I learned to grieve early.

But not about me.

I learned to grieve about relationships, losing them. And the worst, losing people I loved. Sometimes, as difficult, was losing people I hated.

I quickly lost people that I had spent lifetimes with. We all changed; we went on. Life made us different. Raising children and then they moved on. All of those who lived around me, no longer aunts, grandparents and old uncles because the kids are busy raising their own families with a whole new set of helpers. When I am lucky, I am close by my adult children, otherwise the miles can be egregious. Horribly long and painfully hard.

I forgot to grieve me…

My body, that’s a place and a time that I did not grieve. I didn’t know how, didn’t know why, didn’t know when.

When did this body move its parts to the south? When did the three-inch strand of hair have time to grow on my chin? I remember being soft and attractive. I wasn’t too large and wasn’t too small. I could do so much.

I was active…

I said to myself things like: you’re strong, you have endurance, you are ready for all of the stress. I could climb stairs, two, three or four times per day. I never used an escalator, nor would I park up close to the front of the store. I needed all of the walking I could get to keep up that strength, to keep up the endurance. And I loved it.

Intro to Chronic Illness

And then this, the fibromyalgia. It has gotten worse over time and new things are happening with my body. I’ve had the fibromyalgia for six years now and even though I understand chronic illness, I still haven’t translated it to me. I haven’t applied that term to myself. Sure I’m sick, yes I am disabled but I’m still me, yes?

You don’t have the Endurance

No, great big fat no. Your body. The thing that holds all of who you really are. It is not there as it were. It’s not quite denial that I am practicing, it’s more like I haven’t really thought deeply about it. I’m still pretending that each thing is just a discreet thing with no long-term relevance. For example, my fatigue. As soon as I get more caught up on my rest this fatigue is going to go away, or at least recede some.  I’m not hungry, I have gastroparesis. It makes sense that I’m not hungry anymore. I drink protein shakes when I need to. My husband makes sure that I am resting and eating responsibly.

You don’t have the Strength

“I can’t go to the ceremony in town, it’s too much, the car ride, sitting on hard seats and then another car ride, I don’t think I could do it.” Coming home from the grocery store and going directly to bed. I wanted to take a shower, I wanted to put everything away, but I couldn’t, so I went to bed.

Why can’t I schedule another visit for Tuesday? Short answer is no. You are exhausted.

Never ending Doctors

The doctor wanted lots more bloodwork. It got complicated. My pain becomes randomly worse in ways and in areas that there is no explanation for.

“What does this blood work mean?” I ask. He/him/husband is staring at me and says “are you borrowing trouble from the future?” “If you don’t know what the blood says, or means, don’t guess.”

My forehead twists and I think, “why should I have to wait?” I’ll ask Dr. Google.

Slow Going

When did my face start showing wrinkles long after I had relaxed? Where did my butt go? What happened to my neck, why is it red and wrinkly? Why are my eyes so dry, I just put lubricant in an hour ago? Not only do you feel different, but you look so different than you used to look.

Aim my Grief

This is what I need to give my grief to. My body gives me far fewer of the lush feelings that I used to have. My energy is farther away than I could have guessed. It’s not going to recover if I sleep for ten hours. The only thing that happens when I sleep for ten hours is that I sleep for ten hours. I still wake up in pain. I still wake up with less energy today than yesterday. That old energy is still close enough to me that I can remember how it felt to work all day and still have a remainder. I want that again and for that I need to grieve.

This is a new life. Who is to say that it is worse than the last life that I lived? What will it take to get me to stop judging what is happening now?

Now I must grieve, I must give my grief to this body that is just not useful as it used to be. I do not get to change it; I can’t make it different. This body will never return to the before. It’s not a simple limitation, but a change to living. Here is the grief for the energized smooth skinned woman that I used to be.