It’s been a while since I’ve written here; I clearly see that I need to dust and set the mental furniture straight, again.

I freely admit that I hit an emotional logjam many weeks back, and that’s one of the big reasons why I haven’t been blogging — or making much of an effort in weight loss. I wrote some time ago about my oldest brother, Greg, and his battles with learning how to walk, again, after back surgery; he finally lost a ten year battle with prostate cancer a week ago today. He chose to discontinue treatment last fall, and without going into all the details, I think that news was probably my trigger for starting to lose my own mojo; not just for weight loss, but for a lot of things.

We all handle grief in different ways; I’d been saying my goodbyes to him for years, silently marking the last hug, the last phone call, knowing they would likely be the last ones and tucking them away in my memory to treasure later. I think this is often true for those who love people with terminal illnesses; that cataloging of good moments, consciously or not.

When finally faced with the reality that his time with us was growing short, my emotions short circuited. I didn’t lose capacity or ability; but desire? Yes. Desire to make an effort, as in weight loss. Willingness to enjoy the things I truly love to do — I stopped doing them, as if I were punishing myself for doing something wrong, inflicting pain on myself for some unknown transgression or misbehavior. Meanwhile, my brother was still very much on earth, and we had some quite lovely conversations, he and I. He kept his happiness and love for life until shortly before his death; me? I was miserable.

And stagnant. I’ve always believed that to not move forward is a step backward. The rational side of me is acutely aware of purpose and function.

But the emotional side of me was stopped at a gate across the road; unable to journey further until the gate was opened, my life and my joy suspended there in waiting for those inevitable words, which came last Friday. I think if he had known that I was somehow denying myself these simple joys in life, he likely would have told me I was crazy, and to just go be happy, but being at a distance is insulation. He didn’t know I’d hit this logjam, and while I knew that I was silently putting my life on hold until his death, I felt powerless to do much about it.

The last week has been the toughest; death often brings out the worst in people, and we have surely experienced that after the death of a gentle and kind soul, which has complicated my grief. And yet, the last couple days, I’ve been able to finally turn my eyes away from the anger and realize that I’m ready to start enjoying my life, again.

In a strange way, releasing anger awakened me from my lethargy. Getting angry and working through it released a great deal of emotion that I’ve bottled up for months. And now that the anger is trickling away, I realize that the worst of my grief was in watching my brother’s slow decline at an incurable distance.  His life is now fully complete; he’s walking on a beach somewhere in the sunshine, a beer in one hand, his guitar in the other. The gate’s open, and it’s high time for me to resume my journey — in many ways.

I’ll be working to find my weight loss mojo again; it’s not far off, I can see it roadside in front of me, waiting. I’ve maintained at about 10 pounds above my low, so getting back on track won’t be difficult.

There are other goals I was working toward, as well; life changes are rarely in just one area, after all, and it’s high time to get on with those things, too. Reclaiming joy in life honors my brother’s death most of all; he was a truly happy person, even in facing death.

I’m so glad to be on the road, again.