The Dry Drunk Syndrome and Motivation

Recently I was speaking with a counselor type person who compared overeating and thoughts about weight to that of a "dry drunk". If you're not familiar with the concept, a "dry drunk" is an alocholic who is not drinking. Now I know I'm not the first person to hear how overeating is related to addictions--think "Overeaters Annonymous"--but this dry drunk analogy really gave me pause.

 Why does an alcoholic stop drinking? Initially, it is probably because there is a threat associated with continued drinking. Stop drinking because the court ordered you to mandatory testing after that DUI. Stop drinking because the spouse said "I'm leaving you if you don't..." Stop drinking because the job performance has suffered and you're on probation. So the alcoholic stops drinking, but resentment grows. The alcoholic doesn't have the problem...those around the alcoholic do. "The judge doesn't realize it was just a one time shot at a party. I don't usually drive after I've had a few". "She is just uptight. She'll see that I can do this!" "Stupid boss. I he had to live with what I have to live with he would have a couple at lunch too!"

 Realistically, what is likely to happen to this dry drunk? The motivation to stop is strong and present. There are pretty significant consequences for continuing the past behaviors. But without ownership and a mind shift toward personal benefit and change in habit and lifestyle, the dry drunk is oh so likely to become a wet drunk once again. It's just a matter to time.

 And so it goes with overeating and not exercising. I can't count how many different weight loss methods and programs I have done over the years. I'm a lifetime member of Weight Watchers and have been since 1988. Yet I weigh more now than I did when I started that program for the first time! Some of the programs were effective; some weren't. My success in the programs often depended on my motivation and how long that motivation would last. I would hear all the things about lifestyle changes; not being on a diet; and how our relationship to food is a factor in continued "success". I would often begin the program with an almost religious fervor and stick to the "rules" like a fanatic. I would be rewarded with a lower number on the scale, a smaller size of clothing, compliments from those around me. But eventually the high would end. I would stop journaling. I wouldn't keep an appointment with the weight loss center. I would be the queen of excuses.

Case in point--two years ago I lost nearly fifty pounds. Then my mom was diagnosed with cancer, my daughter placed my grandson for adoption (I had guardianship and was caring for him) and I was going through some significant struggles in my relationship with the Dude. I maintained the loss through some of the initial pieces of this, and then I went to Ireland for two weeks. I never returned to the program that had been so helpful. As Mom's cancer progressed, food became her enemy. She was losing weight at incredible speed, and food was everywhere around her house all in an effort to entice her to eat. As she lost, I gained. Chalk it up to the stress. Chalk it up to comfort food. Chalk it up to whatever I wanted to say--I gained the fifty pounds and then some!

So now I find myself journaling, exercising, and enjoying the support of the Dude. Nearly 20 pounds down, I'm seeing "success". On what piece am I now focusing? This is a toughie. I'm trying to focus my thoughts away from resentment and frustration and anger with myself. Resentment--"Why wasn't I blessed with the genes my sister inherited that makes her tall and thin instead of short and fat?" Frustration--"My thin clothes aren't fitting again!" Anger--"I look awful. I can't believe I can't keep off the weight. IT JUST ISN'T FAIR!"

As a therapist I've preached the power of cognitive or rational emotive therapy for years. Thoughts impact feelings and behaviors. Feelings impact thoughts and behaviors. Behaviors impact feelings and thoughts. Change the thoughts and the other pieces will fall into place. Have I practiced what I preach in this area of my life? Not so much. Clearly there is work to do. But that's my new focus.  

Holding On and Letting Go

So as not to be accused of plagiarism, I want to be very up front and say the inspiration AND title for this post came from a sermon series by Philip Gulley (check out philipgulley.org).  It's one of those resources that has been helping me through the grieving process.

Yesterday was a difficult day. It was Mother's Day...and while it was never a huge celebration for us, I always took flowers to Mom. We usually went out to eat. And of course, she wasn't here for even this small type of celebration. Yup...it was a difficult day. It didn't help that it was COLD here in central Indiana and the plans we had made to keep my mind off the day were based on being outside. Being the wimp that I am, and not having a winter coat with me, the Dude and I opted to change the plans. This left me alone with more of my memories and thoughts.

I'm realizing grief is really a process of holding on and letting go. It's sorting through things...and consciously deciding what stays and what goes. When we cleaned out the house, we had to think about who wanted to keep what; what would be of use to someone else not present for the cleaning process; what could go to Goodwill; and what would find its way into the trash. Fortunately my sister and I agreed on how to split the things. We had promised Mom we WOULD NOT FIGHT and we didn't. We are holding on to each other. This is a good thing.

The Dude and I have been looking at houses together. We are looking toward the future. We are working on logistics...as my job involves travel throughout the state and the ability to work a good amount from home, I do not have to remain where I am. I bought my current residence while going through a divorce. My house has four bedrooms and is located within the school system my daughters had attended for most of their educations. Both daughters live quite some distance from me now. There is no need to hold on to this house.

On the other hand, moving from here will be letting go of a life I had with my mom. She moved here to help me during and after my divorce. I spent many evenings with her having dinner and walking the trail in her neighborhood. We would often go shopping together. Her house is for sale and while I want it to sell, I fear letting go as if somehow this will sever me from her even more.

The intangibles are much more difficult to determine what stays and what goes. I want to let go of the memories of her final week; of watching her struggle; of the entire year of cancer. I want to hold on to the memories of meals shared; of special occasions; of vacations and card games. I want to hold on to "DeKockisms"...the things that seem so normal in our family but for others. (Brown sugar on rice comes to mind...) Unfortunately, that first list of memories seems dominant in my brain right now. It's work to wade through those and come to the happier memories.

If I had a pat answer to the things with which I struggle, I would gladly share them. I tell myself to hold on to the good memories of Mom; my relationships with my sister, aunts, cousins and friends; the job I love; the Dude; my pets. I tell myself to let go of the house; the things; and above all, the negative memories and the tears.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. It's a day late, but I love you just the same.

Clean Sweep

Pro basketball playoffs have begun. I'll be honest--I'm not much of a fan. I claim to be a Pacers fan, but only because I live in Indianapolis. Truth be told, since Reggie Miller retired, there hasn't been much to cheer about when it comes to the Pacers. So maybe that makes me a fair weather fan, but to be honest, there is just more in the world on which I want to ponder. 

Back in the almost glory days of the Pacers (when Reggie reigned supreme) there were years in the playoffs when the team did quite well. Never quite well enough to win a championship, but well enough to "sweep" the other team early in the series. This meant that the team would take the minimum number of games required to win the series all at once. (Forgive me if you are a sports fan and think this is like saying the ABC's.) 

These past few weeks have been full of hunting down paperwork, dealing with different banks and investment firms, chatting with the Treasury department, meeting with realtors and trying to make decisions. This past weekend, my sister flew in and my aunt and uncle came down and we packed up and cleaned out my mother's home. Please understand--my mother was a very clean person. She took housekeeping to an art form. Of course, she was not able to do this so much over the past year as the cancer made its deadly progression through her body. But furniture was divvied up, a truck was rented for Aunt Helen and Uncle Max to take things back to Hebron (I now only have two tables in my home instead of three. At the moment I have to china cabinets, but one of those will be leaving by the end of the week) and the trash bin is full. A carload plus went to Goodwill. Once things were out of the house, my sister and aunt attacked the house to make it shine. Both bathrooms were scrubbed, mirrors were shined, cabinets were wiped clean, and floors were done. We all agreed that window cleaning was none of the current company's forte, and this should be hired out. 

My sister and I have agreed upon a realtor and I am meeting with her tomorrow to sign paperwork and officially get the house listed. We hear it is a buyer's market, so we are hoping this house sells quickly. I would like to have all the pieces of her estate decided and settled. I would like to move ahead. I would like to make a clean sweep of getting things done. 

Rarely do clean sweeps happen in pro basketball. Even less do clean sweeps happen in real life and in relationships. I was happy that Aunt Helen decided she wanted the table and china cabinet. I have had no use for them for years, but did not want to get rid of them because they belonged to my grandparents. Aunt Helen made the connection (seemingly obvious) that these were her mother's. Thank heaven she was able to restore them to Hebron. Donna and I had a moment in the house when things felt surreal. I told her that it felt like Mom could come back in at any moment. Donna said that at least we had the house clean for her. Of course, the down side is that Mom would have no clothes as they have all made it to Goodwill. Donna's answer for that was equally appropriate for Mom--"We would just have to go shopping!"

I do not want to sweep the memories of my mother out of my life. I do not want to sweep my long distance relationship with my sister out of my life. I fear selling Mom's house but at the same time cannot wait for it to sell. Maybe the clean sweep is not so much to be desired.

Mid Life Crisis or Second Journey?

To tell you the truth, many of my ideas are not original. I read a lot, picking up pieces of this and that, filing them away, and then they come back out during opportune and inopportune times. I think the title of this post came from a book by Susan Howatch...and she was quoting someone else. Whereever this came from, I'm smack dab in the middle of trying to understand if I am having a "mid life crisis" (or what that even is, for crying out loud!) or at the start of a second journey.

Here is how I understand the good old fashioned "mid-life crisis". Usually a man hits his mid 40's or so, has a little extra money he didn't have as a younger man...and he gets a little itchy to do something he has not done before. At best, the cliche is to buy a little red sports car--most likely a convertible. At worst, the man trades in his first love for a trophy wife. And in between are all kinds of different behaviors--maybe changing physical appearance or taking up a new hobby. I'm not quite certain how this mid-life crisis behavior manifests itself in women. I suppose they can do similar things--after all--red sports car convertibles are FUN!! (Don't you think I would look really good in a red convertible? How many tickets do you think I would incur?)

But the "second journey" seems to be a different animal all together. There seems to be more of a sense of purpose. It's a change in focus. It's a chance to do something that the individual has not yet undertaken. There is less cliche and more risk. And now I find myself at a decision point. Am I having a mid-life crisis or do I have the courage to embark on a second journey?

All my early goals in life have been fulfilled--in one way or another. Sure there have been bumps along the road and things I did not plan. When I was in high school my goal was to go to college. When I got to college my goal was to graduate and get a job. Then the goal was grad school and job. Followed by marriage and having children. From there the plans were a little more murky...I assumed I would make the happily ever after stage eventually. I pictured myself with home, husband and grandchildren. My mom was a great example...and added caretaker to her many job titles. She took care of my dad and then her dad. She moved to Greenfield to help me during my divorce. So after the divorce and some really hands on grandparenting, I found myself in the role of caretaker for my mom. But that job is now done. 

Don't get me wrong. In all my current states and situations, I am truly blessed. I have a nice roof over my head, a job I love with a ton of benefits, a great man to love and explore life with, my dogs and some great great relationships. But there is this little niggling piece of discontent inside me. I now have the ability to make some changes and I want to do so...I think. 

There is talk of moving. There is talk of going back to school. There is talk of travel. And I have initiated all of these conversations. I've been told it is not wise to make any major decisions at this stage in life. Grief can cloud clear decision making. Yet I think I must listen to that niggle deep inside and begin to make some change. Hopefully I will be able to focus better, take a deep breath, and commit to a new plan; a new goal. Don't be surprised to read in this blog that I am doing something different. On the other hand...who knows? There may be a convertible out there somewhere with my name on it. 

The Big Let Down

It's been almost four weeks since Mom left this world. It's been ten days since we officially said goodbye with two memorial services; one here near where I live and one in the hometown. Planning these services was tricky. My sister and I had no idea how many people would come to a service here in the Indianapolis area, and no idea how many people from Hebron would be able to make it. Add to that impossible to predict weather, and we were just up in the air.

The first service was officiated by the hospice chaplain. He was able to share some of her joys and fears she expressed as she neared the end of her life. The service was well attended, with the funeral home staff bringing in more and more chairs. One request Mom had made of me was to sing the Hymn of Promise. During an earlier hospitalization, again on too many drugs and confused, Mom was insisting she was able to see the future. She said everyone told her what a wonderful job I did in singing. No pressure there, right? So when the time came, I took a deep breath and sang. The tears did not come until after I sang. Truthfully, that ranks right up there with one of the most difficult things I have ever done.

After that service, the family went back to Mom's house. My Amity UMC family brought enough food to feed the DeKock army. Not only did my Ohio cousins come, so did their spouses and part of their kids. My daughters had not seen these distant cousins since they had been children playing at the Indiana Dunes. It was the kind of party my mother would have enjoyed.

The service in Hebron was wonderful as well. Again, Mom would have enjoyed it. The Hebron UMC ladies prepared a wonderful lunch. Pastor Kathie offered me the opportunity to sing again, but she read from my earlier blog postings. I've never heard these words read aloud before. It was a humbling experience, to be sure. And the tears flowed. There was no way I could have sung a note.

Having not been in Hebron for awhile, the entire experience has a sense of the surreal. I was able to visit with friends I have not seen in years. I was able to chat with a former teacher--Phyllis Franzman. Mrs. Franzman, or Foo Foo as we called her, taught me how to write in a clear manner. As I put these feelings to paper (or screen) this has been such a great blessing and relief for me.

And then I came home. My sister and her family have returned to their lives. My sister and I are dealing with the estate and bureaucracies inherent in this process. I was craving normalcy, and wanted to jump back into work. My work family has been everything I expected--loving, nurturing and caring. And while I am there or talking with a family, life is normal. When I leave the office or head back to the far Eastside from wherever I might have been, I have the urge to call Mom and tell her when I will be there. I have the urge to call to tell her what has been going on. When I come across something I know would interest her, I sometimes forget I can't just tell her. And then the realization hits me again. I cannot tell Mom about the latest adoption. I cannot tell Mom what I would like to be doing this summer. I am seeing cards for Mother's Day displayed now. I won't be buying her a Mother's Day card. I will have to pay respects another way. Instead of flowers for her patio, I will have to buy flowers for her grave.

I guess the bottom line is simply that I miss her. I miss her smile, bright blue eyes and wit. I miss knowing that she has my back. I fear wasting my inheritance, but I fear I will not be the woman she raised me to be. I miss her encouragement. But I try to keep living normal. I carry a piece of her with me in my heart. I hope she has influenced you as well.

Nouns, Verbs and Emptiness

Grammar 101:  A noun is a person, place or thing. This is in contrast to verbs, which are action words. I'm in the middle of grieving, which is a verb. And the nouns are making it harder. Take for example the noun "mother". Of course, that's the noun I am grieving. But there are triggers of less significant nouns that intensify the grief. (Grief in this case is also a noun, which just makes the English language that much more interesting.)

The biggest of these triggers is the house. I love my mom's house. It is a small brick ranch, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. (Although, to say the third bedroom is a bedroom is a bit of a stretch. By real estate standards with closet and egress, it is a bedroom. It has never been used as a bedroom. It is the office.) Mom bought the house when I was going through my divorce. She gave up her life in the town she had lived for more than 70 years, including her friends, her sister, and her church, to be near to me and my teenage daughters. I appreciated it more than I ever thought. After all, I had spent years foolishly thinking my mother lived the perfect distance of 150 miles away from me. I could see her when convenient for both of us but didn't have to listen to all the momisms on a regular basis. However, when I needed her I needed her. I had friends, and they were great, but they were not my mom. There is nothing like a mom when your heart is breaking.

But back to the house. Mom settled in and made it her own. She added upgrades over the time she was there, sometimes saying she did not know why she was doing it. The upgrades made the house more beautiful. Mom always liked nice things. The house in which I was raised was built at the turn of the last century, and she was easily frustrated with its idiosyncrasies. There were big things....only one bathroom, no garage, no separate family room and an upstairs that was impossible to heat. The basement was an old fashioned cellar. When my parents moved from that house after I was graduating from college, I grieved the loss of that house. When my girls hear about their father planning to move from the house in which they were raised, a get it. I understand. A house is more than house--it is often a sense of security. When my mom left the "new" Hebron house to move here, it did not bother me nearly as much as the original house.

So now my sister and I are faced with cleaning and selling the house in which my mom spent her last seven years and in which she died. Mom knew this would be her last home, and so she kept the sentimentality of it to a minimum. She had been through the jewelry, the pictures, the clothes and given many of them away. She let me know what things she wanted me to have and what things my sister was to get. Mom left my sister and I with strict instructions to NOT FIGHT over the distribution of her assets. Her will was clear. The big things are to be split in half. To this point, my sister and I have honored that and I see no reason why we won't continue to do so.

My sister left for her home in Colorado on Tuesday morning. When I went over Monday afternoon, the grief hit me in a wave. I saw the truck with Mom's things and the realization that she was gone was overwhelming. The house is still nice, but Mom is not there. Her things are there. Some furniture remains. My sister and I will be dividing more of the things next month. We have been in touch with a realtor who will assist in selling the house. When that happens I will no longer be able to walk in at will, and give my mother my standard greeting "Hey mom" and kiss. I will be reminded yet again that she is not with me.

A dear friend is coming over tomorrow afternoon to help me look through some of the papers necessary  for the estate. I'll take some of the things with me that my sister and I have already agreed upon that are now mine. Hopefully I will not cry the entire afternoon away. I will continue to miss my mom. I will need to focus on keeping my house as my home, and let it be my sense of security.

Photographs and Memories (and the Rise of the Hoosiers...)

"Photographs and memories; Christmas cards you sent to me; And all that I have are these to remember you by".  Bonus points if you can name the singer/songwriter...

This is a bittersweet weekend. Last night was spent with my sister, brother-in-law, niece, nephew and significant dude. As the Hurryin' Hoosiers (a number one seed, I might add) played in the NCAA tourney on television, we sat around the table and ate a meal prepared by my wonderful ASC angel co-workers. (After all, that is what people do in times of grief. Eat. And share food. And do...)  The Hoosiers did win last night. The president of the United States has picked them to win the tourney. To say my dad was a huge IU fan would be an understatement. Every March he would eat, breathe and live IU basketball. He died before Bobby Knight was fired and I think it is a positive thing he missed the shenanigans that ensued. I also think he would be very excited about this team, Coach Crean, and the team's prospects this year.

After the meal, we started poring over scrapbooks. And going through papers. We found some interesting things--in addition to Mom's college diploma we found her transcript. Remember when I said she was competitive? And that she valued education? There was never a semester she was not on the Dean's List. Her GPA? 3.91.  Not too shabby for someone who had not been in school since 1950. 

There was controversy over some pictures from the past--as in just who is that baby? Is that Mom? Or is that one of her sisters? And if it is not Mom, why would she have a baby picture of one of her sisters? We think it's Mom. It's on the collage that will go to the memorial service today. That's our story and we're sticking to it.  

The pictures are funny things. Mom was very definite in her dislikes, as well as her likes. She went to Europe without a camera. Her theory was that pictures of castles and the like would not change--they have been there for hundreds of years. If you want a picture of a particular place, buy a postcard. She did concede at one point that if the pictures had familiar people in them, they were ok. Oddly enough, we found a scrapbook with pictures of her in Europe!  One with a sign pointing to the washroom. Important in any language. 

For someone who did not like pictures, she has many scrapbooks and boxes of pictures. Some were easily identifiable, others were not. Another photo that made the collage was a picture of Mom holding up an "Ironing Table".  There were not any Christmas decorations in the photo, so we don't know what the occasion happened to be to warrant a new "Ironing Table", but she was an ironer. I can recall her ironing my dad's underwear that she had hung on the line. The phrase "no-iron" attached to clothing simply did not apply. Mom ironed. She always ironed her sheets...making laundry day a bit more challenging. 

Not only are there are pictures of Mom throughout her life doing various things, there are the pictures of my sister and I throughout out lifespan. It's funny to see the various hair styles and degrees of pudginess. Some people in the pictures are no longer in the family...the ex for example. 

My nephew is a rock climber. Ice wall climber. Adventurer...(crazy, but that's only my opinion, and not a clinical one. That's the aunt who prefers to keep feet on the ground.) At one point my niece pointed out a picture of a long ago birthday, and said "That's Eric's first climbing rope!" Now there is a photo hanging on Mom's wall of Eric sitting on top of a Teton. He is literally in the clouds. Funny how we have documentation of that particular "first". 

New memories are being built. Life will go on without Mom. But I'm grateful to have the photographs and the random card from her to remind me of my heritage. To quote the singer/songwriter from above..."I got a name...I got a song...and I carry it with me and I sing it loud...if it gets me nowhere, I'll go there proud."  The end of this great song is "moving ahead so life don't pass me by". I'm moving ahead. I may be kicking and screaming, but I am moving ahead. I will say good-bye to my mom this weekend...good-bye for now. Really--it's more of a "see you around". 

Thanks, Jim Croce, for great lyrics. 

I'll see you all around.