Thanksgiving...

First, I feel that I must preface this post with an explanation, as I am getting phone calls, e-mails and general inquiries, about my condition. Since we have had a bit of a cold snap, and my allergy trauma should be toned down by now, it seems that the closest of friends are beginning to wonder if I might actually be slacking off at this point... fair enough! 

Thank you for your concern, I am getting some relief from the allergy attacks and I have backed off the allergy meds to clear my head. So I am somewhat functional at this point. However, the title for this post, Thanksgiving, should give you some indication of just how long ago I began working on it. 

So... clearly I am late to the party, but lets just embrace the fact that I've shown up at all and move on to the topic at hand because it is already December, and I am going to end up distracted with my holiday shopping if I sit at this PC much longer. (Yes, self diagnosed A.D.D. too...I'm a real prize!)

When I began this post, I really did have Thanksgiving in mind, but as you read it, you may detect the places where interruptions demanded I attend to something else and well... upon my return, my original train derailed and I ended up on a different track altogether.     In the end, I may have gotten to a different place, but it must have been where I needed to go. After all this is mostly therapeutic for me, and you are along for the ride... 

End of preface.

There are so many things to be thankful for as I reflect on the expanse in my rear view...   I have always had all that I needed and then some... and as I grew older and more socially aware, I realized that many of us live in unbelievable excess, while others live in extreme poverty. This concern especially breaks my heart when I see how poverty affects children, so for some time now I have committed time and resources to organizations focused on this issue.

While I have had this awareness of excess for several years now, and made some changes in my behavior, if I take an honest inventory, I would have to admit that in my lifetime, I have accumulated much more stuff than I could possibly ever need. One could easily point to my collection of shoes as empirical evidence of my excessive consumerism. Mind you, that while I am not asking you to let me off the hook, I am not alone in this sin, many of you are right beside me and you know who you are...

This issue of excess vs. the under resourced, was even more apparent to me after I became sick. In the initial months following my diagnosis, I became obsessed with concern for what to do with all my stuff!  I know how crazy that sounds but it became a pressing issue in my mind, and while the average prognosis gave me 2-5 years to deal with this, my dysfunctional coping mechanism wanted it addressed immediately, if not sooner!

I began to lose weight, so I had a lot of clothes that didn't fit, and months before I had to give up wearing heels, so there were dozens and dozens of pairs of shoes, sandals, and boots, I could no longer wear, and that was just the tip of the iceberg...There are accessories too and what about my bike, skates, skis, and eventually my car? You can't take it with you, and I was obsessed with giving it away! "It" being anything I could no longer use.

What was it that drove me to this urgent need to dispense of these material possessions? I remember thinking that I needed to give these things to people who needed them now, and not wait for the time to come when my family would be burdened with the task of going through all of it. I've been there before and it's draining both physically and emotionally, I could spare them some of that...

What I was not prepared for was the impact the task itself would have on me. Standing in my closet holding onto a rack for balance with one hand, and grabbing clothing with the other, I struggled physically to maneuver as I filled the bags. And then without warning, my eyes flooded with tears and pain came from so deep in my gut that my mouth hung open, and I could hardly breathe. It wasn't a reluctance to part with my things, it was grief, plain and simple. 

This exercise was about letting go... giving up those things that were a part of the life I had, and transitioning to the next chapter. I wasn't going back, my legs weren't going to magically start working again, and this was the reality that sent me into hysterics.

I have yet to complete this task, I take it in small bites, because grief is a sneaky little devil, and it hides out waiting for its next opportunity to attack...

and I still have plenty for which to be thankful.