Scattered Blueberries

Sometimes it is the small things that stir up and awaken the grief that is always present just below the surface of my emotions.  I've seen it before, when something innocuous happens and I'm suddenly overcome with sadness and tears and an overwhelming feeling of helplessness.

The last few days have been a mix of emotions.  This past weekend I went to visit Dan.  Time with him is always good but there were a few times when we were talking about Ed that the tears came.  But that is expected as we talked about fond memories or things that will never be.

I ended up staying overnight at Dan's apartment and this brought a mix of emotions as well.  It was Ed's idea to make sure Dan had a futon so that Ed could stay overnight when he went out to play golf with Dan.  That was the plan, but time ran out before Ed could do this.  Now I was taking his planned place on that futon.  And although I was sad that Ed only saw Dan's apartment the one day we moved him in, I reminded myself to be thankful that he saw it at all.  To this day I know Ed could rest knowing Dan had his job and his apartment...he was on his way and would be okay.

Yesterday I was so proud of myself as I followed up on things related to all those things Ed took care of--the gas insert, the water filter, insurance, and cable.  Were they big or difficult tasks?  No, but I would like to think Ed is proud that I'm stepping up to take care of these things and, for me, it makes me feel a bit more in control.

One of the things I needed to take care of last night was to finish freezing the blueberries my mother gave me.  I had put them on a pan the night before and put them in the freezer.  Last night I needed to vacuum seal them.  As I went to freezer and opened the door, the pan slipped out and suddenly there were blueberries scattered all over the kitchen floor.  I stood there in disbelief.  Really?  It was late in the evening and I just wanted to finish this job before I put my head to rest for the day.  And then something surprising happened....I laughed.  I stood there looking down at about a hundred blueberries that now dotted at least half of the kitchen floor.  And I just shrugged and shook my head...and laughed.  As I proceeded to pick them all up, I suddenly was surprised to to realize I wasn't in a pile of tears.  This one event, that any other day in the past three months, would have totally knocked me for a loop, did not.  If Ed was here, he would have come out into the kitchen, hearing the pan crash to the floor, and would have laughed at me.  And so I laughed.  And I appreciated the fact that I could.

Of course, I'm not naive enough to know that I'll laugh next time.  But for today, I'll smile when I remember the scattered blueberries and be thankful that not everything knocks me for a loop...at least for this one moment, but I'll take it.

There it is again...

The grief.  I know it's always there.  Even on my "good" days.  Waiting for me, just below the surface of my emotions ready to strike.  And it has again.  Was it the "Continuing Care" booklet I received in the mail acknowledging the three months since Ed has passed?  Is it the rain that I find comforting on one hand, but on the other hand, makes me think they are like tears from heaven?  I don't know, but there it is was again, without warning.  I put the booklet down, no longer able to read the words through my tears.  I distracted myself with dinner, dishes, and then watching TV.  But grief came back strongly as I went to bed.

The emptiness on the right side of the bed was much greater last night.  The void in the house was larger.  And the tears and hurt were there again just like it was in the beginning of this journey.  I talked out loud to Ed, but no one answered.  I expressed my anger at God and pleaded for this all to be a rotten dream, but I knew it wasn't.  I questioned what I said or didn't say to Ed during those final days, even in the three years while he had cancer.  I didn't tell him I didn't want him to die.  I didn't tell him I couldn't go on without him.  How in the world am I supposed to go on without him?  I miss his voice.  I miss his touch.  I miss him always being here for me--whether I was happy, sad, angry, or whatever mood struck me at the moment.  Eventually sleep overtook the tears. 

And when morning came and I awoke, grief greeted me again.  And I'm angry at God for not allowing us to grow old together.  I read an article in the paper about senior couples and the love they share and what a great example that is for their children and grandchildren.  And I was angry because Ed and I will never be that "senior couple".  And it's unfair that my mother and father could not be a senior couple.  Where is the senior couple in my family?  And why did God deal us these cards?  What did I ever do or not do to deserve this?  It's unfair to me, it's unfair to Dan, it's unfair to my family.

They say you move through grief.  You can't move around it, but rather need to travel directly through it.  I guess I hit a pothole in the road or maybe a mountain on the path.  Actually, it feels more like I fell into a deep hole that I now need to climb out of.  But whatever it is, I don't like it.  I don't like grief.  And I don't like that I can't pinpoint what triggers these emotions.  If I did, maybe I could manage this better.  But then I laugh to think I can even control grief.

I think of many people who have traveled this journey and somehow are still functioning years later and that gives me hope and it also scares me.  It gives me hope because they have somehow learned to continue on in their lives without their loved one.  But it scares me because, right now, I don't want to move on.  I don't like this life without Ed and I cannot imagine years extending in front of me without him.  How can I possibly endure this pain for many more months, many more years.  I know, it becomes more manageable.  I know it doesn't really go away and maybe that is what scares me also.

Hope

It still amazes me how quickly my emotions can change and how a single event or occurrence can sway them so strongly one way or another.  As you can tell from my previous posts, earlier this week was very difficult.  The whole bat situation threw me for a loop.

As another grieving woman said to me the other day, we're standing on the edge of a perch and the slightest thing can knock us off.  I thought that was a great analogy and very appropriate because that's exactly how it felt.  This one event sent me into a tailspin.  However, now two days later, I'm feeling much better.

My mood did a total 180 after the wildlife inspector left and alleviated my fears by telling me there were no bats roosting in the house or even outside under the shutters.  He explained how the bats probably got in the other day as well as last year.  And he explained what I needed to do to help keep them from getting in again accidentally in the future (which was to buy a chimney cap and keep windows and doors without screens closed).  So not only was his news good but he was very kind and helpful.  And with that, I drove to work feeling much better and although I use this word lightly, I felt "happy".

I had the second meeting of our support group last night and I was surprised to find that I couldn't talk about Ed without tearing up.  I had gotten better at controlling those emotions.  So I attribute that to the residue effects of the last few days.  One of the handouts we received last night was a sheet labeled "Common Reactions to Grief" and they were categorized into four areas--Emotional, Mental, Physical, and Behavioral.  Pretty much all of my reactions fell into the "emotional" category.  I'm not quite sure what this actually means and why I even draw attention to this.  Four months ago, I would not have labeled myself an emotional person.  So I guess it's helps explain why I do seem so emotional and that these irrational mood changes are a normal part of grieving.  I knew this at some level but to see them in print, helps to validate them.  And I like to think that at some point I will get the upper hand with my emotions and learn to once again control them.  And that gives me hope.

Feeling Weak

I was totally emotional yesterday and was anxious around the house last night, looking over my shoulder.  Sunday evening, while finally sitting down and relaxing after a productive and "good" weekend, two bats ended up in the house.  I totally freaked and there was a moment of panic when I wondered what in the world I was going to do.  I had to do something but I was totally freaking out.  I don't like bats.  And you can tell me a thousand times how they are good and eat insects and that they are just as freaked out being caught inside the house.  But they are just creepy looking and they fly around so quickly in a confined space and I hate them.

I ended up getting them outside.  They flew back onto the back porch (where I believe they came in from) and stayed there long enough for me to close the back door.  I then went around outside and opened the outside door and they eventually flew out.  Mission accomplished.  But I did not feel victory or strength.  I felt scared and weak.

Afterwards I called Dan to share my story and although I wanted to share how I managed to solve the problem and take care of things, I ended up in tears.  He chatted with me for about an hour--both about bats and also other miscellaneous stuff.  I appreciate him distracting me and getting me to calm down a bit.

Sunday night I did not sleep well.  And yesterday, I was an emotional wreck.  As I spoke with my mother and later with Dan, the tears flowed.  Any strength that I felt I had gathered over the past few months, felt gone.  Any comfort or security I felt being home has been knocked off course.  Our home has always been a refuge.  A place of comfort and joy and safety.  And those darn bats, rocked my foundation.

I try to rationalize the whole bat situation but I know I'm just fooling myself.  I've already called someone who is going to come inspect the house.  I don't believe they are roosting in the house.  They just accidentally got in.  But, once again, my logic is out of kilter.  And it makes me mad, and angry, and very upset that this one thing has thrown me for a loop.  That any strength I thought I had was weak and, at some level, now feels fake.

Am I really this weak person who has just been pretending and when life deals me a situation like bats in the house, I fall to pieces?  How can I expect to keep up with taking care of the house and myself? For I feel weak and alone.  And I'm discouraged at how easily I am knocked off the ladder I have been climbing.  The ladder that is helping me keep my head above water and to breath.  And just like that, I want to curl up in a ball and stay in bed and shut out the world.  But there is no comfort if I did that...I'd have one eye open looking for bats...

I thought I was so smart

Tomorrow marks 3 months since Ed passed.  It feels like 3 days; it feels like 3 years...it all depends on the moment.  I miss him so much.  I think back to those days in the hospital when my focus was his care and when I knew his days here with me were coming to an end.  I was strong for him and provided the love and caring that he needed.  And when it was time to let him go, I told him it was okay because it was what he needed.

But never once did I think about today and how I could possibly live without him.  I thought about his dying and never about my living.  Even when he was first diagnosed with cancer, we knew and recognized that this meant his life was going to be cut short.  And at every event since that time, we celebrated the fact that he was still here.  But never did we think about what my life would be like without him.  Just typing this sounds so selfish.  I mean, he's dying, so how in the world can I think about what life would be like for those who get the privilege to live on.

But when the moments of grief come, it does not feel like a privilege.  It is painful and lonely and no one can prepare you for it.  As I recall those moments when I sat next to his bed and tears would form, they were tears for the loss that would be.  They were tears for the suffering Ed was enduring.  But they were never tears for what I might face.

I recall so clearly the day I signed Ed onto hospice and the social worker went through her checklist of all their services.  Someone to stay with Ed so I could get a break--nope, don't need that--I have family and besides, there was no place else I wanted or needed to be.  Clergy/religious support--nope, I've got three different priests visiting--don't need that.  Bereavement support for after Ed passes--nope, certainly don't need that--I'm strong and besides I've got family and friends.  All we needed was for Ed to be comfortable and for the insurance to cover whatever option we chose.

I thought I was so smart, knowing everything.  I knew Ed's blood pressure, temperature, pulse rate.  I knew what medications he was on and the timing of each of them.  I knew when he last ate and I knew both his input and output.  And I knew what insurance would cover and wouldn't.  And I knew it was about making Ed's last days as comfortable and pain free for him as possible.  And I would handle his death and any bereavement just as efficiently.  I thought I was so smart.

The social worker from hospice knew better and Ed knew better.  The hospice worker, she had years of experience.  That's how she knew.  I don't know how Ed knew, but he did.  He told his sister and he told Dan that this was going to be hard on me and they both, individually, needed to be there for me.  He acknowledged I was strong, but even so, he said, this would be difficult.  How did he know?  Neither of us had ever experienced this level of grief before.  And I scoffed at him too.  The man who knew me better than anyone else.  How could he think I was that weak.  I would deal with this the same way I dealt with everything--efficiently and matter-of-fact.

I thought I was so smart.  I now know I was so wrong...

Keeping Busy

I feel bad that I haven't written.  This week has been busy (which is a good and bad thing all at once) and I'm doing okay.  I don't have strong emotions one way or another and that is when I'm usually inspired to write something.

My weekend was busy with a lot of "to do's".  I came to the realization that it is not a reasonable goal to try to complete everything on my "to do" list.  That is because I've realized my "to do" list has changed.  In the past, my list did consist of those things that I expected or planned to complete--clean bathrooms, grocery shopping, laundry, paying bills, doing my nails, responding to an email, etc.  Simple things that you do and cross off your list.  But without Ed, my list has now changed to include things that need to be done around the house--paint the hatchway, seal the ramp to the shed, clean the garage, look into paving the driveway, redo the front deck, etc.  And most of these things don't need to be done now, but rather need to be done at some point and so they go on the list.  It's all just part of caring for a home.  And so my list will never be totally crossed off because there is always something that needs to be done.  Maybe not today, but maybe for the future.  So I'll maintain my longer-term list and still create my short-term list so I can still cross things off and feel a sense of accomplishment.  I'm just reminded of all the things Ed just took care of without me even thinking or even noticing.

And I realize how lucky I was that I didn't even have to think about these things.  We had a good balance and I know I was also spoiled because Ed took care of so much and I'm sorry that I didn't always recognize it at the time.  Instead I would tend to notice the things that he didn't get to.  But I do know and find comfort that I did show my appreciation when he did take care of a job that was particularly annoying me.  He took such good care of our home and of me...and I do recognize how lucky (and spoiled) I was.

This week has been busy with work and things on my calendar every night this week.  I was a bit worried because I know I don't like being out every night after work.  So I'm hoping as the week goes on, it doesn't catch up with me.

Tonight I have my first bereavement support group meeting.  I hesitate as I write that because I feel like I'm admitting some level of failure.  That going to a support group shows weakness.  The logical side of me knows that this is not true; but the emotional side feels differently.  And although I hesitate to share this, I do because I've been feeling "okay" this week.  I've been keeping busy and moving through life and the crying spells have not crept up on me in the past week.  So I'm leery that going to this group is going to dredge up all those feelings again.  Not that they are not there.  But I feel like I've done better this week coping.  Maybe it's an illusion.  Maybe it's just because I've kept myself busy.  Who knows.  As I've learned, you can't always explain how you feel and you also can't predict how you will feel from one moment to the next.  So I'm recording this fact so after tonight I can share how things went.  Only time will tell...

Our Gravemarker

Today I approved the following sketch for our grave marker.

We are not "allowed" to have a head stone. The rule at the cemetery is a flat marker.  Oh well.  Need to follow the rules.  Besides the flat marker is expensive enough.  I can't image what a headstone would cost!  Just one of those necessary expenses though.

Regardless, I like to refer to it as "our" grave marker.  And there's some warped sense of comfort knowing this is ours and will be forever.  Our love, our marriage, me and Ed together...will be etched in stone forever and ever.  And that makes me smile.

The day I ordered this I felt a sense of comfort.  I did not like that I had to make all the decisions about it myself without Ed.  There are so many choices and options.  But I felt I made good choices and Ed would be pleased and the end result is my gift to both of us.

But this has been a long process.  I ordered this over a month ago.  But they are backed up and so, rightfully, they do things in the order in which they are received.  I'm glad to be one step closer to having this done.  It's unfinished business and I don't like that there's no marker on the grave.  That's probably why I've been a bit obsessed about having flowers there.

I can't wait now to see the actual finished carving.  I'll be sure to share it with you when it is done.

"Should" is no longer allowed

This says it all.  I have been given permission not to use the word "should" and it feels so liberating.  At this point in my grief journey, there are no "should"s.

--How "should" I feel?
--Where "should" I be in this journey?
--How "should" I be spending my time?
--What "should" I do?

Instead, I will feel.  I will journey.  I will spend my time just being.  And I will give myself a break from what I "should" be doing.  And if someone tries to tell me how I "should" be feeling (you "should" be happy, you "should" be grateful, etc.), I will dismiss their comment.

This is now a "should" free zone!

Trying to Understand Grief

I know I had said I wasn't going to post daily and I won't always and when I don't, I don't want you to worry.  But I also realize that this blog is my outlet right now and serves as my daily journal as I travel this path I never experienced before and never wish on my worse enemy.

As I sat down to write this morning, the bunny was outside the window eating the clover.  We have never had bunnies hang around the yard this much.  Sure we've seen them in the past here or there, but never every day for an extended period of time.  And they are a welcoming site when I get up in the morning or arrive home at night and so I'm thankful for that.

I went to Zumba again last night after work.  Someone commented that I must like doing it to which I responded "not really".  It's not that I dislike it, but I'm certainly not going because it's a lot of fun and enjoyable.  I struggle to follow the movements but it's exercise and the time passes quickly.  And it's more about trying to achieve this.  Kinda like when I was running with a goal to run a 5K.  I didn't enjoy the running, but it helped keep me healthy and I was working towards a goal.

In my daily meditation book for working through grief, today's entry touched me...

"Real grief is not healed by time ... If time does anything it deepens our grief.  The longer we live, the more fully we become aware of who he was for us, and the more intimately we experience what his love meant to us.  Real, deep love is, as you know, very unobtrusive, seemingly easy and obvious, and so present that we take it for granted. ..."

I can relate to grief deepening because logically you would think things would be getting easier as time passes, but it doesn't.  Grief remains and, yes, it deepens.  I think you just learn to find ways to function with it as time passes.  And I know mine and Ed's love for each other was truly "real, deep love" because it was easy and obvious and, at some level, we did take it for granted.  It was always there...and still is.  Yes, we told each other often that we loved each other and we always, always knew we were there for each other and could count on each other.  I knew, and I know Ed knew, that we both loved each other endlessly.  And that explains why the grief is that much deeper...

Puzzled By Emotions

My emotions puzzle me and as hard as I try to adjust my feelings, sometimes it just won't happen.  This weekend was a mix of emotions and the worse part was because of no particular reason.  I can't explain why I feel the way I feel.  Sometimes there may be a trigger; most times there is not.

I feel so overwhelmed by anything that doesn't go right, no matter how small.  The frustration and the tears come easily.  And I feel like such a failure.  Dan tries to tell me these are things that just happen to everyone and they're not such a big deal.  But they are a big deal for me.  And as hard as he tries to fix it for me and make things better, he really can't.  My thoughts are no reasonable.  My logic is not reasonable.  And I know this, but I can't seem to fix it.

And I woke up sad this morning and I try to put my finger on why exactly I feel this way, but I can't.  As I get up and walk through the house, the emptiness of the house is in my heart and it hurts that Ed is not here.  And the reality is that he is gone and won't be here again and somehow I'm expected to keep going and that hurts so bad.  I recount the time since he was last in the house--over 3 months; and the time since he's passed--over 2 months.  And I wonder how I'm supposed to continue on like this for many more months, or even years?

There was no secret that Ed had cancer and as I've said many times before we didn't focus on dying.  But we knew he would die without growing old.  And although I get frustrated that we didn't prepare ourselves better (like him teaching me how to take care of the vehicles or things around the house), I've come to realize that, although there are things that need to be tended to around the house, I was not prepared for the void and sense of emptiness that Ed has left behind.  No matter how prepared we might have been (or not), there was no way to prepare for this feeling.  I knew we weren't growing old together, but I didn't fully understand what that meant.

And every time I see a couple--in the grocery store or even on a TV commercial; or when I see people enjoying life--I miss Ed terribly and my heart breaks and I'm angry that I no longer have that.

So emotions are a mix of disappointment, heartbreak, loneliness and just overwhelming grief.  And I can't explain why today everything seems to hurt more.  But I'm told tears are good and they are cleansing.  So I will let them fall hoping that I can get my emotions under some type of control so that I can function for the day.

Lions and Tigers and Bears...

....well, not really.  More like bunnies and groundhogs and foxes.  The point is that our yard has become quite a place to see various wildlife.  And these are the ones that I happen to catch a glimpse of.  Who knows what I'm missing when I'm not home or not looking.

My Bunny :)

Turkeys

Gray Fox

Groundhog

And thankfully I've got a fence around our garden and a net on my new blueberry bushes and these are all coming along nicely which makes me happy.

Blueberries

The one flowerpot I did myself...not too bad.

Tomatoes

And so why am I posting about animals and plants? Because they are my distraction and focus right now. They are what I care for and tend to (well at least the plants). And when they grow and they bear fruit (or veggies), I feel a sense of accomplishment and that makes me feel proud. And I know Ed would be pleased. For the slightest disappointment right now--such as a plant dying--hurts. It makes me feel like a failure. I won't post pictures of the plants I've killed over the past two months. Rather, I'll focus on the positive which is a good perspective to try to have.

And with that, I need to go do some weeding and watering before it gets too hot.  Stay cool everyone!

Happy (?) Fourth of July

"Happy"?  No, not really.  In fact, I don't like today at all...or any holiday.  Because they just remind me what I no longer have.  Not that I am not reminded daily, but with a holiday or a significant milestone, you more clearly recall how you spent that day last year, the previous year, or for many years.

But I also recognize and am thankful for some things that happen in our lives that may change the course of events.  And, today, this is what I recall...

When I think about the 4th of July, do I think about going to firework displays and cookouts?  Nope.  Instead I think about the beach.  Since 2003, Ed and I rented a cottage on Kimball in Misquamicut.  So we spent the week, and the 4th of July, there.  In the early years, Dan was with us and sometimes brought a friend.  Later, he stayed home due to sports, work, or school, and would come down for a couple days here or there.  Family members usually came down at various times throughout the week.  And on the 4th, we would stand on the back deck and watch the firework display at the nearby golf course.

2011 was our last year at Kimball.  The house was put on the market and the new owners were not initially renting.  We also could not find another cottage that we particularly liked and so in 2012 the tradition of going to Misquamicut in July ended.  Last year at this time, I was missing the beach and our family vacation time.  But we would go in August with my family so it wasn't like we weren't going to the beach at all.  But the week in July was our time.  Yes, family came during the week, but we were always sure to save a couple days just for us.  And as Dan got older and it was just me and Ed, it was very special time together.

Ed and I used to joke that if he passed away and we were still renting the cottage, that I, of course, would still go to the beach.  I mean, it's the beach and the rent was paid!  But how naive I was.  Because, truth be told, now that I know, I would not be able to go without him.  Even if I couldn't get my money back, the cottage would sit empty that week.  Because it would have broken my heart even further to be there without Ed.

So, although we were not happy that circumstances occurred such that we were no longer renting, and I missed going to the beach last July, today, I am thankful.  Because what I "usually do on the 4th" changed last year...and it will change again this year.  There is no "usually" right now and that is a good thing.

Last year we stayed home, probably cooked on the grill, and then we went to the fireworks in Amherst.  Many years ago, we always watched the Amherst fireworks from up on the hill at UMass by the dorms.  Part of this was because Dan was younger and didn't like the loud booms and Ed also didn't like to deal with the crowds and traffic.  But last year he appeased me and we watched the fireworks down by the stadium with all the crowds of people.

Today will be a low-key day with a few family members. There will be no fireworks.  There will be no celebrating of our independence.  It will, per usual, be missing Ed and the fact that he's not here to give me or the kids glow sticks or sparklers to celebrate this holiday.  I'm really not in the mood for "celebrating" but I will try to enjoy a quiet day relaxing with a few family members.

Taking a silly picture of ourselves after a day at the beach!

At Paddy's in 2011

 

How Are You Doing?

I'm writing because I know you're out there....checking up on me, wanting to know I'm okay.  Some of you I see daily (or thereabouts) and you don't want to ask me how I'm doing, afraid the question has already being asked too frequently and it will conjure up sadness for me--that I may not want to talk about my grief.  So you avoid the topic.  Know two things in this situation:  (1) the grief is always there, it's just a matter of how well I'm able to manage it at that particular day, that particular moment and (2) if I don't want to talk about it, I won't.  Trust me, you will be able to tell in that particular moment and I can't predict it.

Some of you I only see on occasion, and then, naturally, the first thing you ask me is how I'm doing.  Again, know that I appreciate that and also avoid that.  I know you asking means you care.  There are times though when I can't handle the line of well wishers and so instead, what I find myself doing is avoiding the situation.

But know that there is no right or wrong.  It is okay to ask me how I'm doing.  My advice...do what feels natural to you and don't take it personally if I can't talk about it at that particular moment.  The worse...don't just stare at me with pity or sadness in your eyes.  There was a woman who did that...she walked up to me to share her condolences, said a few words, and then proceeded to stand there and look at me with sadness. There were no more words to say, yet she stood there.  Now that was awkward!  But I'm glad to say that this only occurred once over the past two months, so your chances of creating an awkward moment are slim.

So how am I doing?  I'm hanging in there.  Taking it one day at a time, one step at a time.  Sunday night was tough.  But the workweek has begun which keeps my days filled and my evenings busy as I try to squeeze things into the few hours I have between work and time for bed.

Thanks for asking...

Grief Remains

I have come to the realization that no matter how busy I keep myself and how much I work to keep my mind distracted, grief remains.

There are many times in our lives that we hope that if we ignore something, it will just go away.

So if I make myself lists of things to do and if I keep myself busy doing "things", maybe I can ignore the grief.  But I realize that I can't.  As soon as I stop and my mind quiets, the grief springs up to remind me that it's still there.

I do try to focus on all the good memories, but when grief taps me on the shoulder, I get that knot in my stomach that rises to my throat and the sadness envelopes me and the tears begin to flow.

As you know, I have gotten back to the routine of walking outside.  Now I did start jogging a year or so ago.  Partly to try to outrun the bugs, partly to get my workout over with sooner, and partly because last year I had a goal to complete a 5K.  Since Ed passed, even going back to walking outside took a bit.  This morning I started jogging again--partly to try to outrun the bugs, partly to try to outrun the grief.  And as my breathing labored, that is all I heard and so it helped me ignore the grief.

As I finished my run and rested to catch my breath, the sweat poured down my body.  The tears from my eyes blended with the sweat and I felt like my whole body was crying.  And grief has come to visit and as the tears and sweat flow, it is released and I'm ready to begin another day.