BIPOLAR DISORDER AND GRIEF

I went four weeks without showering. This wasn't even after Dan died, but instead, after his father died 18 months later.

It was depression but I refused to accept it. I had a lack of desiring self-care (and almost a stubborn sense of not treating myself well) and an anxiety about stepping into the shower and that sensory transition from being dry to getting wet. The longer it lasted, the more apathetic yet irritable I felt. There was no one hugging me and snuggling me in bed... No one to even notice my body odor beneath the deoderant and freshly laundered clothing. That lack of intimacy made Dan's absence feel so painful. 

I went into experiencing mixed states and that continued as I began to shower again. I was irritable and anxious, low and high, triggered to be extremely energetic around family and friends, and definitely buzzing on the ideas racing in my mind. I started shopping again and racked up more debt. I continued to drink every night to self-medicate. I also decided I had ADHD and that was the true diagnosis that explained everything. I went down a whirling rabbit hole of research and wild ideas. I told myself, I didn't have bipolar disorder! This always happens.

But I stayed on my meds and when I kept up with my psychiatrist, he tweaked my busperine and raised abilify, which ended up supporting me and I came into a better stable place.

It has been a long journey with this roller coaster. I grieve for my husband and partner who loved me and cared for me despite my disorder; who saw me for who I was and believed I was worthy of love and good things. He listened. He held me. He tried so hard to make me happy for twenty years. 

I live with guilt for realizing what it could have done to him. The worry and anxiety it caused him. There is no conversation to be had about it now. He is not here to experience the depth of my apology and see me strive to be better, make better choices, manage my life in a way that I never was able to and do the very best that I can being a mom, friend, sister, daughter, human being. I'm working full time and I've stayed at the same job for almost five years. I'm handling a house and yard, cooking, taking care of Stormy... all with shifting energy and moods every day.

I have only one voice recording from Dan. It is saved in my voice memos on my phone and I hope it never disappears. I only listen to it every once in a while so it stays sacred. So when I need a reminder, to keep at it, to find my self-confidence and not focus on stigmas and self-doubt, I listen. It was on my birthday three years ago. I was struggling with depression and we were out for drinks talking through it a bit. He took my phone and hit record. He told me "All of the experiences that you've had in your life are amazing and beautiful just like you."

DEAREST DON RAINE || ED. 6

A YEAR IN PHOTOS

You grow and change every day but what remains consistent is your unwavering zen quality like your father and your blessing of be surrounded by so much love. 

My pride doubles every day to the point where I can't even express it!

You are a good friend, student, athlete, thoughtful son and adventurous co-traveler, and now a great driver!

A Poem for Today

by Leah Herzing

-For Ryan + Lindsay-

The world is within me

in my tired body. The world 

and the bubbling of too much 

life, too many cells spreading,

​hard at work to take over.

I left for the pines 

where the light filters 

as pure as the whitest hair.

The light is like soft sheets

around the tall trunks with 

flaking bark that is colored

clay and pinkish-gray like a bruise.

The snow, a wet cover of skin 

over the bones of ​branches, rocks, 

and pebbles​. That thirst after the melt?

It is the muscle of meaty mushrooms,

the red-caps and the cauliflowers.

Touch them. 

I am there.  

I left for the lakes where each pool 

is a wide mouth of water.

The well-weathered Superior

with its freckled ice cracking and melting;

another so crystalline you can see

and touch the largemouth, the bluegill,

the northern pike. 

And one so opaque and saline

Where there are hundreds of birds–

the waterfowl, the wading ones 

busy at the salty edges, 

And those  infinitely diligent passerines.

All of the shorelines are an easy breath–

In and out.

In and out.

I am there.

I left for the prairie with the sun as 

eyelids of warmth​ covering the soil,

above the layered depths of dirt just letting go 

of the chill. The bluestem waves hands

as the white tailed lingers, and the rabbits

taste the sugary stalks of the tall grass. 

A year after the burn, there is a path

where the wildflowers part

and the dirt kicks up

as the children run. 

I am there. 

I left for the garden

where magnolias stretch out, offering

bowls of reddish-purple crowns.

In the hot mouth of sunlight, 

the wild bergamot grows, bees nudging its 

fingertips of lavender​.

Prickled, leafy vines hold young

heirloom tomatoes, fleshy full of juice.

Savor them with their colors of 

maroon, tangerine, pale green 

and thick yellow– painter’s colors.

Save the seeds for planting.

I am there.

All of the cycles are within me,

in the spirit of ash and sand​,

more life, more webs reaching.

My connection effervescent,

whispers always, like easy wind,

like the low-pitched call 

of the owls, 

sacred syllables echoing.

I am here.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS MOVING ON

 

Denver || 9.5.25

I have tried. Not with great intention, but rather aimlessly. It might be enough for some of you to say Yes, there is such a thing. You are doing it. Look at you go.

It doesn't feel like it, really, when I think of him constantly. When I wake, when I see the prisms around the house, or spot the birds in flight moving together in sweeping shapes in the sky, when I hear a song that I swear is meant for me from him, feeling a lazy wind through the trees... I try to imagine what it would be like if he was there in these things and signaling mystically to me. I'm distracted by this all day long every day.

I bear this loss like I did the weight of his cancer. Only that burden came with relief (as devastating as it was at the same time--the pressure did release and then I was left with nothing). This weight of loss with his death just doesn't come with relief. It will never be complete. If "free" is a goal, I don't think I can expect a day in the future other than my own moment of leaving this world when I will feel free.

In the meantime, I keep showing up. I do the things. I try. If you want to call that moving on, I guess you can. For me it is pure fight vs. flight and survival of the fittest and sometimes my mind isn't the most strong, fast, or wise. Again, I don't know what I'm doing, so let us just say there is no such thing.

For my own sanity, though, let's talk about what I have done while drifting aimlessly. For my own memory and to leave to Raine. What all of this is like.

Last September, I traveled alone for the first time. 

First I went to Denver. While Hattie was at work, I was alone in her apartment. The loneliness even in a different place made me cry. It almost hurt more than at home--which was already a messy composition of what felt like very raw pain and exasperation every night sitting on the couch and staring around the room, looking for Dan. 

He would have loved that I ventured out on my own finally and wandered through a farmer's market. I felt keenly aware of my singleness as I watched pairs of people and families bustling through the park. I had coffee and a killer breakfast sandwich, ooohed and ahhhed at booths full of plants, vegetables, jams, spirits, and art. Then I sat for a long time watching everyone.

I visited my favorite bookstore, quietly approving books as I peered at stacks of them on display tables or those lined up on the shelves with paper notes of recommendations by staff. I intuited my selection and later documented them with joy. My travel tote was heavier than I wanted, but it felt good. Books console me with their possibility for what I can feel and learn. 

And yet, Where was he for me to call and tell him about Andrea, and their books of poetry, and how they had passed, too, leaving their partner, but they left us all so many holy poems to just read and breathe in? And about the way I wrinkled my nose at the beautiful mushrooms or renewed my vow to take care of house plants, or.... or! The taste of the handmade mochi filled with black sesame cream, a layer of red velvet cake, and a dusting of black sesame powder? How adventurous was I? 

I COULD IMAGINE HIM BEAMING.

Saturday night we went to Red Rocks. I got to see Brandi again, this time with Hattie. I would have tried to describe the moon to him. How my heart dropped to the bottom of my toes at her cover of Everybody Hurts. I would have told him about the new songs she did. Her new album was coming out soon and he would never hear it.. It was always disorienting when I would realize that---because Dan always had the newest music, in almost every genre, dialed up and playing on his earbuds every morning during his walks. 

Did he see us pass the racoon eating popcorn as we left? Did he hear Hattie and I laugh the whole way back to Denver on the funny little school bus with our free beers and hearts so full of love and light? 

Milwaukee || 9.27.25

Then, back in the Midwest, I took a road trip alone. To Milwaukee. To a wedding.

I stayed at a fancy hotel and I tried to look fancy. I hadn't paid much attention to myself in the last year... No need to have chin hairs plucked or hair color died, a small waist, or painted toe nails for doctor's offices and hospital hallways. I also didn't feel like Dan needed me to be anything other than what I was typically--which I considered somewhat attractive? But I felt overweight and always looked tired. I was sure I looked cute giggling at his dance moves, though. Now I had to look at myself straight on and do my best to feel confident without my biggest cheerleader there to kiss me.

To say I cried is an understatement. I cried silently for an entire Catholic wedding, in the beautiful Old Saint Mary Church, with beautiful Molly walking down the aisle to her beautiful groom Tom. I cried with the stand-ups and sit-downs, the thoughts for those who aren't with us, and the peace-be-with-you and also-with-you each person gave to the other, and all the elements that go with the whole sacramental liturgy. I just cried.

Memories of our wedding, of our first date which was at a wedding, of our second date which was at a wedding, well, yes, many wedding memories to make me cry. But also, just the absent seat next to me in the pew, and his missing hand for me to hold. It didn't take much.

At the reception, I gave it my all. I braved the dance floor with In Da Club and Pink Pony Club and other clubs...with strangers. I had a lovely meal in the dining hall with a family I didn't know. And the bar was fun, with good ol' Midwest drunken strangers, who I just couldn't even really muster up much conversation with. I didn't feel perky and interested in other people. I felt devestated to not have my tall, handsome husband with me, with his hand at my back, and his whispers in my ear. 

I got very drunk. Not so drunk that I couldn't walk, but I know I had more than my fair share of the cute little drink appetizers--that waiter knew where to find me--a little 7 oz. bottle of Miller High Life with a deviled egg, ham, cheese, and pickle skewer. A few Miller Lites to follow...I just sat silently at one point. I rode in another bus back to the hotel, this time without Hattie and her laughter and a heart so full. I arrived at the hotel with the same thing I left it with--my singlehood. My widowness. My awkward existence.

My saving grace, I feel like, was that Molly had my presence, my support, and my deepest love for her and her future with Tom. It was my gift to her to be there! And I also took great effort to give them a thoughtful gift that would have been picked out by Dan and me; vinyl. Some of our beloved records. Mine, Over the Rhine Drunkard's Prayer, and his, the sea and cake the fawn. I wrapped them carefully because of my tears.

I like to think of Dan watching Molly and Tom as they open the present, and listen to the records. That's how he lives on, right? So I guess if I keep going, it is him living on also.

I can do that. Look at me go.

TODAY

My country bombed Iran today. I woke at 7:30 for an appointment with pest control to keep all of the cockroaches, insects, and spiders out of my home. I sat at the dining room table, reading the news on my laptop while drinking coffee. A man named Adam with long curly hair under a ball cap and crooked teeth sprayed chemicals along the baseboard of each room, under cabinets, behind the piano and couch, as well as outside on the earth against the stone of my house, behind neatly landscaped bushes and flowers. He assured me that the insecticide wasn't harmful to my dog.

The bombing was described as a joint effort between my country and Israel. NPR reported that Trump encouraged innocent Iranians to "take over your government. It will be yours to take. This will probably be your only chance for generations."

I went and got my nails done. A gentle Vietnamese woman wrapped my fingertips in foil with soaked cotton balls to soften the layers of finely-milled powder in a color that was brownish purple like a faded bruise, that I have had painted every four weeks since my husband died. After she dipped and polished my nails, I washed my hands with a goopy peach soap that has granular beads to exfoliate and soften my skin. I paid $55 and gave a $10 tip for a job well done. After 21 months, I spoke up and asked her what her name was. Ouane.

x

On social media, I found fervent posts against the war and I consider sharing a few. I wondered if it would be too much–If people would decide not to follow me. And if they didn’t follow me, how would they know what I believed and how important it was to consider a different viewpoint?

The dog bit and pulled at the curtains again, the pressure almost pulling the rod out of the wall. My friends Steve and Anna came over to help. The cats, squirrels, and other dogs outside the window just rile up my dog and he growls and lashes out, appearing crazed and vicious. On the other hand, when he meets people he quickly lies on his back, exposing his tender belly, waiting for scratches and pets. While Steve found a stud and secured new anchors and drilled screws into them, Anna and I discussed the books on my coffee table. On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous. Hijab Butch Blues. There Are Rivers in the Sky. Essays After Eighty. This is Your Mind on Plants. And what books had we just read or were currently reading? Awake. A Truce That Is Not Peace.

My father was a handyman for single or widowed moms and grandmothers while he was retired. Then he suffered a brain injury and subsequent strokes. I visited him and brought hot chocolate. I told him I had brought the treat and he replied as always, You did?! As if it is a surprise every time. My sister raised him in his hospital bed and put the drink on his tray in front of him. While he took small sips, I told him that work had been hectic but I was getting a bonus. My son joined the tennis team at school. The dog was still crazy. Then my sister and I talked for an hour but I never brought up the news about Iran. We don’t usually talk about things like that.

I received an email from a Muslim political action group that I subscribe to, urging me to contact my representatives and implore them to immediately bring to the floor a resolution to end the war. I clicked a link and entered my name, address, and email, then signed an already-drafted letter to my members of congress. I had a moment when I considered what difference my letter made and then clicked ‘send.’ I was informed that I was among 94,019 fellow Americans to sign and send it. 

After dinner, I sat on the couch and drank more beer. Instead of watching the news, I watched a movie that was about a woman who had died and in her afterlife, she had to choose between her first husband (who had died in the Korean war) or her second husband (who she was married to for 56 years) who to spend eternity with. As a widow myself, I should have been amused and laughed because it was a comedy but instead it fell flat for me.

The Pentagon named the bombing “Operation Epic Fury.” While the aim was the offices of the Supreme Leader and his missile program, Iran's news reported the strikes also hit a girls school near a paramilitary base, killing at least 53 young female students and wounding dozens more.

My secret is that all winter I have let a tiny spider thrive in my kitchen above the counter behind my coffee maker. In the corner between the window and the wall, she has a little cobweb with a plump fly dangling among tiny gnats. I just don’t have the heart to wipe it all away.

THE ACCIDENT

Cars were diverted to one lane, moving forward at a small crawl. The sky was inky slate and the lights from the first responder vehicles pulsed in cherry brights and electric blue beams. I saw a man standing next to a truck with a tractor and equipment attached, several cops huddled nearby. Then there was a stretch of pavement mirroring the night and a white sheet covering something. More black concrete and then another truck, more cop cars. I crept forward and the pulsing lights continued, reinforced by the multiple lights at the intersection. Stoplights. Red. I hit my brakes. In my mind, I imagined the sheet again, the forms and shapes underneath. I imagined debris of organic material, from a farm. Pumpkins. Gourds. Smashes of their flesh and pulp. 

It is the body of Laurie, I would find out the next day. Laurie, who had a 12 year old cat named Zima with gray fur and a pink nose, and white tipped ears and cheeks. “Let’s help this beautiful kitty find a loving home” a friend shared on social media, hoping to reach someone through friends of friends who would take a 12 year old cat who had maybe only ever known its elderly companion. A photo showed Laurie holding Zima in her arms. Laurie wore a plush blue robe covered in white puffy clouds and stood in black boots, the laces undone and dragging on the floor. Her grey hair thinly draped her wrinkled face. Then in a single act in the night, strangers were passing by her body, witnesses to her death. 

I thought of the Palestinians, who have lived for 36 months in a nightmare of torn flesh from shrapnel, flesh on fire, bomb after bomb, witnesses to endless death. Entire family lineages have been destroyed. Each member is a single life, a life like Laurie. Or you. Or me. The survivors? Traumatized. No one is coming to help them to survive or to properly bury their loved ones. The entire world has been witnessing it with no changes. 

My home is warm and has faucets, sturdy beds, curtains, plants, and a piano. I have ice cubes and a coffee pot. I have the ashes of my husband in a thick glass-stained blue and green box, where I can look upon it anytime I want; I can touch it tenderly every day. It is surrounded by books of poetry, vinyl records, his old trombone case covered in a collection of stickers, and a framed photo of him fishing on the Nestucca. He stood with his gear on a large boulder, a smile of simple pleasure on his face, in his favorite spot, surrounded by evergreens. 

I feel guilty maybe for not adopting Zima the cat. Also as a witness to the Palestinians’ suffering with little I am able to do. And even though it is natural, I feel guilty for smiling and going about my everyday living while Dan is wildly missing from us–something that my guilty brain also still finds completely surreal even after a year and a half. It never ends. I do what little I can. I said a prayer for Laurie. I shared the post about Zima. I contact my representatives, and advocate for Palestinian rights. And for Dan, I listen to the bird calls. I tell Raine when something he does or says is like his dad. I make a batch of chili enough times that I can do it without looking at the recipe. I watch the trees, welcome sunlight in the winter, and listen to music. I write.

JAMES EDWARD HERZING

 

Rest in the greatest peace and the love and fondness of so many friends and family, dear Jim.

May you experience the joy of bliss, reunited with Dan and EJ.