Without a doubt the past year was hard--I knew it would be but knowing didn't make it any easier. I probably wrongly kept the grief at bay by ignoring it--I got pretty tired of grief right away, it wanting to envelope me, flashes of the things I regret doing or more not doing during those last weeks when I thought we were in for an epic novel of caregiving but it ended up being little more than an article. Nothing, wasted minutes that could never be retrieved because I thought we would have more time, that I would. get used to the texture of the terrain, establish a routine, but no she didn't want to linger so she did not. She told at end of August that she had home care for the month of September. When I queried about October she flatly stated that she would not be here for that decision. The not lingering leaving questions--did I miss something? Was a requested pill something else? No we had that conversation she said it wasn't her style...only...did I miss something?

The first year, I knew would be hard and it didn't disappoint. First refraining from wearing mascara because I never knew when I would be overtaken with tears. Then refraining from wearing make up--what was the point, then refraining from taking a shower, first one day, then two, and then maybe I don't need to for 3 days---if I put my hair up in a bun, then no one will notice 4 days. The grief was compounded with worry because Quincey had pretty much been puking every day since I returned. Was it his diet? Was it anxiety over abandonment issues? Was he sick? How, I wanted to talk to mom about this. She would have ideas, give me advice or just listen and tell me that she wish could make it better if she could. But she always did make it better even when she couldn't do anything to change the facts of reality of the situation. A change of diet seemed to suit Quincey and the puking stopped after I had postponed my return trip to Oklahoma in April. But then Misha reacted badly to the diet change--he lost weight a whole bunch of it. And by the time I realized that maybe something else was going on, it was the end of August and I had planned to return to Oklahoma in October. A round with the vet, confirmed that he wasn't well but nothing conclusive--just that he was manually flushing his kidneys with excessive water drinking and that he had an enlarged spleen. Since his brother likely died of lymphoma, the conjecture is that likely Misha has it as well. The vet thought that he was stable enough for me to return to Oklahoma--so I did.

I knew the trip to Oklahoma was going to be hard. Once again knowing does not living it any easier. What surprised me but maybe should have was the level of anxiety I had. It would prevent me from driving most of the trip. How did I make it across the previous year and back? Determination? necessity? And why could I not call that up again? Because I had someone with me and I didn't have to dip into the drought stricken reservoir? I survived the trip but I was worried that my friendship might not have. I think it it but only by the end of the year did I feel secure in the knowledge.

I spent most of the year trying to avoid the grief-- using my worn coping mechanism to tuck it back in out of sight. Grief takes a back seat when the physical distress from binge eating jumps into the driver seat--the 20 pounds I lost in the summer returned with 5 additional pounds accompanying it. Grief cannot compete with the dopamine highs that come from consumerism--just another binge. Grief gets kicked to the corner when hours are spent with the iPhone--playing video games and scrolling through reels, TikTok's and other 5 minute or less videos. Grief cannot overwhelm if my mind and body are left fuzzy and without definition from poor sleep hygiene. Sleep. the thing that I have had a complicated relationship with since I was child became an even more fraught.

In 2023, my creative endeavors trickled at best and never flowed. I wanted to write but one day became another and then one week became another and the months piled on top of each other. By December, I began to put in more effort. I did get my holiday newsletter out. I did send Christmas cards, I did create. I also put in effort in my appearance, I tried to wear makeup most days and I took more showers but Oh, the effort to keep the desire to slip back into numbness was in itself exhausting.

I had my hopes pinned to 2024. January 1st a fresh start. I would spend the week after Christmas getting everything perfect. And then on January 1st I would be the person I want to be. But an inflammation storm seized me--everything hurt. Every step hurt. I didn't think that I would have clean apartment by January 1st. Everything hurt so much. I reckoned that the inflammation was the result of so many bad food choices over the past month.

By the time 2024 arrived, I had cleaned up my space--into a livable-ness. With the tidier apartment came a clearer mental-scape. I have never been able to determine which is the chicken and which is the egg but the truth is that my exterior environment reflects that of the interior.

January 1st arrived, on my to do list was to write a blog post. I did not. But also on the list was to move for at least 2 miles, I believe I did--hard to say as my watch decided it didn't have enough power. I also resolved to eat better--I did--mostly--a bit of a hiccup late in the evening--but not enough of a hiccup for me to worry I might asphyxiate myself in the middle of the night--so progress? Progress.

This morning I woke up with lowered inflammation and more optimistic. But then Quincey puked and my coffee up wasn't positioned well and I ended up with coffee on the counter. I decided right then this is life, I will never have the perfect perfect--there will always be challenges. What I can do is make sure that I am turning to more productive coping strategies rather than the less productive ones. So January 2nd, I have a post. Progress? Progress.

What I resolve for 2024 is to not give up and to try, try, try to use positive coping strategies.

On December 31st, I intend that this post will be buried in the background of all the 2024 posts yet to take shape but will. I intend that Sapphire Lucy Designs will take shape, break through the chrysalis and flutter into the next chapter. I intend to for self-care routines to take shape. I intend to be the me that I envision. I intend that I will not give up on myself.

I intend to face challenges and come out stronger for it. Here is to 2024.