Just when you thought the news couldn’t possibly get any worse, each day this week outdid the one before. I’ve felt deep sorrow, anger, fear, exhaustion, helplessness, a numbing, and an intense lack of motivation. Anything beyond curling up under a blanket with a screen or a book felt like strenuous effort. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t keep going on like this! And then it finally dawned on me that I was going through active grief.
Well folks, 2025 has made her presence known. Personally, I reached a level of doom scrolling this week not seen since the spring of 2020. The world feels heavy and overwhelming and it is difficult to determine where to prioritize concern and focus action. And then my friend Tamika, reminded me about the importance of joy and I think you might need this reminder as well.
Last night, while people mourned their loved ones, homes, business, and jobs in LA, Miguel and I went to the theater. It is a weird feeling this hyperconnectivity. We have access to the intimate details of the grief and loss experienced be those in Palestine, Ukraine, or LA. Yet unless it is in our community, where we can see it, smell it, and directly feel its impact - it all remains distant. Life goes on…
We only thought we would be in Chicago for a year so we rented out our New Jersey house while we were away. When it came time to move back I couldn’t bring myself to return to that house. My emotions surrounding the house have conflicted me for so long but as we are getting ready to say goodbye to the house, it is all becoming clear.
This is an ode to the parent who bears the weight of the mental load. Who plans the meals, registers for the activities, and updates the family calendar. Who reads (most of) the school emails, and the class WhatsApp, and the extracurricular activity app(s). Who coordinates the afterschool care, the babysitters, and the social calendar.
After seeing a new musical in LA about a family struggling with their daughter’s epilepsy I came home reanalyzing the affect Adelaide’s life, and now Anessa’s, has on Jackson. Once a medically-complex/disability sibling always a medically-complex/disability sibling. But just because the wheel isn’t squeaky doesn’t mean it isn’t also in need of some extra TLC.
“What if we bought a house in the country and homeschooled the kids?” I thought out loud in my husband’s direction. Miguel, ever-patient listened as I played out my daydream before I came to the obvious conclusion that I would be miserable after two weeks. Still, life suddenly felt too fast – I was capable of keeping up, but for the first time in a long time I didn’t want to.
We made coffee and packed lunches like always. I showered and got dressed like always. We got everyone out the door and off to school like always. The actions were routine, the scents and sounds familiar, but inside I felt anything but. No, that’s not true – I knew this feeling all too well, it was grief and it hurt.
The election coverage is giving me serious anxiety and given how long it could take to determine the results, I get the impression it isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Feeling like I have little control over the future is not a new feeling for me. So, I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that I resorted to a few time-tested tactics.
Earlier this week, I gave a virtual keynote on our family’s journey and various themes from my book, Normal Broken. During the Q&A, an attendee mentioned she had been reading my blog, but until this talk hadn’t known what the name of my blog, Inchstones, referred to. So, this week, I’m taking it back to March 22nd, 2019, and resharing a blog about what the concept of inchstones means to me.
By now I should know that these anniversaries never go the way I want them to. After all, at their core, they are blatant reminders of how little control I have over my own life. But when it comes to grief, there is just no way to know which memory, realization, or well-meaning comment is going to sucker punch you and leave you gasping for air.
Well, the five-day period that begins with Adelaide’s deathaversary and ends with her birthday – aka hell week - is upon us… for the fifth time. I won’t pretend that it feels like yesterday, because it doesn’t. That high-stakes, medical life feels like an old pair of my favorite jeans that no longer fit the way they used to. The love, comfort, and memories are still there, but they are from another era.
