I’ve had a revelation of sorts. I was reflecting on my bike ride, Historical Grief and Trauma, “Victimhood” and other things….including traditional Cherokee Indian teachings. Much of it is as a result of my own personal search to understand why I was so compelled to participate in e 1,000 mile cross-country bike ride. Let’s face it- I ain’t Lance Armstrong. I’m barely Lance Crackers. Still, something about this ride appealed to me so much that I knew, to the core of my being, I must go “on the ride”.

Why was that? What’s up with me? So, I was lying on the couch last night- Bobbi’s couch, thinking about when I was diagnosed as being diabetic after years of being borderline. It was my own damned fault. I knew if I didn’t take my health seriously things would get worse (and they did). It was nice to have the excuse of historical Grief and Trauma instead of taking responsibility for my own life. It really wasn’t until Ethan was born that I realized I might not be around to watch him grow up if I didn’t act. So I acted. I acted half-heartedly at first. I stopped making repeated trips to the buffet. I still got quite a load on the first pass, but you have to start somewhere, right? I started working out on occasion. I even stopped (mostly) eating fast food. The Bobbi got sick.

So maybe Bobbi saved my life again. That was at least three times, by my reckoning. The first of course when we got married. The second time was when my dad died. That was a pretty dark time, not helped by the fact that I had moved out of our house. A smart lawyer would have filed my divorce papers, but a friend and lawyer (mine) refused. He absolutely refused to let me make that mistake…..then my dad died and Bobbi was there. I remembered why I had fallen in love with her in the first place, and of course I fell in love with her all over again. Then she had a head-on collision and I though we’d lost her. That really brought it home. This is the woman I wanted (God help her).

So when Bobbi got sick, I was still too fat to take care of her, so I really got serious. She then saved my life again. I wish she was here to see the changes….,maybe she is and I lack the vision to see her. Now I’m going on a 1,000 mile bike ride.

Anyway, this was all running through my head last night when it hit me- I am not a captive of ghosts. You see, when you really take responsibility for your own life (as I would like to) you don’t get to blame anyone or anything anymore. I can’t blame Columbus or the white people, or Andrew Jackson, or Fast Food- that would make me a victim and I’m tired of being one of those. Recognising Grief and Trauma doesn’t mean I need to keep submitting to it. Yes- it’s sad all of that happened- sad they took the land, especially when we gave most of it to them anyway, sad we (Cherokees) did everything asked of us- become Christians, where civilized clothes, go to school, speak English- we did everything the told us we needed to do and they still marched us at bayonet point to Oklahoma, it’s sad we lost much or our culture and lands and so many people died….. but we didn’t all die and we didn’t lose it all. In fact, not only are “we” still here, we are thriving. Not only was I obese and diabetic, but I’m neither of those now. Yes- Bobbi died, no matter how hard I tried to save her and that’s tragic, but only if you don’t see the whole picture.

The whole picture is that we had each other for so long. Nearly 25 years. Tragic would have been if we’d missed it, or if my lawyer wasn’t also my friend and had let me do the stupidest thing I’d have ever done (and that’s saying something). She had the time she was allotted, and most of my life was spent with her…certainly the best part of my life. I’ve been really stupid. I’ve forgotten to spend most of my time giving thanks for the time we did share together, and for that amazing creature, so much an angel that everyone she touched feels her loss terribly. However- if we (meaning me) give into that sense of loss we betray her and deny her the honor of what she did mean to us and the legacy she leaves behind. We are still here. Those of us who loved and still love Bobbi are still here. What will we do with the time we have that remains us? The Cherokees are still here. Tens of thousands (we think maybe millions) have died, but we have endured. What will we do with the time we have that remains us? As for myself- I’m going bike riding.

So, that’s a way long way of saying this- I was not a prisoner of ghosts- in fact I was holding the ghosts hostage and maybe using them as an excuse not to move forward. That’s what the “old ones” teach us- when someone dies you mourn for three days, then you move on. It’s hard, but it’s unfair to keep calling them back with our thoughts from that better world to which they have moved onto. I’m sorry honey, I was weak, but I’m getting stronger. It’s on me now. In fact, it always has been.

What will we do with the time we have that remains us?  I’ll keep you posted.