Last November, when I declared 2015 was the Year of Transformation, I forgot one thing. Words have power, and I was begging the universe with my careless use of the word “transformation” to drag me right through the fire.
And so it happened.
2015 will go down in history as one of the toughest on record yet. My income was slashed by a whopping 75%, which was devastating enough. All year long we flirted with homelessness as we came to litter our walls with three-day notices galore. Our credit went down the tubes as bills piled up, unable to be paid on time, sometimes at all.
We lost one of our cars, but managed to keep everything else by the skin of our teeth. But the uncertainty lingers.
It was a rough way to get hit, one that sent me into an emotional tailspin as I wrestled even more than usual with self-doubt and insecurity. It set off some serious emotional triggers in ways I haven’t had to manage in a long, long time. This led to the realization that I’ve been suffering with PTSD since that event that happened when I was four.
I had time to figure this out when I had my emotional breakdown around May, when I came as close to suicide as I’ve been since 1999.
Needless to say, my aspirations to get healthy and prolong my life went right down the toilet when I could barely find any reason to battle through another second. I was off program way more than I was on it, though given all the complications I faced, I ended up staying fairly consistent with the exercise. I think I only had one or two spells that lasted maybe six weeks at the longest, but I always managed to get back on the bike. I’m less than 100 miles away from topping 1000 miles ridden for the year, which means my exercise bike may hold clothes every now and then, but it hasn’t gathered dust.
Because of this, I lost twenty-five pounds over the year. I will consider this a personal victory, given that I didn’t go completely off the wagon and gain back even more, which is my typical pattern.
Also on tap for the year, three deaths of friends and family that sent me reeling. The first, back towards the beginning of the year, was an old friend I had reconnected with years ago courtesy of Facebook, whose sudden and unexpected death took everyone by surprise. This one hurt because he was so young and did so much good, spreading awareness, helping those who were in the battle of their lives with addiction.
It was truly a loss.
The second was my half-sister on my Dad’s side, also whom I had reconnected with on Facebook. Despite how differently we saw the world sometimes, she was always very sweet and accepting of me. We had never really gotten to know each other, thanks mostly to the fact my father was about 30 years older than my mother, and all his kids were grown with families of their own by the time I showed up.
Yet family was why we reconnected and why we stayed connected, until her death.
The third and most devastating loss was much, much closer to me. I lost my mother on December 6, 2015, 35 years to the day when my dad went into the hospital for a stroke, which would keep him hospitalized until his death thirteen days later (his birthday.)
This one was even harder than the others, not just because she was my mother but because I had no idea where she had been these last several years. I was contacted in late October, to let me know that she was in hospice so that I could sign insurance papers to release money to a funeral home to pay for her final expenses at the time of her death, which looked like it would be imminent.
I did get to speak to her one last time before her health failed her. I feel very good about the things we were able to say to each other, even though technically it wasn’t a ‘goodbye.’ My mother had been suffering dementia, so there were moments when I knew she struggled to remember certain things, but she knew who I was and I could tell it made her happy to hear from me.
I also knew she wouldn’t remember anything I told her when that call ended, or even if I called at all.
After that, neither my best friend nor I could reach her. According to her nurse, she went downhill quickly, unwilling or unable to eat.
There are other complications I won’t get into here but I choose to look at the positive of the situation; that I was able to reconnect with her one last time. That is a priceless gift to me, no matter what. My worst fear was that she’d die thinking I didn’t love her, which couldn’t be further than the truth.
Now I know for sure that she knew I loved her, if only for a fifteen-minute phone call.
And it reminded me how much she loved me all my life. It hurts my heart to go forward without her, though I find peace knowing that she’s been set free from an ailing body and a cloudy mind.
So this year has transformed me, no doubt about it. Just like the caterpillar, I’ve died to an old way of living, only to reemerge as something else – something even better than I’ve ever dreamed.
Oh sure. You can’t see my wings now. But they’re growing. And this cocoon is shrinking. 2016 is nearly here, and my year of transformation is blooming into a year of actualization.
I’m calling something different to my life this year. As a writer, I’ve always known how powerful words are, especially when you put them in the right combinations. Of all the lessons my mother taught me, the two biggest – faith and tenacity – will carry me forward into this new year. I’m calling success and achievement… the triumph, not just the trial.
I’ve decided to declare it boldly going into things, stepping out of the boat on faith that I’m going to be able to run across the water.
And if I can’t run… I’ll fly.
I’m going to get there.