues, guilt, grief, and crippling anxiety.  It is not fun.  But it is helpful.  When he says things like, "You do realize, you've been through a lot" it helps me to really know that I'm not just making up some of these feelings, that I'm not a drama queen.  That I really have been through some extremely challenging times in my life and it's OK to need time to deal with them and find ways of doing so that aren't self destructive.  I cry a lot.  He keeps tissues and water handy.  He recommends books and we talk about being adoptive parents and he's very astute in his observations.  I don't look forward to going, but I'm always glad I've gone afterwards.

So going through all this for the past 4 months, I've really had to grapple with the severity of what I'm going to do, am I serious about it, why I want to do it, what will it mean for me and for friends and others like me.  I would like to say that I could go on and become a great role model for people of size.  I truly admire my friends who are very active in the fat acceptance community.  And I love and admire them for it.  And I read blogs and books and websites and I think "HECK YEAH!" and then I go out in the world and I just realize it's not a fair place.  (For just a few areas wherein fat people face discrimination, click here)  And if the world isn't going to change, then I'm going to change, if not to fit in, then certainly to blend a little bit better. 

I have accomplished a great deal in nearly 39 years in this body.  It has served me well.  I would like to get another 40 out of it.  If I do everything they say, I should do very well and lose up to 120 pounds in the first 12-18 months.  I'll take it. 

I want to throw out my airplane seatbelt extender.  I want to fit and fit in.  I want to not feel ashamed or embarrassed when I eat in public.  I want to buy clothes in the regular section of the store.  I don't want to feel afraid or ashamed to walk down the street.  I don't want to feel like I embarrass friends or family members when we are seen in public together.   I want to have even more energy and do even more awesome things with my girl. 

I only ask for your support at this time.  And I've discovered that just like when people say they're expecting and people like to pile on the horror stories about terrible deliveries and failed adoptions and whatnot, they also like to tell you about every person they know who had bariatric surgery and put all the weight back on.  Please do not do this.  If there is any one thing you can NOT do to help me, it would be to not tell me those stories of sure failure.  I am going to do my best.  I have a team of doctors and trainers and whatnot behind me to help me succeed.  And I would be most happy to add to their numbers my friends and family.  But if you can't be positive, then please don't be anything.

I want my parents to be proud of me.  I want my daughter to be proud of me. I want to be proud of myself.  I'm starting a long journey.  I'm excited, terrified, nervous, and thrilled.  But I'm ready to start.  Over.