November.

November.  It’s the month of the year that is always hard for me.  It’s definitely not my favorite month.  With the start of November comes the end of my favorite time of the year.  It means that snow covers the ground instead of bright colored leaves.  And with snow comes cold weather.  I am realizing as I get older that I hate cold weather.  I love the snow, but I am miserable in the cold.  This makes for a miserable four(ish) months of my life each year.  I definitely believe that Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) is a real thing.  I feel a drastic change in my attitude and behavior during the winter months.  Brought on by the cold, lack of sunshine, and lack of time spent outdoors, I go through a slight depressive state at this time each year.  I can blame it on the weather for the sake of pointing fingers but I also know that Winter time is not the only thing that makes me depressed.

I don’t typically share this part of my story, but I feel the need to do so today.  This post is hard for me to write but I want to anyway.  I want to share why exactly I can’t seem to shake this slump that you may witness me in during November.


November.  A time to give thanks; to be thankful for loved ones and jobs and all of the positivity that the last year has provided.  We can be thankful for sweaters and flannel, and hot cocoa and warm pumpkin spice/peppermint flavored drinks.  We can be thankful for holidays and time off of work and school.  We can be thankful for health and for an abundance of other things.

For me, as hard as I try to avoid it, I always find myself in a slump during this time.  I try to remember all the flannels and lights and fun flavored drinks that warm the body and the soul.  But I also remember sadness, sickness, and loss.


November.  The month in which I have experienced the most loss.  Unfortunately, I have lost a great grandmother, two uncles, a grandma, a grandpa and a relationship with running during the month of November.  I have been impacted by each of these losses differently, but each has been tough in some important way.

I was extremely young when I lost my great grandmother.  To be honest, I don’t even remember her very much.  This loss didn’t hit me until recently, actually.  For whatever reason the thought that I don’t remember any of my great grandparents saddens me.  I don’t think a lot of people know their great grandparents, but thinking about how special that relationship must be makes my heart warm.

When I lost my two uncles, I was more hurt for my cousins that were experiencing this loss.  I personally wasn’t that close to either of these uncles, but knowing that my parents, cousins, and grandparents were losing brothers, fathers, and sons makes my heart hurt.

Some may think that this next one is a strange one.  But for me its part of my identity.  If you had known me growing up, you know that ALL I did was run.  Losing that in November of my senior year of high school is still something that haunts me.  My senior year of high school was when I realized that I would never be great at running.  While running was my passion, it wasn’t my strength or my calling or my future.  I realized that I was not as good as the others.  I was not going to compete at state finals.  I was not going to compete in college.  I was not going to compete ever again.

I still run; it’s just a little different.  I no longer have a running community.  I no longer run competitively.  I no longer run for others.  I run for me and me alone.  I run because it is my escape from the negativity in my life.  I run to let go.  I run to prove to myself that I have strength, stamina, drive, and endurance.  I run to prove to myself that I am worth it, no matter what anyone said or thought back in high school.  I run because I love it, and that will never change.

This next one is kind of strange too.  I didn’t actually lose my grandfather.  He’s still alive.  I just lost him in the sense that I no longer believe that I have a relationship with him.  When I lost my grandmother, I lost the thing that tied my grandfather to the rest of my family.  He has become like a distant relative in some ways.  I never see him.  I never speak to him.  Sadly, I don’t care to.  I feel like he doesn’t care about me, or anyone else in my family.  Part of me blames my grandma’s death for this.  I can’t even begin to imagine how anyone who has lost their partner must feel.  Losing a woman as special as my grandma must have defeated him.  I believe that when my grandma died, so did he.  He’s not the same man that he once was.  It sucks.  But, I also don’t care to know the man that he is today, so it is easier to avoid it all and to be distant.

Now, the hardest one of all…my grandma.

Today, November 19, 2016, is the nine year anniversary of my grandmother’s death.  I can’t believe that it has been nine years already.  It seems like just yesterday and it seems like forever.  But it doesn’t matter.  She’s gone.  It is still one of the hardest things to cope with.  My grandmother and I were incredibly close.  She was someone that I looked up to for everything.

I inherited many great things from her.  I inherited my love and passion for caring for others.  She did that well.  She was so attentive to her loved ones, and so willing to sacrifice everything of her own for someone else.  I believe I am pursuing work in a helping profession because of witnessing the love that she shared with others and wanting to do that myself.  I also inherited my outspokenness from her.  My grandmother had a way with words.  She didn’t care who heard what she had to say.  And, boy did she always have something to say.  She was full of stories.  I also inherited my storytelling from her.  I acknowledge the fact that I run my mouth to the point of trouble.  I acknowledge the fact that I talk too much.  I acknowledge the fact that I tell stories.  But I also acknowledge where I got these traits, and why I value communication, speech, and the power of voice so much.

Every November I am paralyzed with that sinking feeling that another year has gone by that I haven’t spoken to my grandma.  I haven’t heard her voice.  Every year I think about the fact that I am losing those memories with each moment that passes.  I no longer know if I remember what she sounded like or exactly how she looked or smelled.  That is scary.  It’s sad.  And every year I fall into this pit of November.

Today, I am far away from family and friends.  I am alone in South Dakota.  I am sad.  I am remembering.  I woke up feeling sick this morning.  I woke up to a work related emergency.  And I woke up to the reality that it was November.  November 19th to be exact.


Since I am working on practicing self-care and focusing on my wellbeing this year, I thought I would share some of my emotions today.  Part of being well is being honest and real with the fact that everyone has bad days.  I want to work on overcoming bad days and bad months and overcoming the demons that November always brings with the cold weather.

With love,

-Joel

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