A Year Ago: A Grateful Friend

I love to travel.

I like to head off in a direction with less than an entire plan and just go for it.

For some reason, this doesn't trigger my anxiety. It does the opposite, in fact; it makes me feel strong and independent and important.

A year ago I went on a trip to England and Scotland by myself.

It was a gift from my husband who isn't too big on traveling. He gave me his bonus money from work and told me to go wherever I wanted.

I chose England, because when I’d gone there a few years ago, I’d only spent a day in London and a day in the English countryside, which was all traveling. Two friends of mine were living in London at the time, so I figured I could see the sights with them, as well as have a place to stay.

I met Jessica and Kate when I was a student at UNL. Kate was an international student from Australia who lived in my dorm during my second year at UNL, and Jessica was someone I clicked with in one of my favorite classes at the University. Kate is a teacher, living in London, and Jessica was in grad school at University College-London.

Before I left Nebraska, I was on the fence about going on my trip, because my mom wasn't doing very well.  She told me I should definitely go, because if anything happened, which it probably wouldn't, I could change my flight and get back in less than a day. I really wasn't sure what to do, but in the end, I listened to my mom, and I went.

Me and Kate right after I arrived in London.

Me and Kate, with Stonehenge in the background!

Stonehenge

When I got there, it was so good to spend time with Kate, who I hadn't seen in over a year, and go shopping, see movies, and take a day trip out to Bath and Stonehenge. I took a trip from London to Edinburgh, and explored that city, as well as part of the Scottish Highlands for two days. I stayed in a hostel with six Swedish boys who stayed up until 4am both nights, drinking beer and playing Beatles songs on the guitar. I walked eleven miles in one day and barely noticed. I met a Russian girl named Olga who was working as a nanny in Paris and taking a trip through Scotland, Ireland, and Wales by herself while the family was on holiday.

View of Edinburgh from the top of Edinburgh Castle

After I got back from Scotland, I stayed with Jessica. I met some of her classmates and friends, and we watched Kill Bill and planned a day trip to Brighton (or Bristol? I've forgotten!) with Kate. The next night, walking back from the tube station, I got a text from my dad that he needed me to call him when I could.

I was in the middle of the street, not far from where Jude Law and Hugh Laurie allegedly lived. My stomach dropped, and I began to sweat, despite the chill in the air. I dialed his number without even explaining to Jessica what was going on.

My dad answered and said I should call him back once I was back at Jessica’s and not on the street, and I told him I couldn't wait.

I don’t remember the rest of the conversation. I remember feeling sick and I remember crying. I remember calling Kate who lived pretty far from Jessica’s place, and asking her to come over. It was after midnight, so she couldn't take the tube. She ended up taking an expensive cab ride over.

They both sat with me while I packed and made plans to leave London. Max called the airline and got them to change my flight.

They waived all the fees.

My memory of that night is blurry. I think Jessica and Kate both napped in Jessica’s tiny dorm room while I racked up a $282 phone bill crying and listening to my mom tell me, in a sleepy voice, all the things she was sad she was going to miss in my life. She said she was sad, but she wasn't frightened, and she wasn't angry.

Just before 6am, I woke Kate and Jessica up, telling them I was going to head for the tube. They both came with me (and took turns carrying my insanely, stupidly heavy duffel), and during that hour-long commute to Heathrow, I took a photo of my two friends that I will always treasure:

Kate and Jessica on the tube, the morning I left London

It is probably not be the most flattering picture ever taken of either of them. But on that horrible, awful morning when it felt like my entire life was coming apart at the edges, I felt so completely supported and cared for. I wasn't alone.

I’m not going to say that I've never felt alone over the past year, but looking back, especially in moments like the ones I captured in that photograph, I know I never was alone. I've been completely surrounded on all sides by the compassion and strength of friends, family, and even complete strangers.

I've never been more grateful for anything in my life.

Friends (Part Two)

Me and many of my girlfriends at my bachelorette party in Kansas City, September 2, 2010.

In addition to my mom’s friends who are really like second mothers to me, I have my own wonderful friends. Not all of them are women. Having a guy who isn’t family OR romantically interested in you worry about how you’re coping is a really interesting experience for someone who typically surrounds herself with girlfriends.

I’m used to being the worrier. I’m worried about everyone, all the time. I’m worried about my friends, their decisions, their boyfriends/girlfriends, their families, their jobs, etc. This isn’t to say that I’m a nervous wreck all the time. In fact, a lot of my friends are in great places in their lives, loving their jobs, newly married, and/or new homeowners. I’m excited for them! But I want their happiness to last. So I worry.

I’m not used to people (other than my mom) worrying about me. Or I should say, I’m not used to knowing about people worrying about me –  I’m sure people have worried about me my whole life (and I’ve given them plenty of reasons!) but it’s mostly been that quiet, observational worry that I have for my friends, where concerns are rarely voiced, and the worries  mostly come from hope.

Over the past month and a half (and before), I’ve experienced an amazing exhibition of love from my friends and their families. My family and I feel so encouraged and supported by all of the phone calls, texts, emails, and hugs. But it’s more than just support and encouragement for me. In a way, I feel like my broken heart has been spewing sadness, anxiety, loneliness and a little despair everywhere. My friends are applying pressure to this figurative wound by taking me out to movies or for drinks, calling to check on me, going shopping with me, or just hanging out with me.

My friends loved my mom. To them, she was a strong, independent woman who owned her own business, battled a terminal illness, and worked every day to be as strong as she could be so she could stay here with us for as long as she could. I think a lot of people really looked up to her.

Whether you’re for Nature or Nurture, my mother holds the key to half of who I am genetically, and most of who I am emotionally and mentally. I am who I am because of her. So much of the good is from her, and even some of the bad.

My friends love me. There is no doubt. I worry about exhausting them with my tears and anxiety, but I know that isn’t going to happen anytime soon. I know that if I’ve had a rough day, or a rough three days, all I have to do is scroll through my phone or Facebook, and there are a dozen or so people who would be happy to talk, go for a drink, watch a movie, or just sit with me. This knowledge adds security to my life, and is a reminder that not everything is bad or wrong.

Thank you for the love, hugs, and perspective, ladies (and a few gentlemen).

Panic

This morning I hauled my butt out of bed and went to Power Yoga at the Y. I am extremely out of shape and about as flexible as a wooden board, but my newly-hired personal trainer said she always attends this class and would help me out. So I thought, why not?

After an hour of impossible stretching and bending, including many modified poses due to my knees’ refusal to straighten and my hips’ screams, I felt physically satisfied, but I was crying in my car. A few of the women there knew my mom, and had just found out about her death. They had questions and wanted to share their condolences. I was completely unprepared. I had expected to come to class, talk with my personal trainer, torture myself for an hour, then go home and make lunch. I wasn’t ready for the questions. I wasn’t prepared for the condolences.

So, I cried in my car for a little while and successfully talked myself out of a panic attack.

Since my mom passed away one month, two days, twelve hours, thirteen minutes and 22 seconds ago, I have had approximately 9 panic or anxiety attacks. It doesn't take much to set me off - a memory, a conversation with someone about my mom, sometimes just thinking of something I wish I could tell my mom about will do it. Before that, I’d had about 7 in the past two years.

I have had a lot of problems with anxiety and panic in my life. A lot of it started because I was teased in school for being overweight. Tears come quickly and easily to me, so I would hold my breath and hold them in until I could get to the bathroom, or until it was time to go home. The only thing worse than being picked on when you’re a little fat girl is being picked on and then letting them see you cry. Assholes.

One day, in the second grade, we were having an indoor recess because of a storm. There were three classrooms-worth of second-graders in one classroom to watch a movie. No one wanted to sit by me, and I ended up having nowhere to sit at all. One of the other teachers (not mine) said that if I didn’t sit down by the count of ten, I’d lose recess the next day. I crawled under a table. They turned the lights off, and under my table, it was very dark. All I could see were the backs of my classmates who would have nothing to do with me, sitting on the floor, watching a movie while it stormed outside.

I panicked.

I started to hyperventilate and sweat. I was crying and choking on my snot and tears. I was dizzy and my legs wouldn’t work. My teacher dragged me out from under the table by my arms and carried me to the nurse. She was barely five feet tall and probably didn’t weigh much more than I did! My mom came to get me and took me straight to the doctor, who informed us that I’d had probably had an anxiety attack.

My mom didn’t make me go back to school that day. We went to McDonald’s and I got a Happy Meal and then we went home and I played with my Barbies. She asked me why I thought I got so upset, and I said I thought it was because I didn’t have any friends and that no one liked me because I was bigger than them. I remember she cried and I felt bad for making her cry.

The truth is, I did have some friends. But I didn’t have a lot of friends until a few years after this incident. I had a couple of good, close friends, but not enough who weren’t afraid of the girls who made it their mission to humiliate me every day.

Ever since then, I’ve been prone to having “freak-outs.” Usually at night. I’ve been in therapy for many years off and on, and I have medication that helps. But sometimes, I let things build up too much because I still don’t want to let them see me cry.

Another major “freak-out” happened during my last semester of college. I was taking a lot of challenging classes, trying to decide what to do after college (which, three years later, I still haven’t decided), planning my wedding, and my mom’s cancer had just returned with a vengeance. I was a mess. I was driving to school where I was supposed to give a ten minute presentation about something I don’t remember, and I was talking to my mom on my cell phone about how much of a mess I was. That’s when I saw the flashing lights in my rear view mirror. How fast was I going? Let’s just say I avoided having to go to court by only two miles per hour. I hung up on my mom and waited for the officer to get out of his car and come to my window. I hadn’t put my new insurance card in my wallet or car yet, so I texted my roommate that I’d been pulled over and asked if she hadn’t left for class yet, if she would mind grabbing my new cards and bringing them to me. As I waited, I became increasingly agitated.  I was going to be late for my presentation. Everything sucked.  I had no money to pay a stupid speeding ticket. Didn’t he have anything better to do than make an ordinarily-law-abiding citizen sweat it in her car?

I panicked.

By the time he got to my window, I couldn’t talk. I was hyperventilating, and couldn’t tell him what was wrong. I could only nod or shake my head. He asked me to get out of the car, and my knees immediately buckled. He told me wait in my car.

Less than five minutes later, I heard sirens. Lots of them. Looking in my rear view mirror, I saw a fire engine approaching.

What? Why?

Right behind the fire engine was an ambulance. Behind the ambulance was another police car with two police officers in it.

Oh my God.

They pulled over right behind the cop, and suddenly, my car was engulfed in a crowd of men. There were four firemen, two EMTs, and three police officers surrounding me, asking me questions, taking my blood pressure, and offering me a bottle of water.

I panicked again.

At this moment, my roommate showed up among the chaos, with a look of panic on her face. I grabbed her hand and forced myself to breathe. After several moments, I managed to get the words out to tell her that I’d had a panic attack and the police officer had called the ambulance and fire engine. She was amazed. I was embarrassed and still panicking. She sat with me while I refused medical attention and refused to go to the hospital. I didn’t need a $300 emergency room visit just to have an irritated doctor tell me I needed to take some deep breaths.

Eventually, all nine men dispersed, leaving my roommate and me alone. I had missed my presentation.

Oh, and the original police officer still wrote me a speeding ticket.

My anxiety or panic attacks have become a lot easier to predict and deal with in the past two weeks, thanks to therapy, medication, writing, a regular sleep schedule, and distance from the night my mom died. I’m trying to keep as many things in balance as I can, especially while I’m not working. I hope I can get back to less than ten attacks every couple of years, but I also know that getting irritated, annoyed, or upset about having them just makes them happen more often, and with greater intensity. Sometimes you really do just have to take some deep breaths and make peace with the things you can’t control, because trying to control them is only a waste of very valuable energy.

Friends

Left to right: Mom, Laurie Hunt, Jan Arnold, Judi Derks, Karen Ferbezar

One of the few requests my mom had for her memorial service was that at some point, Bette Midler’s song “In This Life” would be played. It is a beautiful song, and the lyrics meant a lot to my mom.

In This Life – Bette Midler

For all I've been blessed with in this life,

There was an emptiness in me.

I was imprisoned by the power of gold

With one kind touch you set me free.

Let the world stop turning,

Let the sun stop burning,

Let them tell me love’s not worth going through.

If it all falls apart,

I will know deep in my heart,

The only dream that mattered had come true;

In this life I was loved by you.

For every mountain I have climbed,

Every raging river crossed,

You were the treasure that I longed to find.

Without your love, I would be lost.

Let the world stop turning,

Let the sun stop burning,

Let them tell me love’s not worth going through.

If it all falls apart,

I will know deep in my heart,

The only dream that mattered had come true;

In this life I was loved by you.

I know that I won’t live forever—

But forever I’ll be loving you.

Let the world stop turning,

Let the sun stop burning,

Let them tell me love’s not worth going through.

If it all falls apart,

I will know deep in my heart,

The only dream that mattered had come true;

In this life I was loved by you.

Left to right: Laurie Hunt, Mom, Jan Arnold

I think, to her, this song was about everyone she loved, but mostly about her friends. Mom had an enviable group of girlfriends with enough character to star in their own reality show. These women are the family my mother chose to love. I barely remember a time when they weren’t part of our lives, but I do know that her life was changed by them.

I think most women feel a need to connect with other women. I could get pretty philosophical here, but I think it is a healthy desire within us to form these bonds of sisterhood.  There is strength in numbers, and my mom found so much strength in her friends. They formed a circle around her and held her up until she found the courage inside herself. Their encouragement and love is definitely part of the reason why I was able to spend so much time with my mom over the past 4 years. I spoke of Time earlier as a fleeting, nonlinear frustration, but really, I am so grateful for the time I had with her, the connections we've all made with one another, and the strength I hope I inherited.

Girlfriends singing "Delta Dawn" at Mom's 50th birthday party. Left to right: Laurie Hunt, Mom, Waive Morgan, Karen Ferbezar, Judi Derks, Babs Huebner