Sometimes Change Is Just Different

I think most of us hate change. I know I do.

Every single time I've changed jobs I've expected to show up the first day and find out that I didn't really have the new, better job I thought I'd quit my old job to take. (Of course, once I was right in that the new job sucked even worse than the old one, but it was really there until I managed to get myself laid off.)

Change that I don't seek, well, that's particularly unwanted. Especially more recently as I've found a routine that has worked and keeps my head above water, so to speak. Just adapting to my daughter's changed work schedule, which is great overall, has been enough to deal with this spring.

Then "my" Zumba studio closed for the month.

While I understood a temporary shortage of available instructors due to everyone's vacations and other issues, when I first got an inkling it was going to happen, I came home in tears. The studio was more than an exercise outlet, although I do love PiYo and Zumba. It was a support network.

I know and love the instructors inside and outside the studio; not just them but their spouses, children and dogs. When Ethan died, they all came to his funeral bringing unexpected support and genuine love and caring. Each time I stepped into the studio, there were friendly faces and warm greetings from fellow students that I have also come to know and care about -- many who are facing issues that aren't that dissimilar to my own.

Suddenly I felt like all that was gone and I was looking at a month of literally sitting around when I should have been stretching and sweating to PiYo, or stumbling through new dance routines, or nailing the ones I knew. Although I didn't want to feel whiny and self-centered, it was easy to make it all about me. I felt abandoned.

But that was small of me and the feeling didn't last too long.

I began to look at alternatives. Although I can't find another "real" PiYo class in my area, I did find several Zumba offerings that were within the same driving distance and workable time frames and yoga classes as well. And I knew I had only scratched the surface with the three nearby recreation centers (I live in the geographic center of my county, which has nothing, but everything is within an equal drive). I know there are smaller yoga studios and possibly some Zumba studios as well if I just do some more digging.

Since I've occasionally found Zumba workouts (and discovered one of my favorite studios, REFIT Revolution in Texas, on YouTube), I turned to YouTube again and found a couple of full-length PiYo classes there as well. Since PiYo repeats the same class for about six weeks before changing, when I found one I could stand both the video and sound quality on, I decided I might be OK short-term.

I even managed to motivate myself to do most of the 52-minute class with only one water break and two "oh heck no I'm not doing another pushup" breaks. I wouldn't have done that in a live class. Of course, I don't think the thermostat at the studio is as high as I keep mine at home and I'll definitely need another fan and fewer clothes before I do it again. Still, while I missed the interaction, my muscles did tell me the next morning that I had worked them and that was comforting.

The next night I braved one of the Zumba offerings I had found at a rec center and was surprised to find two of my studio mates (both part-time instructors) doing the same. It was a small class with a new, young instructor and totally new moves and I had fun. Not only that, but I realized I would have had fun without my "homies," who were like ringers on a minor league ball team. At the same time, while we dressed the part and knew most of the moves, we didn't know the choreography and even the "pros" were almost as bumbling as me most of the time.

That experience encouraged me. I told my husband that perhaps I had fallen into too much of a comfort zone. Perhaps it was time for me to stretch my wings again. I recognized it would not be the same, and not necessarily better or worse, but that different wasn't always bad.

This morning, still feeling the effects of both workouts, I realized that there might be people in other places who would seek me out because of Ethan's story, just like there have been those who needed to talk at my old studio. There might be other people that I can minister to (if you can call it that) and help support on a difficult journey.

I also thought more about what I might like to do long term and decided this could be the beginning of more changes that I initiate and that help me in ways that I wouldn't have found had there not been this sudden lack in my life. As the saying goes, when one door closes, another opens.

Not that I'd abandon my old comfort zone by any means. No, when that group reassembles I'll be there. But it may well be a better me for the experience of being away.

The Supporting Role Can Be a Tough One

Give me a week or two, and I may completely lose it.

On the other hand, it may not be so bad having my routine, which is hard to find in the chaos anyway, upended and transformed. It has happened several times and once the adjustment passes it hasn't been a bad thing.

No little people will be coming today, or tomorrow, but when they come back it will be with vengeance. They'll be rolling in somewhere between 5 and 5:30 a.m. on Monday, just as unsettled and cranky about the change in their schedule as I'm liable to be about the the change in mine.

What has been a noon to 8 p.m. weekday babysitting schedule for me for most of E1's nearly 5 years is changing as my daughter makes the move to a 12-hour night shift. The weird schedule has always been brought on by her work as a 911 dispatcher, which she enjoys, and the late day or "prime time" shift had worked well for years.

One of the unexpected discoveries of E1's school trial, however, has been that she never sees her oldest child during the week. Knowing that won't change as she begins school for real in the fall, and will only get worse as her two sisters follow in her wake at two-year-intervals, she began to look for alternatives. The 6-6 night shift emerged as the best option. Finding a person on night shift who wanted her prime time hours was unexpected and brought the change much sooner than anticipated.

Yes, it's going to be hard on all of us for a while. But by the time August rolls around and we're all adjusted to the routine, she'll be able to take E1 to school and pick her up, fix dinner for her family every night, and while she's sacrificing every other weekend to working nights, she'll have several days during the week to spend with her little family.

The children's father, on the other hand, gets to take on the new duties of shuttling them back and forth to Ma's house and getting them up and putting them down at night. His work schedule will dictate the times they are here on the days Mommy has been working or needs sleep for the coming night. Right now he goes in at 6 and gets off in the mid-afternoon. Our hope is that small children can be loaded without being completely awake, delivered to my house and sleep a little more before starting their day, but we'll see. Much of it will be a play-it-by-ear scenario that he and I both manage much better than my daughter or my husband who hate uncertainty in a plan.

And just as there will be weekdays for the girls to spend at home with their mom, there will be days that I don't have childcare responsibilities. I'll get my evenings back, and I'm already anticipating more adult TV time and an additional Zumba/PiYo outing each week, at least until my husband finishes his evening class. I'm also looking forward to reconnecting with some of my friends during the week for occasional lunches and, for those who have random weekdays off, maybe more.

I'm hating the fact that I'll be losing the chance to sleep in every other Saturday -- not that I usually do -- but looking forward to perhaps having some activities with Popi and the girls, instead of just us gals. Maybe the brush burning and weenie roast that E1 has wanted, but which I didn't have the ability to tackle on my own. Maybe we'll even be able to try some fun sleepovers at Ma's house, which we haven't done because the necessity of everyday meant it just seemed like too much.

Even though I'm essentially a morning person who gets up without an alarm, I have to admit that 5 a.m. is going to be tough. To make it doubly tough, once I get used to it, I'll pretty much get up that time all the time without an alarm. I guess my bedtime will have to be a bit earlier than the 11-12 I'm used to, but with the DVR recording my evening programs, that won't be a big sacrifice.

The staggered work schedules and hours will also mean that out of a two-week span, there will be more days that I don't see the 3Es, and I find that makes me sad. There will be a couple of days during the week when Mommy is off and they won't need to make the trip to my house at all. Instead of working 10 days out of 14, she'll work seven (if I remember the rotation right) and one of those will be a Sunday when Baby Daddy is off. Sure, we'll probably wind up doing some girl outings on some of those days, and it may wind up being a positive thing all around, but right now I miss the thought of them.

In the wake of losing my son, I suddenly realized yesterday how much I count on seeing my daughter every weekday as well and that may be what I miss the most. Even though cell phones mean we talk a lot, especially when she's in the car and the girls are all fastened down, I will miss her physical presence and the chance to look at her and hug her, even if there are days when the child exchange is so busy we don't manage to touch more than during the baby handoff.

I'm sorry that after losing her brother she's also saddled with the emotional responsibility of being my only child, but there isn't anything I can do about it. I don't know how to compensate for what I've lost, other than leaning a bit more on what I have -- the whole limbs of my family tree have to be stronger to make up for the one that is gone.

Beyond that, I have to remember that I'm one of the people who encouraged her not to look for a more "normal" job with hours other people think of as typical work hours, not only because she is good at a job not everyone could do and enjoys it, but because I'm proud of her as well. On my darkest days, she's the torch that I follow to keep going and I recognize the importance of her burning brightly and doing what she needs and wants to do with her life.

So I'll adjust, to fewer days, to early mornings, to whatever I need to do, and when I'm tired and out of sorts from the changes, I'll remind myself to be grateful for the chance to play this supporting role in their lives.

A Month Ago, My Life Changed

con·do·lence noun \kən-ˈdō-lən(t)s also ˈkän-də-\
: a feeling or expression of sympathy and sadness especially when someone is suffering because of the death of a family member, a friend, etc.

I hate the word condolence, or condolences. No matter how the dictionary defines it, it has to be one of the most meaningless words in the English language to me, perhaps because it is a word that I would never use.

It may be a proper sort of noun, but to me it's proper in that unfeeling, keep my distance, I don't really know you sort of way.

Sympathy isn't a lot better.

If you are sorry for what I'm going through, then simply say it. Don't look for pretty ways to make it less painful. Tell me you're sorry. Although I've received some beautifully written sympathy cards, I've found the meaningful part is the "I'm so sorry" scrawled above the signature.

A month ago, I would never have given a thought to these things. A month ago, I didn't know the rollercoaster of my life had already jumped the tracks and was sailing through the air on its way to a heartbreaking crash. I didn't know that while I thought I was traveling a familiar road, there was actually black ice and everything was going to spin out of control.

I didn't know that about noon the phone would ring and I would learn my son was dead.

Now, a month later there is still an unreality to it all.

Next to Ethan being gone, the thing that disturbs me most is not knowing when. Even if the autopsy gives us answers as to how or why, I'm not expecting an answer to that relatively meaningless question. He's gone and I learned he was gone on Dec. 15. But when did he die? Why didn't my mother's heart feel that he was gone?

As I've slowly regathered the unraveling threads of my life (most of them anyway) over the last two weeks, I'm still troubled by that question. I'll be heading off to one of the activities that was a normal part of my life and I'll think, "The last time I did this, Ethan was alive." That thought is quickly followed by, "The last time I did this, I didn't know Ethan was dead."

That's such a horrible question mark to have hanging over my life. I don't even care as much about why -- why to me is dextromethorphan, whether it was an accidental overdose, chronic overuse that caused organ failure, a seizure from drug use that finally pushed his brain and heart over the edge. As far as I'm concerned, I know what killed him. It was the drug that took a healthy teenager and turned him into an addict with seizures and physical damage and all of the emotional pain that goes along with addiction. Knowing what finally couldn't stand the abuse any longer really doesn't matter to me.

Having Dec. 15, 2013 as his death date and knowing it's not right bothers me beyond all rational thinking.

Then I have to wonder how many other families of addicts wind up carrying this same baggage through their lives. A phone call that tells them a beloved was found dead, not that they died with someone nearby who at least gave a damn, they were found dead. How many people with a network of loving, caring family members push everyone away, don't answer the phone, and isolate themselves for so long that they die alone and are found dead? How many families never even know that they should have gotten that call because the isolation pushes the addict so far that they leave everyone behind and are not only out of touch, but surrounded by strangers who don't even know who to call?

A month ago, I didn't know my life was about to change, but in reality, it already had. Sometime in the days preceding that fateful phone call, Ethan had stretched out in the floor of his apartment, folded his legs like he was apt to do, and simply slipped away with no earthly fanfare or outcry over his going. Because he had spent so long extricating himself, bit by bit, from so much of what went on in our day-to-day lives, we didn't immediately notice he was gone.

But I know it now and I've known it every day for a month. I've felt the hole that the loss of his physical presence has ripped out of my life, the knowledge that this side of heaven I'll never hear his voice, see his smile, or feel his arms around me. I try to cling to that vision of freedom, a happy smile as an angel released him from his pain and addiction, but that's not really enough. I'd like to say, just one more time, but that wouldn't be enough either and that would be a lie. I'm human and still bound by tasks I've yet to complete and a path I have to finish walking, and it may be selfish, but anything short of having him here to walk it with me to the end isn't enough.

So I suppose Dec. 15 will have to do. A month ago today my life changed.