My hand wraps

When Tim died, I lived for a couple months on wine and Doritos. In a state of shock, I was incapable of really eating or exercising (or sometimes incapable of just bathing to be honest). I remember the detective, saying the night he died, “You know he had all those head injuries over all those years. You don’t know what they did to him.” This comment was on top of, “You can’t let this destroy you. You have to be okay, too many people need you.” I remember looking at the detective and thinking, “What do head injuries have to do with killing yourself?” I thought he was just making excuses to give me a pep talk. People were so worried about me, I thought they would say anything to try to make me feel better.

The truth was, there was no making me feel better. And, as I understood more and more about what happened, I got angry at him. I know anger is a normal stage of grief. But, this wasn’t just anger about his death. This was anger because, as I understood more about his head injuries, I lost my love for combat sports…I couldn’t go into our Muay Thai gym anymore. I couldn’t watch fights on television. I couldn’t see people get hit in the head without crying. And, so, when the time came to start exercising again, I couldn’t. All I had known for over a decade was training Mauy Thai. All I liked to do for exercise was punch things. I was angry that he had ruined my main form of exercise for me. I was angry he had taken away love for something that was such an integral part of my life, even when we weren’t married.

One night, after rejecting yet another suggestion for exercise from my therapist (honestly the suggestions he came up with for me would have made me laugh if I was capable of laughing at that time), I had an idea. I would change to straight boxing. I would put on shoes, go into a different gym and learn a new dance. I called a friend, Keith, who owns one of the best boxing gyms in our state and asked him to start coaching me. I’ll never forget he said, “I have been wanting to call you but I just didn’t know what to say. I would be honored to help you in your recovery.” At the time, we both thought the recovery I needed was just exercise, for my mental health. Little did we understand that I needed my love for combat sports to return. I couldn’t let Tim’s death steal so many of my joys in life.

A few days after that phone call, I walked into Keith’s gym for the first time. I sat on the bench … looked at Coach Keith with tears in my eyes and said, “I don’t even think I can wrap my hands…I’ll be crying too hard to do it…too many memories of Tim wrapping my hands.” Keith pulled me up off the bench and said, “I’ll teach you a new way to wrap your hands. My way is better anyway.” Thank god he did too because using 10oz gloves boxing, with no breaks for kicks, knees, and elbows…gave my knuckles much more of a beating than I was used to. Over the next year, Keith helped me find my love of combat sports again. Something I needed for my heart, and for my current life path.

Keith wasn’t the only one….too many people to even name have helped me over the last few years since Tim’s death….but something I’ve learned from all of them…something I wasn’t good at before…..ASK for help…even if it’s just to wrap your hands. We aren’t in this thing called life by ourselves.