And by the way, I appreciate the skiing anecdotes although my skiing days are few and far between now due to my arthritic knees ! It brings me back big time !
Hi Bertie, Loved your post, as I love all your posts. My way of combatting stress is what I shared in my YouTube of what I did after being crashed into on a ski slope at Deer Valley, Utah. It kept me from any kind of panic--I made a deep long humming sound down my body. You can learn more in the 4 minute video calledl "My Secret to Reducing Anxiety and Preventing Panic." My other method is what I call Contact Healing--www.contacthealing.com It's letting oneself feel the sensation of whatever the emotion is WITHOUT meaning-making, futurizing, self-judging, and WITH giving it space and permission to be there from the larger adult Self --letting the feeling be in the child-self, and holding or embracing or soothing and allowing that child-self i.e. emotion, feeling, stress to be there until it melts, vanishes, lets go. I remember that lst year with Georgia because I was invited to go to the hospital and offer her some Reiki healing. Remember? I'd love to be in touch again. Love to you and your wonderful family, Clare
I am old and I have been blessed with many friends much older than I am. Along with the joy of their shared wisdom and love has come a concomitant fear of the late night or early morning bleating of my mobile phone, with the inevitable news that one of these precious people has left us. Yet no fear prepared me for the urgent message left by my oldest brother two weeks ago, nor the glottal catch in his throat as he told me that our youngest brother, Michael, had died a few hours earlier during a brief vacation in Puerto Rico.
Michael was six years younger than I am, just 65. I loved him deeply and, growing up with our two older brothers mostly gone, he was my shadow, faithfully following me into a love of music, of our Jewishness and song leading, of activism and righteousness (and self-righteousness, and provocation), and love of children, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Phil Ochs, James Taylor, and Joni Mitchell, among others. Identifying Michael on a gurney in a cold little room at the hospital in San Juan, when the sheet was pulled back from his beautiful face, his eyes still glistening blue, was about the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
Like Peter Pan, I am bereft at the loss of my shadow, and, unlike Peter, at the awful finality of that loss, which did not really hit me until a few weeks later, during Shabbat dinner with my kids and grandkids, that there would never be another Shabbat dinner or Passover seder with Uncle Michael.
So I'm thinking, as I sort through the responsibilities of executor of the estate, such as it is, of one who left a mess of a life behind along with the astonishing and expanding circle of people who loved and were loved by him, that stress comes in many variations and modes. Michael's death doesn't bring on night sweats the way, say, fear of job loss or a rent hike, or a divorce might do. It catches me in unguarded moments, such as when I realize I've been staring at the Yemenite shofar I brought home from his house and instead of wondering whether Amazon sells a proper cradle for it, I'm sobbing and remembering it was Michael who retrieved the ram's horn from our dead parents' things and made certain it (along with the brass Shabbat candlesticks) retained its honored place in our lives.
So: What now, indeed? I point my nose down the hill, but for the moment, I can't discern the trail, only that it is a black diamond run and I have no idea how to approach it.
Good to read your words, Bertie.
Our Sunday mornings have been lonely, welcome back!
Great last line - a ski racing metaphor that can't be easily replaced by some other sport.
I concur, I missed your blog!
And by the way, I appreciate the skiing anecdotes although my skiing days are few and far between now due to my arthritic knees ! It brings me back big time !
Glad the blog is back!
Hi Bertie, Loved your post, as I love all your posts. My way of combatting stress is what I shared in my YouTube of what I did after being crashed into on a ski slope at Deer Valley, Utah. It kept me from any kind of panic--I made a deep long humming sound down my body. You can learn more in the 4 minute video calledl "My Secret to Reducing Anxiety and Preventing Panic." My other method is what I call Contact Healing--www.contacthealing.com It's letting oneself feel the sensation of whatever the emotion is WITHOUT meaning-making, futurizing, self-judging, and WITH giving it space and permission to be there from the larger adult Self --letting the feeling be in the child-self, and holding or embracing or soothing and allowing that child-self i.e. emotion, feeling, stress to be there until it melts, vanishes, lets go. I remember that lst year with Georgia because I was invited to go to the hospital and offer her some Reiki healing. Remember? I'd love to be in touch again. Love to you and your wonderful family, Clare
I am old and I have been blessed with many friends much older than I am. Along with the joy of their shared wisdom and love has come a concomitant fear of the late night or early morning bleating of my mobile phone, with the inevitable news that one of these precious people has left us. Yet no fear prepared me for the urgent message left by my oldest brother two weeks ago, nor the glottal catch in his throat as he told me that our youngest brother, Michael, had died a few hours earlier during a brief vacation in Puerto Rico.
Michael was six years younger than I am, just 65. I loved him deeply and, growing up with our two older brothers mostly gone, he was my shadow, faithfully following me into a love of music, of our Jewishness and song leading, of activism and righteousness (and self-righteousness, and provocation), and love of children, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Phil Ochs, James Taylor, and Joni Mitchell, among others. Identifying Michael on a gurney in a cold little room at the hospital in San Juan, when the sheet was pulled back from his beautiful face, his eyes still glistening blue, was about the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
Like Peter Pan, I am bereft at the loss of my shadow, and, unlike Peter, at the awful finality of that loss, which did not really hit me until a few weeks later, during Shabbat dinner with my kids and grandkids, that there would never be another Shabbat dinner or Passover seder with Uncle Michael.
So I'm thinking, as I sort through the responsibilities of executor of the estate, such as it is, of one who left a mess of a life behind along with the astonishing and expanding circle of people who loved and were loved by him, that stress comes in many variations and modes. Michael's death doesn't bring on night sweats the way, say, fear of job loss or a rent hike, or a divorce might do. It catches me in unguarded moments, such as when I realize I've been staring at the Yemenite shofar I brought home from his house and instead of wondering whether Amazon sells a proper cradle for it, I'm sobbing and remembering it was Michael who retrieved the ram's horn from our dead parents' things and made certain it (along with the brass Shabbat candlesticks) retained its honored place in our lives.
So: What now, indeed? I point my nose down the hill, but for the moment, I can't discern the trail, only that it is a black diamond run and I have no idea how to approach it.
Good to “see” you, Bertie. I’ve missed the warmth of your heart here.
P.S. I married a skier. That’s verbatim what he said to our kids when they were tiny and terrified and exhilarated at the top of the hill.
Hang in there, Dr. Bregman!