New Year New Me

 We've heard this one before. Reflections of 2021, Resolutions 2022. It's that time of year, between Christmas and New Year's when we get our collective shit together. 

This morning I am pleased to report I swam laps for the first time in nearly two years. The water was surprisingly warm, could not have been happier about that. I realized I had nearly forgotten the 12 Steps. This is the mantra I use to swim 25 laps, one step per lap, forwards and backwards, with the ending of How it Works during the 13th lap. I couldn't remember the 1st step. I got the second step and regained my old rhythm. After the 4th lap, the flow is on, it's not a struggle. My breath is like a fish. As easy as walking...though my arm strength is a bit low. The 11th step is my favorite. I like the number 11, and Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God, as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out is a beautiful sentiment to rise to. I use the last bit in prayer quite often. 

On the way down from 12, I did recall the 1st step: Admitted we were powerless over alcohol and our lives had become unmanageable. I came to this conclusion in 1999 and have not looked back. While others drink around me much of the time, I remind myself that alcohol wouldn't add anything to my life that I truly desire and may destroy some things I treasure, namely my mental health. 

My hope is to swim a couple of times a week. It felt good and right and I've missed it. I probably need to touch in with my program, too, as my swim today pointed out. 

Mouse Stirring

 Yes, this  mouse is stirring again. Christmas morning, way morning. 2021. The year that followed the Covid year, that became another Covid year. 

My thoughts go to and have been going to, finishing our 6th year without Adam. As the material things that connected me to Adam break down, give out, or are consumed (believe it or not, I still have tea from Adam; if you know me, you will surely believe it), I feel myself moving into an inevitable new phase. That distant one of the mother who has lost her child and doesn't break down when talking about their person for the first time with someone.  The one where people look at her and barely remember she is a suicide loss survivor, as she has so visibly moved on. The one where I creep closer to the point where I will find out if there is an afterlife where we are reunited (in a natural way, of course).

I don't know, it's weird to think I will possibly be one of those moms who lives long enough to be without Adam as long as I lived with Adam. If you do the math, this assumes a realistic estimate (both my parents lived past 79 years of age). 

This insomnia reminds me of Adam. If he were here for Christmas, he would be prowling around, socks on the living room floor, remnants of a snack in the kitchen. We could meet for a chat, rather than meeting in a blog filled with all my feelings and musings. 

I appreciate every reminder of my best boy: the watch on my wrist, the memory shared that includes Adam, a picture trapped in time, friend or family speaking his name, and every question about how I am doing now. Honestly, I don't get that last one much, and that's okay. I'm not sure how to answer it anyway.