Sunday, January 26, 2025: Reflecting on a Long Week of Being Sick

Today is Sunday, January 26, 2025, and I’ve officially been sick for over a week. It all started back on Thursday, January 16th, when I began to feel "off"—physically and mentally. That day, while creating vision boards at the MGF office, I mentioned to Sheila that something just wasn’t right. By that evening, I had developed a slight cough, and when I woke up the next morning, Friday, January 17th, it was clear I was undeniably sick.

Despite feeling terrible, I managed to push through work that morning, hoping I could recover quickly. I had too much on my plate for the weekend to let myself be sick. Saturday was supposed to kick off with a hike at the new Patwino trails off Rockville Road with Briana and Tearae. Later, I had plans to meet April and then attend a crab feed with Vince and Sheila. I kept telling myself, I don’t have time for this; I need to get better!

But by Friday night, my symptoms had worsened, and I barely slept. When I woke up Saturday morning feeling even worse, I finally caved and took a COVID and flu test. Sure enough, I tested positive for Flu A. After a phone appointment with Kaiser, I was prescribed Tamiflu, more inhalers, and told to rest. It was the confirmation I needed—there would be no “pushing through” this illness. I was officially out of commission.

That weekend was spent entirely in bed, alternating between Tamiflu, Theraflu, and my inhalers, praying for quick relief. Unfortunately, that wasn’t in the cards. By Monday, January 20th (MLK Day), I was still in rough shape. I really wanted to be there to support Patty as she laid her father to rest on Monday and Tuesday, but my body wasn’t cooperating. Instead, I stayed in bed yet again, occasionally making my way to the lounge chair in the backyard to sit in the sun and get some fresh air.

Tuesday, January 21st, was no better. I tried to work a short 6–10 a.m. shift, but in hindsight, I should have called out. I was so foggy and fatigued that I made a lot of mistakes at work. Finally, I reached out to my doctor and was able to take Wednesday off to fully rest.

By Thursday, January 23rd, I felt slightly better and returned to work, though I was far from 100%. I also worked Friday and even got to babysit Ansel, which was the highlight of my week. Spending time with him felt so healing. I even managed to eat Taco Bell that evening, which was a small but welcome sign that my appetite was returning. Afterward, I came home and rested some more.

Saturday, January 25th, brought a glimmer of normalcy. I joined TeaRae and Camryn for a hike on the Patwino trails. Although it felt good to get outside, I was still coughing and had to take it slow. Later, we stopped by a cleanup event, but I avoided hugging anyone to be cautious. Before heading home, I swung by Luan’s house to drop off Joanie’s grandma shower gift. I made sure to wear a mask and stayed outside to avoid spreading any germs. While it felt great to cross that task off my list, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed about all the other events I’d missed while being sick.

Even in the midst of all this frustration, I’ve tried to hold onto gratitude. I’m thankful for access to healthcare, the ability to rest, and paid time off when I’m too sick to work. I’m also grateful for how well I’ve come to know my body. Without the Tamiflu prescribed early on, I know this illness would have been far worse. And honestly, I’m so grateful for the physical health I’ve built over the past year through consistent 2–3 mile walks with Raymond. Without that baseline fitness, this flu could’ve hit me even harder—possibly even landed me in the hospital, like it has for so many others this season.

And now here I am today, Sunday, January 26th. Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night after hearing something outside. I got up to check but didn’t find anything. Unfortunately, the whole ordeal left me with a pounding headache. This morning, I told Raymond I could literally feel the mucus clogging my head. It’s such a frustrating feeling, but I know my body well enough to recognize the symptoms of a sinus infection. It’s been years since my last one, but I can tell that’s exactly what’s happening now.

I’m currently waiting on a phone appointment with my doctor, hoping they’ll prescribe antibiotics to help alleviate the sinus pressure and relentless headache. The lingering cough is manageable, but the sinus pain and facial pressure are making it hard to function. I know I need to keep resting, but at this point, I’m desperate to feel like myself again.

God, please let the doctor call soon—I need some relief.

Our Monthly Homicide Survivors Support Group

It’s difficult to put into words just how much this group means to me and how vital it has been in my healing journey. Grieving the loss of a loved one is always challenging, but when that loss occurs due to violence, it brings an entirely different and deeply painful dimension. The shock, anger, and heartbreak of losing someone in such a way are overwhelming and often feel incomprehensible.

The Homicide Survivors Support Group (HSSG) provides a safe space for those of us navigating this unique kind of grief. It’s a place where we can begin to process our emotions and find ways to move forward. Some of us in the group are maneuvering through the court process after the perpetrator has been caught, while others live with the anguish of not knowing who took their loved one. Regardless of our individual circumstances, we come together in understanding and support.

At our last meeting, we were fortunate to have a retired prosecutor join us. He answered our questions about the legal system—covering everything from the process before, during, and after a trial to parole hearings. For many of us, this was an enlightening and incredibly helpful experience.

The history of this group is rooted in resilience and love. It was originally founded years ago by two amazing women, Valerie Dodini and Rita Edmonds-Norris, after their sons were tragically murdered. I was invited to join the group after my son Matt’s death. For a time, we met at the Solano Family Justice Center, but when COVID-19 struck, those meetings came to a halt.

On January 10, 2023, we relaunched HSSG under the umbrella of The Matt Garcia Foundation, and I couldn’t be more grateful for this new chapter. Each month, we’re joined by a licensed clinical social worker who provides guidance, grounding, and support as we work through our grief.

In addition to our monthly meetings, we’ve also participated in a few therapeutic outings. One of our trips was to a local “smash room,” where we were able to safely channel our anger by breaking items like furniture, TVs, and radios using sledgehammers and other tools. Another outing took us to a sound bath healing session, where we lay on mats as a practitioner used sound bowls to help calm our minds, bodies, and spirits. These experiences have been cathartic and deeply healing for many of us.

I truly believe that this is what I am meant to do—not only to help heal myself but to create a space where others can find comfort, understanding, and hope as they navigate their own grief.

If you feel called to support our group, your contributions would mean so much to us. Tax-deductible donations can be sent to:

The Matt Garcia Foundation/HSSG
P.O. Box 3301
Fairfield, CA 94533

You can also visit our website at ffinest.org to explore additional ways to donate.
Our Tax ID is #26-3904201, and all donations are fully tax-deductible.

Thank you for your support,
Teresa

Living Life While Navigating Grief

I still remember the day my cousin Kathy was murdered. The grief was unbearable, a weight that consumed my every thought. I couldn’t comprehend the horrific circumstances of her death or how life around me carried on as if nothing had happened. People went to work, shopped, and even smiled. How dare they? Didn’t they know what had just happened to Kathy?

Grief is a tricky, all-encompassing thing. Looking back, I realize how self-centered my grief was at that time. I made her murder about me. How insane does that sound? I would berate myself, saying, “If only I had spoken to her the last time I saw her instead of staying angry at her for relapsing.” Then came the blame—toward myself, toward others, toward the universe. Grief is a journey through anger, denial, bargaining, depression, and, eventually, a fragile acceptance.

Kathy was killed in 1999, and I still think of her often. I had dealt with death from a young age: my dad was killed in a car accident when I was a baby, and over the years, I lost my grandmother, my aunt, my babysitter, our neighbor—the list went on. But nothing had prepared me for Kathy’s murder.

Then, in September 2008, my world shattered again. My only son, Matt, was murdered. He was 22 years old, full of promise, and doing extraordinary things. At just 21, he was elected to the Fairfield, California City Council, becoming a leader with a vision to prioritize the community’s youth. He understood that investing in young people was the key to a brighter, safer future for everyone.

The shock of Matt’s death—the fact that he had been shot and taken from us—still haunts me. Sixteen years have passed, and I have found ways to navigate my grief, but the pain, the sadness, the devastation—they linger. Sometimes, I still wake up hoping it was all a terrible dream. But I’ve come to accept that I cannot change what happened. All I can do is try to be better and do better in every moment moving forward.

These days, many of my friends are facing their own losses. I don’t pretend to understand their pain or offer unsolicited advice. I simply show up. I think often of my dear friend Nadine, who used to come and sit with me every morning before work during the darkest days of my grief. Sometimes I cried; other times, we just sat in silence. Her presence was a gift—simple, selfless, and unforgettable.

Grief doesn’t go away. It changes shape, shifts into the background at times, but it’s always there. What I’ve learned is that we don’t need to fix grief. We just need to hold space for it—both for ourselves and for those we love. And in doing so, we find ways to keep living.