This Time Last Year
I used to think strength and courage meant stifling our tears. I now know we can be brave while bawling until barely able to breathe. 2021 taught me that. Again and again.
There’s a question that reverberates at all hours. It nudges me awake. I hear its echo, faint at first, and louder in recent weeks. During the day. In the middle of the night. It has zero regard for time zones.
Where were you this time last year?
I’ve grappled with grief. Been grateful for the good. And surfed the waves of the surges in between.
When whispers crescendo to cries, I know it’s time to pour it onto the page. Why? Because maybe the answers will resonate with you, too.
This time last year, my nest was full.
This time last year, three fur babies frolicked in my home.
This time last year, my childhood friend was alive.
This time last year, I was not vaccinated.
This time last year, I rarely left the house or wore anything with a button.
This time last year, I dreamt about taking a leap of faith.
I’m an early empty nester. The first month even our dogs seemed befuddled. My daughter, my hilarious girl, my snuggling, artsy, love-me-as-I-am inspiration boldly flew the coop. Her junior year of high school. I didn’t know my tear ducts could refill and release with such unrelenting vigor.
When I hugged her before leaving, nestling my head into her silky hair, I murmured, “You’ve inspired me since the day you were born. You’re being brave. I will be too.” The second the door shut, I unraveled and wailed the entire way back to the airport.
I used to think strength and courage meant stifling our tears. I now know we can be brave while bawling until barely able to breathe. 2021 taught me that. Again and again.
Our eldest pup, Rocky, transitioned in August. I held him, stroking his soft fluffy fur, as he took his final breath. Flashbacks from decades ago caused me to quiver. The last time I’d parted from a beloved pet, I sat solo in a freezing, sterile space. It shouldn’t have been this way. But how do you speak up when you are young? I did as I was told while my parent stayed in the waiting room.
This time I wasn’t alone. My husband stood by my side and wrapped his arms around me until the sobbing subsided. Gratitude intermingled with grief. Thankful our Bichon-Poodle brought joy to our family for thirteen years. Yet heartbroken to say goodbye.
One of my friends, the one who could make me laugh until I peed, the one who accepted others with his whole heart, exited the world way too early. Scenes from our childhood and young adulthood stream like a movie in my mind. His passing gutted me.
I still cannot imagine the world without Jon in it. There’s much more to share — it is too soon. Not just for me, but his children, parents, and entire family. I know he would want me and all of us who remain to live life as he did. With a perpetually positive outlook, wise-ass wisdom, and above all unconditional love.
Before being vaccinated, I had moments of immobilizing anxiety. Yes, I meticulously wiped the groceries, door handles, bottoms of shoes, shall I go on? Yet I recently ventured to Costco on a jam-packed Sunday, and it’s December in South Florida. What was I thinking! (Truthfully? I made myself go. A day date with my hubby mixed with pushing past my current comfort zone.)
Amazing what transpires in one year, let alone one week. I’ve had to pause and breathe with intention so I don’t go backward. The leap from Delta to Omicron feels like an ominous calamity as cases climb. But I refuse to sink into the quicksand of anxiety, which I learned from 2020. That’s not healthy either. So I turn off media, tune in to my body, and listen to what is needed in this moment.
Even before the pandemic, I didn’t love loud, overcrowded spaces. I do love gathering with friends and hosting parties. Yet I am now convinced that I’m an extroverted introvert or ambivert. Or some other type of “-vert” because I not only welcome quiet but crave it. The silence makes space for creativity, connection, and insights.
Speaking of hunkering at home, I finally hit “THE END” on my manuscript. After years of talking about it, I wrote and finished a novel. Rewrote it. Edited it. Revised it. I understand when author friends tell me that their characters “speak” to them. Mine speak to me even during dreamtime. Literally. Ethereally. Creatively.
They insisted I listen to dialogue, plot, setting, and the essence of “what if.” And I let go, threw the doors of my heart wide open, and welcomed the whooshes of inspiration. I hope this story connects, heals, entertains, and empowers others. Writing it undoubtedly transformed me at a soul level.
With just a few days left in 2021, which is a mind-bending realization, where are you headed as we flip the page and begin 2022? If you haven’t considered it, that is okay too. One thing I know to be true is we have no idea what the future will bring.
This year has been a master class in learning to pivot, accept, and embrace the moment. I’ve shed torrents of tears without apology. I’ve been vulnerable and dipped myself into the well of trusting others. Have there been people who have fooled me with façades? Sure. Was I upset with myself for allowing them in? Yes. My instincts are typically clear and keen.
I learned about grace and self-forgiveness for focusing on only the positive. I still do. I always will. I’m a perpetual optimist. But my acuity and discernment has deepened. Another lesson for which I am profoundly thankful.
I’ve always lived with gratitude. Yet these past twelve months — the tragedies, triumphs, and truths — catapulted my growth in ways that transcend words.
And I choose to forge forward with faith rather than fear.
