Tag Archives: Evy

Our Plan B Life

And Then I Became an Adrenaline Junkie

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Something weird is happening to me. In the last six days I have:

  • hiked up a mountain,
  • gone to two gym fitness classes,
  • Zumba-ed, and
  • climbed a rock wall.

I am not this person. I’ve never liked getting sweaty, or pushing my body so hard that I ache the next day.

Hiking to the summit of Mount Goldie.

Maybe it’s because I’m closing in on 40, and am increasingly aware that I need to take care of this meat-vehicle of mine.

Maybe this is what I always intended to do/become, given that my subconscious made me add “physical activity” to our Plan B Life plan.

Maybe it’s because I have a stable life after living in various forms of limbo for five years, and Isaac has started kindergarten, and I can start becoming the Heather I’ve always been inside.

And/or maybe it’s because Brock’s one-year death-anniversary is this month, and that’s driving me to revel in my own healthy body, my tumour-free lungs, and all the opportunities I have in our new life to try new things.

Sobering thought: as of October 3, I will have lived longer than Brock.

That Time I Drove to Cranbrook

This adrenaline-junkie thing started on Thursday, September 6. I can pinpoint the date because that was the day I ran away to Vancouver.

September was too difficult for me, what with being Brock’s death-anniversary month and our imminent move into our new house, so (enabled by my fabulous sister Evy) I booked a flight for Thursday night to visit my bestie friend Q and his sweetie Taylor in the big VanCity for the weekend.

I dropped Isaac off at kindergarten and hit the road toward the airport, specifically Westside Road, a back route that is 5 minutes faster for me than taking the highway. Westside Road is a fun road to drive. It’s twisty and turny, with stunning views and some straight stretches. You have to watch for suicidal deer and fluorescent cyclists.

I started the drive mopey and weepy, longing for the bottles of wine that Q and I would inevitably drink while he listened to me mourn the death of my life partner.

And then I changed the music to an Eminem CD, and everything changed. I drove faster. I have a safe car, an all-wheel-drive Acura that Dad vouched for. I drove even faster. Isaac’s usually in the car with me, or I have other passengers, and I can never drive as fast as I want to. But I was driving alone that day, and I could drive as fast as I wanted.

Suddenly, instead of longing for a wine-y weekend on the couch, I started to think of all the things we could do that would feel as good as my driving too fast:

I could drive a race car.

I could get that second tattoo I’ve been wanting.

I could go zip-lining.

I could dance in a club with loud music and wear a slutty dress.

Zip-lining at Grouse Mountain: one of many Vancouver adventures that weekend.

A switch flipped that afternoon, and I think — 15 days later — it’s still flipped. Or I’ve still flipped. Whatever.

I can’t get enough adrenaline. I’m constantly looking for more things to do, to see how close I can get to the edge.

Zumba = Self-harm?

About what that “edge” is: I do think there’s an element of self-harm in all this, because there’s that longing to physically manifest what is going on inside of me.

Wikipedia says:

“Some [people] use [self-harm] as a coping mechanism to provide temporary relief of intense feelings such as anxiety, depression, stress, emotional numbness, or a sense of failure.”

Yes, it feels good to bring all that pain of losing Brock to the surface, and feel my legs ache after the gym this morning. I liked the terror of dangling at the top of that climbing wall. I desperately want to drive on a race track, just to see how fast I can go before I’ve had enough (I have yet to figure out the logistics of making that happen).

So don’t fret: the fact that I am looking for a SAFE way to drive a fast car, and that I’m doing squats instead of cutting myself, means that we’re on the healthier end of the self-harm spectrum.

Part of Grieving?

Meanwhile, my widower friend is planning a three-month backpacking trip around the world, and I wonder if our shared need for adrenaline and adventure is part of the grief process. Another stage.

Maybe those of us who have watched our person die have a heightened appreciation for how WONDERFUL it can be to live.

Maybe doing something risky makes being alive even sweeter.

Survivors are extra aware that health and life can end at any time, long before we’ve checked off all the bucket list dreams. Maybe we just want to make the most of it, by having all the adventures available to us.

More More More

Evy and I bought a lottery ticket today (it’s at $60 million!) and if we win I’ll use my bit to do EVERYTHING. I’ll race cars, I’ll trek across a desert, I’ll fly in a helium balloon.

Come to think of it, I can do quite a lot without winning the lottery. Let’s see how far I can go.

Paragliding off the top of Mount Swansea (October 2018).

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Our Plan B Life, Terminal Cancer, Day by Day

Choosing a Future

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Earlier this year, at my request, Brock helped me plan out my and Isaac’s post-Brock future.

When I first brought up the subject, he resisted, because he always thought the dead should have no say in what the living do. The only instructions/exceptions he’d offered around his death were that he wanted to donate his eyes (and his organs, until cancer disqualified him), and give his body to UBC’s medical program, and that he didn’t want any religion at his funeral. Also, he asked that the food served at the memorial reception not be too good, after I’d said we could hire a chef friend to cater it, because Brock didn’t want to miss out on a gourmet feast.

Anyhoo.

It wasn’t that I wanted to think about a post-Brock future. Every time my brain veered out of happy denial and started to grasp that Brock would die, I would lose it emotionally.

But I also suspected that, if I didn’t have something positive to look forward to post-Brock, I would be stuck in a blackhole of grief.

Also, Stoic philosophy advises imagining worst case scenarios briefly, both because it helps prepare you for that potential and because it then makes you more appreciative of your present.

So one day I gave myself 30 minutes to imagine a future without Brock. It was very hard to do, because (obviously) I didn’t want that future.

I made a list of what made me happy, and what I wanted my future self to be doing. I wanted:

  • more outdoor physical activity for me and Isaac, like hiking and snowboarding/skiing.
  • to travel, specifically in the form of long walks (like Hadrian’s Wall and the Camino de Santiago, Newfoundland’s T’Railway and PEI’s Confederation Trail). I would need some reliable child care to be able to do these trips without Isaac, until he was old enough to come with me.
  • more crafts (I was jealous of my Mom’s crafty get-togethers, especially around the holidays).
  • to get to know my sister Evy better. We haven’t lived in the same town since 1999, and I suspected I’d like adult-Evy a lot.
  • to spend more time with my parents, doing crafts with Mom and outdoor activities with my Dad.

I made my list, and got excited. I liked this future. But … most of these goals meant moving back to my hometown of Invermere, in the East Kootenays of British Columbia. That was a Major Life Decision, and it felt wrong to make a Major Life Decision without Brock’s input.

So Brock and I discussed my post-Brock life. He liked the idea of Isaac growing up in an athletic, physically active community like Invermere. (This is a town that has “snow days,” when people aren’t expected to go to work because it’s understood that everyone will be at the ski hill.) Brock had no problem with the idea of our moving: he pointed out that we’d moved to Duncan to farm, and the farm was no longer a factor. We’d often talked about moving to California, or Chicago, or “franchising” our farm model across Canada and moving around to start up farming operations.

Once we had a plan, I was able to relax and enjoy our day-to-day moments together. I think Brock liked knowing we had a plan too. In his final month, he spent a lot of time studying money management strategies so that we would have a financial plan in place as well. He offered everything as “it’s up to you, but here’s one option …”

Brock died September 20, a week after Isaac began his second year of preschool.

The usual advice in grief books is not to make any Major Life Decisions for a year after a spouse dies. Because Brock and I had already made our plan, together, the only decision I had to make was when we would implement it. I decided to delay our move until December: Isaac will be able to finish his next two rounds of swimming lessons, and can end his martial arts, gymnastics and preschool at the Christmas break. I want to keep Isaac’s lifestyle status quo for a bit longer: losing his dad is enough trauma.

When I tell people about our moving, some have been disconcerted. I don’t think it occurred to them that Brock’s death would mean me and Isaac relocating. It’s a second loss, after suffering the terrible first loss of Brock to cancer. And it’s an intentional loss: I’m choosing to leave our community, whereas no one chose for Brock to die.

But I think our moving just emphasizes how devastating it is to me and Isaac to lose Brock. Isaac lost his daddy. Instead of growing old beside the man I love, I’m a widow at the ridiculously young age of 37. The future Brock and I wanted and worked toward has been annihilated.

Isaac and I can’t have the future we wanted, but we have a very nice Plan B ahead of us. I’m grateful it’s a Plan B I was able to make with Brock.