The Universe said, “Here. Keep your head above water. Feel it all.” A 2022 retrospective.

I’m about to share a bunch of details on the timeline of my year. Typically I just look at the highlights. Instead I went through an interesting exercise that included looking through the thousands of photos I’ve taken throughout the year, reading through my journal, and going through my calendar. If you’re not into the “and then” aspect of my year feel free to skim or skip. 

January - I’m on sabbatical after experiencing a burnout inspired breakdown in December. The plan is to return to work or find a new job by April. Grandpa Bill dies. His body gives out before his mind. He was 98. He loved his children and grandchildren deeply and unconditionally. His death causes my husband to suffer a manic breakdown and a severe relapse. I go to therapy three times.

February - Dad is diagnosed with prostate cancer. Plans are made for surgery. My husband vacillates between manic and depressed. I worry for his physical and mental health and plead with our local hospital for the earliest possible psychiatric intervention. They cannot see him until March. The mania worsens. I go to therapy twice.

March - The psychiatric appointment is short and via Zoom. Husband accuses me of sending him to a “pill farm”. Psychiatrist’s office does not inform me that they are sending home someone they discussed how to keep him safe in the event suicidal thoughts occur. They schedule a follow up for late June. I accept a new job that starts April 1st. About two weeks after the appointment my husband disappears for a few days and kills himself. I turn down the new job. My kids arrive two days later and help me deal with everything. I go to therapy five times.

April - I attempt a self-care solo getaway in South Dakota way too soon. I have a panic attack and come home early. I discover there’s no life insurance and that my husband liquidated his retirement from his longest job and didn’t maximize his contributions to the school districts where he worked. Dad has surgery in Fort Collins. We think everything has gone well. We do a follow up two weeks later. We are encouraged by the progress.I go to therapy three times.

May - I set an unreasonable deadline to finish a book I’d been working on for five years before I leave on a Mother’s Day trip to the east coast and back. I write 35,000 words in 10 days and drive 3200 miles round trip visiting friends and family. I find myself singing along to music. It feels too soon. I go to therapy three times.

June - Dad’s cancer is still there. We support his desire to take a wait and see approach before next steps are discussed. We have Grandpa’s memorial service with the whole family. We serve candy bars and Mountain Dew in honor of his sweet tooth. My kids are here for two weeks and when they leave I fly to see my step-daughter, who is pregnant with her second baby, and her family. We have a “day of Pete” where we eat his favorite foods and go to his favorite places. As I play with my first grandson I struggle to understand how you can willingly leave this world when smiles like his exist. I edit my book and search for publishers and get rejected by a dozen. I go to therapy twice. 

July - Mom has a colonoscopy. There’s an area they want a clearer look. They determine that can happen when she has surgery in August for a separate issue. We schedule Pete’s memorial/ash scattering at the peak of Loveland Pass for his birthday. I apply for and am accepted to get my MBA. I edit some more and get more rejections. I go to therapy twice. 

August - I finally get Pete’s Nebraska retirement money because, “He has not shown up to work for 100 days.” Mom has surgery. Sounds like everything is fine in the questionable spot. I decide that I’m going to self-publish the book. I start the process of getting VA benefits. I discover that my husband has lied about some very bizarre things opening up questions that only he could have answered. I go to Denver to dog-sit for the rest of the month. My oldest gets Covid. I go to therapy five times. 

September - I dog-sit through Labor Day. I realize I don’t want a damn MBA. I head back home to drop my dog off with my parents. I have a nervous breakdown thinking about going to my husband’s memorial so instead, I drive back to Denver to fly to San Diego and meet my newest grandson who looks identical to his dead grandpa. My youngest step-daughter picks the perfect place to place her father’s ashes. It is perfect…and hard. It’s determined that my dad’s cancer is multiplying too quickly and hormone treatment and radiation are recommended.  I get invited by my childhood best friend to go to Ireland. I return from San Diego five days later just in time to win a car in a raffle. The next day I announce, on what would have been my grandmother’s 100th Birthday, that the book inspired by her life is going to be released in the next few weeks. Three days later I fly to Hawaii with my cousin — where I liquidate every Hilton and Southwest point on a week in paradise. I go to therapy three times.

October - I’m approached by the VA that my husband has lied about / exaggerated the depth of his military service and that the psychiatrist that saw him had diagnosed him as Bipolar 2 but suspected the possibility of Bipolar 1. Five days after returning from Hawaii I leave on a second road trip to see the kids where I will end up dropping the dog off in DC with my oldest while I fly to Ireland. We spend several days on the west coast and as we travel back to Dublin I fall ill. After a half dozen negative Covid tests and a sleepless night I decide to fly back to DC early. I don’t really remember the next several days but know that Tori makes me sleep a lot and that, while miserable, still am not testing positive for the dreaded plague. I finally return home at the end of the month. I go to therapy three times. 

November - Dad starts hormone treatment and radiation will begin in 2023. The book launches on Veterans Day. I drive to Denver to pick the kids up for Thanksgiving holidays and we spend the weekend at two book launch/signings. I’m overwhelmed by the attendance. I sell hundreds of books. Life feels quite fake. Thanksgiving was painful. I missed my grandpa carving the turkeys I made. I missed Pete’s weird love of mincemeat pie (the most disgusting pie) and couldn’t stomach the idea of it being served so it was scratched from the menu. I go to therapy three times.

December - I fly to San Diego for a few days to celebrate my grandson’s 2nd birthday and witness my 3 month old grandson is now in 9-12 month clothing. Not only does he look like Pete…he is going to be a giant like him as well.  My youngest gets Covid. A week later I head to Denver and have my first Colorado book signing. Once again, overwhelmed. I pick my kids up for Christmas in Nebraska. They fly back during the Southwest SNAFU of 2022. I go to therapy four times. And now it’s New Years Eve. 

I’ve written before that I don’t enjoy feeling my feelings. If you don’t sit still you rarely feel anything very deeply. I screwed that whole numbness thing up by going to therapy for years before the chaos of 2022. I felt every last bit of it even through all of the travel, book writing, and grieving. I feel homesick for my grandpa. I feel fear and hope for my father. I feel anger and sadness for my husband. I feel grateful for all of my travel, for my kids, step-kids, and grandkids and melancholy that Pete is no longer around for any of them. I feel complicated relief that I’m no longer living in the chaos of a partnership with a bipolar addict. I still feel surprised that I won a car. I feel lucky that I have an incredible therapist. I feel lonely at times while simultaneously loving my solitude. I feel inspired by the success of my book and worried my decision to attempt to support myself by writing (books, freelance, etc.) might not work. I feel humbled by the support of my friends, family, and community through this year that can be best described as “horrifingly weird.” I feel like, with time, that I’m going to be okay.

Looking through these photos brings me peace. Even though this was the hardest year I’ve ever experienced I was surrounded by adventure, good friends, my incredible family and, while this was a brutal year, it had its moments and I’m grateful I captured them to remind me why, and how, I survived 2022.

I can’t quite bring myself to say “happy” New Year but I can wish everyone a blessed 2023.