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I started this poem "Wellness Check" as a somewhat tongue in cheek reaction to a story I read about someone who was held captive and her family knew something was wrong because she wasn't sharing her Wordle score. I started to think about all the other things I could do or not do that would indicate I was in trouble. It took me all day to write and rewrite this and I'm still not 💯 satisfied but I'm so proud of myself. I haven't spent this long on creative writing since I earned my MFA from GMU in 2004. I loved reconnecting to that part of myself enjoys hunting for the right words to solve the puzzle 🧩 in my mind. #BeThe1To take a few minutes and reach out to someone you care about. #wellness#creativewriting #wordle #mentalheathmatters #suicideprevention  A related poem that I wrote when I was in college in 1993.  Another poem about identity from 2000.   In the ongoing saga of me trying to figure it all out, the meaning of life, my career path, my dreams and wishes, hopes and fears, or simply what’s for dinner tonight or on the agenda for tomorrow, I know that I’ve been avoiding one particularly difficult area of planning: DEATH. So as I went for my daily coffee walk this morning, the thought occurred to me that perhaps I should prioritize getting my shit together regarding end-of-life planning because as Chanel Reynold’s website prominently states: “Hoping for the best is not a plan.” Turning 50 last year really made me face my own mortality and the thought has crossed my mind every single day since, What if this is it? What if I don’t get tomorrow, what do I want to be doing today? If I knew I had 6 months to live or won the lottery, how would my life immediately change? I’m working on answers to those questions and hope to create a an infographic to map out options for living my best life today. It’s embarrassing to say that although I’ve had life insurance for both me and my husband ever since we had children, neither of us has a will and we don’t often talk about what we want to happen when we die. I always joke, “ANY MEANS NECESSARY” when it comes to making choices about my health care decisions if I can’t make them myself. If you’re not sure there’s life after death, I figure you might as well keep things going for as long as possible. On the other hand, Fran, in no uncertain terms, has instructed me to pull the plug quickly in almost every hypothetical situation. And this is why I always pay the premium for his life insurance policy on time. It’s probably not my most shining moment as a mom, but I told my daughter that I don’t want her dad to marry anyone else if I die first. Not that he would, he’s not really the marrying kind. Not quite sure how I got him to do it the first time to be honest. Anyway, in my fear of being replaced by a second wife, I warned her not to ever let him get away with saying, “She would have wanted me to be happy” if that was justification for falling in love with someone else because I unequivocally would not want that! I don’t actually remember the last time Fran and I talked about what to do if one of us dies before the other. (Perhaps I should say “when’” because the odds of us dying together when we don’t even live in the same state the majority of the year seems rather unlikely.) Years ago I vaguely remember him saying something about finding a way to scatter his ashes in London’s St. Paul’s Cathedral and donating his extensive library to … oh crap, where did he want that to go?! Clearly it’s time to stop avoiding the death talk and start to have the conversations about end-of-life decisions. To make it easier I just signed up for a free account on In the ongoing saga of me trying to figure it all out, the meaning of life, my career path, my dreams and wishes, hopes and fears, or simply what’s for dinner tonight or on the agenda for tomorrow, I know I’ve been avoiding one particularly difficult area of planning: DEATH. So as I went for my daily coffee walk this morning, the thought occurred to me that perhaps I should prioritize getting my shit together regarding end-of-life planning because as Chanel Reynold’s website prominently states: “Hoping for the best is not a plan.” Turning 50 last year really made me face my own mortality and the thought has crossed my mind every single day since, What if this is it? What if I don’t get tomorrow, what do I want to be doing today? If I knew I had 6 months to live or won the lottery, how would my life change? It’s embarrassing to say that although I’ve had life insurance for both me and my husband ever since we had children, neither of us has a will and we don’t often talk about what we want to happen when we die. I always joke, “ANY MEANS NECESSARY” when it comes to making choices about health care decisions if I can’t make them myself. If you’re not sure there’s life after death, I figure you might as well keep things going for as long as possible. On the other hand, Fran, in no uncertain terms, has instructed me to pull the plug quickly in almost every hypothetical situation. It’s probably not my most shining moment as a mom, but I told my daughter that I don’t want her dad to marry anyone else if I die first. Not that he would, he’s not really the marrying kind. Not quite sure how I got him to do it the first time to be honest. Anyway, in my fear of being replaced by a second wife, I warned her not to ever let him get away with saying, “She would have wanted me to be happy” if that was justification for falling in love with someone else because I unequivocally would not want that. I vaguely remember him saying something about finding a way to scatter his ashes in London’s St. Paul’s Cathedral and donating his extensive library to … oh crap, where did he want that to go? I just signed up for a free account on cake, the the leading company for end-of-life planning and navigating mortality. I’m also ready to play, “My Gift of Grace: A conversation game for living and dying well” with my twin this weekend.  Resources on Mortality
Workshopping Life and Death If I were to die today? What would my regrets be (if any)? What have I left unsaid that I’d like to say? I’ve been much better lately about being honest with people about how I feel, explaining why I do what I do, how what they’ve done or said has affected me both positively and negatively. It hasn’t always been easy and it rarely has given me all the closure I ideally wanted, but it’s something. I’ve lost so much this year. I’ve grieved. I’ve mourned. I’ve struggled. I’ve endured the loss of friendships (without explanation), the unexpected (and poorly handled) terminations at places I’ve work, and a sense of identity. Yesterday it occurred to me that I really need to be brutally honest with myself (and my family and friends) about what I need to do in order to thrive … to do more than just survive. And for awhile it feels like I’ve been stuck in survival mode, stuck in old patterns, making poor choices. I need to break out of that rut. I’ve said “I love you” more often to everyone who I speak with or text. I want no regrets. I want everyone who matters to me to know how much I care about them and how much they’ve helped me get through some tough times.
Thinking about Patty Workman and all the people in Charlottesville she had such a positive impact on ... she will be missed. |
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