Well, it’s been nearly two weeks since Miguel took his final bow as Hamilton… and he’s been sick for nearly all of it. Only Miguel seems to be surprised by this turn in his health. To which I asked him, did you read my book? Specifically, the part about how our emotional health affects our physical health? I digress.
What do I even say about the magic that occurred on Sunday evening? I was so caught up in the logistics –family and friends coming in from out of town, making sure everyone’s tickets were squared away, that they knew how to get to the after-party – I hadn’t given much thought to the main event. That was admittedly on purpose though. One of my favorite coping mechanisms is to focus on what I can control so I don’t dwell on what I can’t.
I asked Miguel if he wanted to write this week’s blog post in honor of his final performance as Alexander Hamilton this Sunday. He kindly obliged. I don’t believe that either of us has been brave enough to sit down and process what this show has meant to our family and how complicated this goodbye is.
I was going to skip the blog this week. Between holiday prep at home, holiday festivities at the kids’ schools, and regular life, I felt stretched and drained. Then I felt a lump in my boob. After a mammogram and ultrasound (that were panic booked at 4am), it turns out it is just another cyst - nothing to worry about. I tried to exhale with the relieving news but couldn’t.
Countless times I have been told with the utmost sincerity and respect, “I lost my parent/spouse/sibling, but that’s nothing like losing a child.” Child loss is generally considered, to quote from Hamilton, “the unimaginable”. The thing is labeling grief from child loss this way doesn’t benefit the griever as many people seem to think it should.
I love the holidays, I really do. But the stress of making holiday magic is a lot, on top of, you know, just all the regular life stuff. This week I felt my anger and irritability rise and my usual tricks weren’t working. I was in an ugly cycle of stress, lashing out, and instant guilt. Then during a magical acupuncture session, I was able to find the reset I was desperately seeking, along with some advice that forced me to rethink the way I was managing my emotions. Photo styled and taken by Anessa.
It’s only been two weeks since my last post, but it might as well have been two months. That my family is currently functional at all is a testament to my mother and aunt who stepped in to help while I’ve been away. This is a season of life. I keep reminding myself that while simultaneously trying to enjoy my newfound freedom and purpose. Seriously, this tour has been incredible and I am beyond grateful that I could travel and share my words in the way I have. But I would feel false if I didn’t admit that even still my grief catches up to me.
With Normal Broken out in the world and my book tour underway, I figured everyone would forgive me if there was no blog this week. Then I got on the plane to fly from New Jersey to Chicago and was hit with the reality of what I was embarking on and what a big deal all of this is for me professionally and personally.
I am still riding the high from an incredible three days in Southern California last weekend. It was amazing to see so many friends and be enveloped in their support and hugs. They filled my heart to the brim, not least of which by this incredible wonder woman, Emma and her parents. Who graciously walked me through a surprise bout of griefousy: AKA grief disguised as jealousy. Four years in to this particular grief journey and it doesn’t stop being weird.
Life is a whole freaking lot right now. Domestically we can’t break away from these awful mass shootings and antisemitic words and actions. Abroad it feels like every time I turn around another war is breaking out or another terrorist group is attacking. Tuesday morning, I cracked like an egg, all over the floor of my closet. So, this morning I decided to stop, breathe, and try to reground myself with a little perspective.
Earlier this year, I received an email from our representative at the Undiagnosed Diseases Network. They had finally received and analyzed the results from the genome testing done on Adelaide’s donated brain. The emotions that ensued took me on an unexpected ride leaving me yearning for the peace I had hoped would come with a diagnosis.
I am in the weeds of hell week (Adelaide’s death day 10/12 and her birthday 10/17) and surviving. I learn something new each year about how to best muster through, but at the end of the day, these anniversaries just suck. So, since my thoughts are never far from Adelaide right now anyway, I’ve decided to lean in and share her origin story of sorts – or at least the origin of her name and nickname - I’m assuming you all know where babies come from at this point.
