Waves, WWHC, and a Bit of Chandler-ness
Today was easier than the last few days. There’s a reason why the standard description of grief is, “It comes in waves.” It makes sense. You never leave the water, but some days, some hours, you find yourself simply floating on it, sensing some ripples here and there. Other times, the waves swell and subside — again, over a period of minutes or hours. And sometimes the tide is so strong, the waves so high, they push you down and drag you under, leaving you gasping for air. I welcome the simplicity of ripples today.
I did hot yoga today, and every time my left hand came into view during the various poses of the class, I saw the letters on my ring — WWHC — and thought, “I am honoring Chandler by taking care of myself and staying strong. He would be proud.”
A bit of Chandler'-ness to close today’s blog post:
When the kids were younger, we used to spend a week or two in the Catskills in New York. So many fond memories there including themed dinner parties every night — Halloween, Olympics, Mardi Gras, and Aloha. Near the house where we stayed was a farm also owned by our family members. One of Chandler’s favorite parts of our trip was visiting the farm. He especially loved the goats. Apparently, he wanted to play with them on their terms. Yep, he literally butted heads with the goats for fun and leisure. He also locked himself inside the electronic pen with a crazy turkey named Pavo who had a volatile temper. Don’t ask me to explain. I just report the Chandler-ness.