death: it does a body good?

I had a lot of trouble eating after finding out about Love’s death. I had had breakfast at Cracker Barrel that morning, celebrating a family member’s birthday. I was preparing for cake and icecream and trying to figure out what would go along with that when I got the awful text message. I never got around to eating after that.

I didn’t eat Wednesday either. Or Thursday. Maybe even Friday. So all those events that I attended — vigil, football game — I was running on E. But my stomach had this weird kind of fullness. My stomach had begun to growl, or at least became more noticeable by Saturday, the day of the Memorial. When I wanted to drink at JWags, I knew that I couldn’t because I didn’t really have food in my stomach. I had been drinking a boatload of water though.

One day, I woke up and didn’t even recognize myself. I had gone from puffy faced for a couple of days, to slimmer face, slimmer thigh, slimmer stomach and waist. I thought I was seeing things. But when I went to the doctor the next week, turns out I had lost 13 pounds. Unbelievable.

I checked my weight on a regular because I had been going to the gym since May. I had not lost barely 3 pounds all summer long. In fact, I think I lost it and then gained it back. Yes, it could’ve been muscle mass; but I didn’t give a shit. I wanted to lose pounds because I have a shit load of clothes (more than Love could see in the closet) that I desperately wanted to fit again.

Love would encourage me to go to the gym because he knew I wanted so badly to change — my weight but even more, the depression. I used to tell him how much I hated it, how I literally forced myself to go by beating myself up mentally, even though I felt better after going. He told me that I hadn’t gotten to the point where it became a habit, but that it would come.

Love also talked about himself, insisting that he was old, and felt old. He felt “soft” is how he described it. I would laugh, because I KNOW I’m not old, nor do I feel any different. I told him he can keep getting old by himself! But now that I understand how much of an athlete he was, I get it. He brought me a picture one day of him during his boxing career. He was proud. I was impressed. I told him he was cut like a wild cat. His muscle definition was outstanding. I think he wanted to have some semblance of that again.

As I peruse his Facebook in the present, I see that he had expressed that same sentiment in the past — a couple of years ago — he wanted to get back in shape. This past summer, he shared the same goal. I asked him when he was going to do it. I thought he should just go ahead and get started since he was in the weight room with the football players over the summer. He said he didn’t have time, and that he would start once football season was over. :(

I told my doctor I was shocked at my weight loss, but that I was kind of half pleased, because my clothing fit better. She told me that this was not the way to do it. Maybe that was a contributing factor as to why she sent me to the ER.

I have kept the weight off, surprisingly, even over Thanksgiving. In fact, I weighed myself recently and I seem to have lost a total of almost 20 pounds since Love’s death. My stomach growls and I am able to forget about it, ignore it. I don’t enjoy food like I used to. I eat for sustenance only: Eggs for breakfast….vegetable/fruit smoothy for dinner. I may eat lunch, mostly not. Or I may have the smoothy in the late afternoon, and then no dinner. I have eaten pizza or Chipotle or McDs, but the quantity is really small, child-sized. Food just doesn’t fit in like it used to.

Some underwear don’t fit as tightly. I can wear my bras more snugly. My shirts are loose, jeans are looser, and my pants fit nicely. I have pulled out older clothing and put them on to wear. I am pleased, a little.