2026 Update: Christina

(upbeat music) Pushkin. - Hi. - You know, when you meditate, you're supposed to acknowledge the breath and put a name to it like that was a small breath, that was a big breath. If I had to put a name to that, hello, I would say hesitantly cheerful. - Yeah, well, I'll take that. That's a part of my meditation is naming your halos. - Kind of weird, but all right. We're gonna revisit another great episode today. - Hit me. - It's called Christina. - Oh, yeah. It's truly one of my favorite episodes. - Yeah, it's a really good one. - Oh, yeah, I love it. I will say this, and maybe you can confirm this. Fact check me on this. But this was an early season two episode. And up until this point, I had largely worked with people that I already knew, like friends and family. And this was the first time that I was actually like, traveling out in the world to meet someone. - Yeah, that is true. - Yeah, and I'll never forget, but when they met me at the airport, Christina and her husband Levi, I just remember like seeing the look of hope and respect almost in their eyes. - Yeah. - I felt like, oh my God, these poor people. I don't deserve that look at all, but I really better get it together. - And then you've gotten it together for 10 years now. - You know what I do? I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and I slap myself in the face. And I say, get it together, boy. - Well, it's working, so I guess you keep doing that. - Yeah. - Well, enjoy the episode. And afterwards, we're gonna hear from Christina what she's up to now. - Yes, we're gonna get a nice update about what Christina's life has been like. And the impact that participating in the episode had on her. Oh, but if we could reverse the process and eat our dessert before we move on to the main course. - Okay. - Award from our sponsors. - This is an I Heart Podcast, Guaranteed Human. - In February of 2024, celebrated illustrator and children's book author Patre Mathers and her husband Michael mailed letters to dozens of friends and family members to let them know they have died by suicide. - Dear honey's, this is goodbye. - By the time you get this letter, both Patre and I will be dead. Next stop, Wonderland. - Why did they do it? And what did it do to the people they left behind? Listen to the death of an artist wherever you get your podcasts. (phone ringing) (phone ringing) - Hello? - Hey, do you have a copy of TV guide? - No. - No. - Why? - I can't find my copy and I was wondering what it was on TV. (laughing) Don't you remember, don't you remember? Don't you remember calling people up on the phone? - I do remember that, yeah. - Just to see what was on. - I remember calling on my aunt Tilly because I was too lazy to get up off the couch to look for the TV guide, so I just called her up. - A woman could hardly walk and she had to search her out for a TV guide. - All right, I gotta go. (upbeat music) - From Gimlet Media, I'm Jonathan Goldstein and this is Heavyweight. Today's episode, Christina. (upbeat music) - This is the best of all possible worlds. My father was fond of saying. The words were spoken contentedly. Often while we're climbing in a barclanger, belt buckle undone after a large meal of baked beans and lamb chops. But what did my father know of other worlds? He'd held down the same job and was married to the same woman for decades. Plus, he hardly left the house. But what he did know was that this world had one thing over all of those other worlds. It existed. From my father, that was enough to make it best. I, on the other hand, am not won over so easily. Sure existence is a nice quality, a fine quality, but going so far as to call a world that contains both soul patches and puddles, the best possible anything seems a little extreme. And so imagining other worlds, the same, only better, is just too irresistible, in spite of the pain such thinking inevitably invites. - Why don't we start from the beginning? - Okay. - This is Christina. And like me, she knows this world can use a few tweaks. Overall, she says, her life hasn't been a bad one. It's just not the one she was meant to live. She's worked as a waitress, a receptionist, as a home care worker. The kinds of jobs you do, but not necessarily the kind you dream about. Lately, she's been helping run her husband's company. - It's a disc golfing backpack company. - Say, sorry, say that again, it's a what? - Disc golf backpack. - What is disc golf? - It's like ball golf, but instead of balls and clubs, you have frisbees. - Oh, when you say ball golf, you're talking about golf golf. - Like a regular golf, yeah. - Okay, I've never heard it for frisbees to distinguish as ball golf, but I like it. - Yeah, only disc golfers call it ball golf. - So how do you get a frisbee in a golf hole? - No, it's actually not a hole, it's a basket. - Oh my goodness. - Before she started pining after better worlds, Christina was focused on just one. The world of small town western Canada. - I lived with my mom. She was a single mom, my dad left when I was around one and my mom was diagnosed with schizophrenia. - Christina was just a kid, so a lot of it's now fuzzy, but she remembers bits of things. Her mom going off her meds and beginning to hear voices. Her mom waking her in the middle of the night and saying they had to leave right away. She remembers running with her mom down dark streets. She started becoming violent and she would just hit me with the phone handle or this one time. She came after me with a high heeled shoe. There's no food in the house, she wouldn't do laundry. Like the dirty clothes would pile up in the living room. Like I remember this massive mound of dirty clothes and I remember this kid made fun of me for having dirty pants and so I started stealing clothes just so I could have clean clothes to go to school. - When you're a kid trying to survive on your own, the unthinkable can start to seem normal. To escape her house, Christina took a job caring for two boys not much younger than herself. She became a 12 year old, live in Nanny. - So I ended up moving in with this family and looking after the boys. They paid me a little bit and I quit school to be a Nanny. When she stopped showing up at school, social services removed Christina from the Nannying house. But instead of bringing her back to her mom, they took her to a foster home. She was sent to live with an older couple and their grandson. They lived on the fancier side of town in a house decorated with candle holders and decorative pistols. The foster mother was a woman named Isabel. Her grandson, David, was the golden boy who could do no wrong. From day one, Christina struggled for Isabel's approval. - My foster mother and I kind of butted heads a little bit or a lot. - Although Isabel was only an inch taller, Christina was scared of her. Her foster mother communicated through rules and punishments. - She was very strict. By his five minutes late for curfew, I would be grounded for a month. It felt like I was always grounded. And afraid all the time. And kind of walking on eggshells. And yeah, just feeling always really intimidated and scared. I was always scared. - And when she got scared, Christina would go silent. As a result, she never once stood up to Isabel. It was while living in Isabel's world that another better world presented itself to Christina. A world with rules that were easy to understand. A world where someone was always keeping score and keeping things fair. This was the 84 by 50 foot world of a basketball court. - I can't explain how much I was obsessed with basketball. I would practice it like six in the morning at the school and I would practice on weekends. I'd watch the NBA games with Clyde the Glide and Charles Barclay. And then my name was in the paper a few times. I think I have some paper clippings of like high scoring. I loved, loved, loved basketball. - On the basketball court, Christina was never scared. It was a place where for the first time in her life, she felt in control and confident. Her foster brother, David, a popular jock spent hours helping her get better. She joined a team and quickly became a. high scoreer. Eventually, she was made team captain. - They would always put me inside like I would always have to guard the post. - When Christina talks about basketball, she lights up. And I want to encourage her to keep talking by asking questions. But my only real knowledge of basketball comes from watching the Harlem Globetrotters. I was in my 30s before I learned it was illegal to bring stilts onto the court. So my questions are limited. - Are you tall? - No, I'm only five, six. But I guess I kind of had this unrealistic view of myself where I thought I was taller than I was. Me, because off court, I was like kind of meek and I just followed the crowd and I wouldn't like create any waves that didn't really have an opinion. But on the court, I was a force to be reckoned with. It was like the only time where I felt powerful. It was around this time that a plan began to take shape. If she kept practicing and kept winning, she'd get a basketball scholarship. Christina knew that was her only hope of getting into college. - I wanted to get out of that circle of welfare and illness and living from paycheck to paycheck and just being poor if it sucked. - Which brings us to the moment that 30 years later, Christina still can't stop thinking about. She'd just come home from school when Isabel called her into the kitchen, sat her down at the table and presented her with an ultimatum. - She said, you have to get your grades up. You have to work harder at school. And so in order for me to be able to play a basketball the following year, which would have been 11th grade, I had to have an average of a B in every class. But I was really bad at math and chemistry and and I didn't make it. I wasn't allowed to play basketball. - What she remembers most about that time was watching a lot of TV and overeating and the chores. After forcing Christina to quit the basketball team, Isabel handed her chores that felt like ironic punishments from the Judy Bloom version of Dante's Inferno. She had to bake cookies for the family, but because of her weight gain, she wasn't allowed to eat any. And when she dusted the house, Isabel instructed her to pick up David's basketball trophies, dust each one and dust the shelf underneath. All the while, Christina felt her loss acutely of basketball and the better world it promised. - She took something from me that I've not been able to get back. - What is that thing? - Yeah, and I don't even know, I don't, when I say that out loud, it sounds ridiculous. But it feels like that passion for something, it dashed this huge dream that I had for my life. - Christina still wonders why. Why did Isabel take away basketball? The only thing that really mattered to her that would have given her a better life. But all these years, she's been too afraid to ask. - She's gonna be 95 in July. The thought of talking to her about it, petrifies me a little bit, like there's still a part of me that is scared of her, which is ridiculous. - And what do you want? - I think, yeah, I think I wanna know like why she made my life so difficult if it was just to break me down if she had some kind of thing against me. - And what do you wanna hear her say? - I guess I wanna just hear her say that she just genuinely wanted me to have better grades. But I know that that's just such BS. For whatever reason, I've let go of a lot of things that have happened, but for whatever reason, this one thing, the basketball thing, not letting me play basketball. I'm having such a hard time letting go of that and forgiving her. I wanna let it go. - So you wanna go talk to her? - Yeah. - And you want me to come? - Yes. - I get really melee mouth when I'm in the same room as like strongwilled scary older women. I'll tell you that right now, I'm not gonna be much help. So we're doing it. - It sounds like we're doing it. - All right. - We're gonna go talk to that scary lady. - After the break, how much mincing can a melee mouth mince when a melee mouth meets a menacing miss? Who writes this stuff? I guess I do. (laughs) In February of 2024, celebrated illustrator and children's book author, Patre Mathers and her husband Michael mailed letters to dozens of friends and family members to let them know they had died by suicide. - Dear Hunnies, this is goodbye. - By the time you get to shredder both Petra and I will be dead. - Once I gave Christine a my word that I'd help, I approached CEO and Gimlett founder, Alex Bloomberg, to ask if he could fly me to the British Columbian interior to confront a 95 year old woman about something she may or may not have said some 30 years ago to which Alex asked, "Why are you always standing just outside the door whenever I get out of the bathroom?" And I said it was a coincidence. Although I might have pronounced it quinky dink to be playful and he asked how long this trip would take me out of the office. And I said a week. And he said to take longer if I needed it. So I was off to Canada. (upbeat music) - Meet Christina and her husband Levi at the Colona Airport in British Columbia. They just flown in from Portland and the look of trust on their faces is daunting. When meeting new people, especially people I'm about to help, I'm more comfortable with looks of skepticism or anticipatory disappointment. Trust was disconcerting. - Yes, I have a reservation. - It was an hour and a half drive to Isabelle's. So we made our way to the airport rental desk to get a car. What's your last name? - Goldstein, G-O-L-D. - I just asked who that is there. - Oh, it's just, we're doing a radio story. So I'm just turning that off and putting that away. - Yeah. - If I couldn't even stand up to the car rental clerk, what hope did I have of helping Christina stand up to Isabelle? - It's hot in here. All of a sudden. - It's been well over two years since Christina's seen Isabelle. She's feeling anxious. So I try to keep the mood positive. - I bet the thrift stores are really good around here. I point out foreign license plates and because we're in a foreign country, there are many. - Pretty. Have you guys been watching this show called Little Big Lies or Big Little Lies? Or Little Big Lies? - How's it? - Thanks, I'll. - Isabelle lives on the ground floor of a squat apartment block, mostly inhabited by seniors. We wait. When no one answers, we ring the bell. The door opens. I heard you the first time, Isabelle says. Christina smiles. In spite of herself, she can't help but get a kick out of Isabelle. Isabelle peers up at us from behind her walker. Christina's husband Levi makes introductions. - This is Jonathan, Isabelle. - Hi. How are you doing? - That O is me reacting to Isabelle's handshake. A surprisingly powerful thing that yanks me through the doorframe. Although a diminutive woman with white puffy hair and wire rim glasses, Isabelle's just established herself as the alpha. - Come on. - Nice to meet you. - Nice to meet you too. - Thanks for having you. - Okay. - You seem to be doing great. - I'm doing not bad for, you know, my age, I guess. - Yeah. - Isabelle's apartment is tidy and dim, decorated with candles that haven't been lit in years. We slowly follow her down a narrow hallway to her living room, where she seats herself in a faded blue mechanized armchair. On the drive over, Christina mentioned that Isabelle is legally blind, but I misremember this as Isabelle being legally deaf, so I compliment her on how well she's following along. Well, I'm not talking very loud [BLANK_AUDIO] you've been able to hear everything, so. - I didn't see there was something wrong with my ears. - Right, and you did not. To recover from this faux pas, I offer Isabella chance to feel my face, run her hands through my beard, which is something I think I saw done in the Miracle Worker. If ever you want to feel my stubble or. - I don't go running around feeling beards. - I decide that now's as good a time as any to offer around the airport treats I bought during my layover. - I brought some refreshments. - Since I don't want to put Isabella out by asking for a party tray, I scoot my travel socks and underwear to the side of my backpack and proper them straight from the bag. - Some chocolate covered nuts and such. - Not right now, thank you. - No? - Okay. - Okay. - And I'll leave them in the bag. If I've learned anything from my work in the business of forcing people to ask terrifying questions, it was that it's always best to just get it over with. Ask the question, why did you ruin my life? Get the answer and head back to the hotel bar to eat the juiciest, fattiest tea-bone steak that Gimlet Media's $14 per DM allows. But staging is everything. I need to be off hand, subtle. Christina, do you have anything that you wanna ask about? - Um. Christina looks down at her hands and tightens her lips. Of course, I understand her hesitation. Isabella's even more intimidating in person than Christina made her out. And nothing about being here can possibly feel much like coming home. The walls and shelves are loaded with photos of Isabella's children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. But there isn't a single photo anywhere of her only foster child, Christina. To break the silence, I ask Isabella why she originally took Christina into her home in the first place. - What are my children left to child for me to raise? My grandson. - This was David. - Yeah, so I thought life was just, my husband and I, we were both older. It would be kind of very dull for him. So I thought that having someone else around the house would make it a little more homie for him. But I hadn't chosen Christina. Christina was brought to me and she was just there this wild-looking thing. Seeing it a little bit of training to live in a home, so obviously she hadn't been brought up with anything. I just thought any child living under my roof had to be taught something. - Meaning like what kind of things? Like you mean normal like rules and-- - Well, rules, yeah, I don't think that our rules were terribly strict, really. - I mean, I felt like they were strict. - Well, maybe you thought so, but most kids do. But they were the same rules my kids had. - Christina hesitates. You can see it's hard for her to talk back to Isabel even now. But then she says-- - But David didn't have rules. No, he didn't need any. He is the most perfect person I've ever raised. - Christina, another person she happened to have raised is seated a couple feet away from her. Christina stares ahead blankly, not saying anything. So I press Isabel. - Well, he must have done something wrong. I mean, he's only human. - Very little, very little. You'd be surprised how perfect he was. - Was that hard though, being like side by side with someone who was just so-- - No, I think it was good for her. - Christina, is that how you feel? - It was hard. - Yeah. - He was really hard. Something else that's been hard is finding the courage to ask the question that brought her here. But Christina gives it a shot after the break. - In February of 2024, celebrated illustrator and children's book author, Patre Mathers and her husband, Michael, mailed letters to dozens of friends and family members to let them know they had died by suicide. - Next stop, Wonderland. Listen to Deathwin artist wherever you get your podcasts. - Something else that's been hard is finding the courage to ask the question that brought her here. Christina gives it a shot. - Um. - But after some throat clearing, again, she goes silent. - Go ahead, ask. I think that the one thing that I have kind of always wondered is do you remember, I think it was in 10th grade and I had been playing basketball and you told me that I had to get my grades up or I couldn't play basketball anymore. Do you remember that? - No. - Okay, so I didn't get my grades up and I had to quit the team. I don't remember that at all. - You don't? - No. - I still, it was devastating for me. - And why didn't you get your grade up then? - Yeah. - I asked Christina if she could explain to Isabelle why losing basketball hurt so much. - No, without crying. I felt like it was like the one thing that I was really good at. - Are you surprised to hear Christina talk about how much she loved basketball? Like was that something that you knew back then? - I didn't know, no. - Did Christina, did you ever express it? - I don't think she did. I don't think so. No, I don't think you did. I think the reason why it still affects me now is because I didn't fight for it. - And how could she have? She never felt like she had the right to stomp her feet, to slam the bedroom door. In so many words, to act like someone's kid. I thought that maybe if I could get Isabelle to put herself in Christina's shoes, it might help her understand. - Was there anything that you can think of that's comparable from your own life, Isabelle, like something that you really felt very passionate about, like the thing that you really, that was your great love? - Not really, I always wanted to go to school more than I did. I really wanted a good education, which in the country you weren't able to get. - Her father was a rancher, Isabelle says. And her mom died when she was little, so her dad raised the kids by himself, and Isabelle being the eldest had a lot of responsibility. - He used to miss school every year when I got to be a certain age and had to hurt cattle. So I miss about two months or a month of school every year when I was old enough to do this. But I was first in my class from the day I started till the day I finished. I was never anything but first in my class. - Was that typical that a lot of kids in the class have to miss? - No, just me. Well, we were brought about our dad, men bring up children differently than women. - Yeah, and what ways, how do you mean? - I mean, my dad didn't teach me to ride horseback. He just threw me on a horse and told me to go. You know, a woman wouldn't do that at all thinking. Not likely. My father was quite fond of me, actually. - Yeah. How far did you go in school? - Just grade nine. I took grade nine for correspondence. - So you never ended up getting the high school degree? - No. Yeah, school was an important thing to me because I felt that's how you'd make your living. - No. - But I remember when I was through school, my stepmother looking in the paper and she found a dish-washing job for me. She thought that all I was capable of was washing dishes in some restaurant. - I felt very insulted. But I always surprised me when kids didn't want to get all of the education they possibly could. Isabel motions towards Christina. - There's only so far you've been going basketball. I always felt your education was more important. But as a kid, sometimes you know you don't see that. I knew I tried to teach her to be self-sufficient because I knew that she'd only have herself to depend upon. "Isabel wanted to give Christina something she never got herself, a good education, but by depriving Christina of basketball, Isabel took away just that. At the time though, she didn't know it. What Isabel did know was that when Christina showed up at her door 30 years ago, she was already in her 60s. Isabel was old, and if she were to die, Christina would be left all alone. She'd only become a foster child, because no one in her extended family had stepped up to take her in. She had no one else. What did you know about Christina's childhood before she met you? Not much of anything that I can remember. Her mother was mentally ill. I guess she knows that. I lost my mother when I was five. My father eventually had a nervous breakdown, so I knew what it was like to live with a mentally challenged person. What was it like? Terrible. It was horrible. You didn't know if someone was going to kill you today or tomorrow, or what the heck was going to happen. That's not an exaggeration. You're really worried for your. No, it's not an exaggeration. I remember taking my little brother and sister outside and trying to hide them. He was left with five little children, and he was terrified that they were going to take the kids away from him. I used to sit by his bed and hold his hand, and one day he said to me, "Isabel, why do you keep holding my hand?" In my own way, I was trying to let him know that we all loved him. Isabel eventually placed her father in a mental hospital? I admitted him. Wow, and you were how old? At that time I was about 14. Wow, that's a big burden. Yeah, that was, and I thought, "Here I am 14. What the hell am I doing here?" All the while, as Isabel talks, Christina, seated in an armchair beside her, listens quietly, her hands gripping the armrests. Without looking at Isabel, she makes her presence known. I have many memories of visiting my mom in the mental hospital when I was young, like, 7, 8, 9, kind of age 10. It's weird. It's a really weird experience to go. Knowing that the other people are mentally unstable and could-- You can't predict what they're going to do. Yeah, and my mom was, you know, kind of a zombie because of all the medication. And obviously it was like sad and upset that she had to be there and wasn't with me. Yeah, it was an awful place. It makes you grow up way too fast. Yeah, that's right. I mean, I was never a kid until I got married and had my own kids. And then I had a lot of fun raising my own children. Yeah, I think that's why I was an Annie because I could be around kids and have a childhood with all these other children. Yeah, that's what I did. I grew up with my own children. That's what was my childhood. Yeah. You know, I'd play with my children just like I was one of them. Yeah. Yeah, I did the same thing. One day one of the neighbors looked at me, one of the little girls, and she said, "How are you?" These were stories that neither Christina nor Isabel had ever told each other. Watching them connect like this, it feels like a good time to bring the subject back to basketball. How much over the past 30 years, Christina's fredded over Isabel's decision. Knowing this now, I ask Isabel, would you have done things differently? Oh, I wish I had known more about it at the time, but I mean, I still have no regrets about it. It's as though Isabel just doesn't understand what the word regret means. So, I offer a working definition if we were to set off in a time machine where we could return to that time at Christina were to say you know what you're saying. But frankly, I don't know what I do. You know, I really don't. It would depend on what kind of a mood I'm in. If you were in the mood that you're in right now, I really have no idea. I could give you a lot of BS and tell you how good I would have been, but I wouldn't be in the truth. I think like a lot of people would just give Christina the BS. Yeah, I don't do that. I usually tell the truth. Like most, I can lie upwards of 10,000 times a day. It helps ease the friction of getting through life. People ask how I am and I say fine. Does this jumpsuit make my ass look fat? And I say no. And so on, lying all the day long until bedtime. At which point, I'm not sure the lying stops. I can probably lie in my dreams. In other words, I hold lying to be the greatest gift God gave to man. But even with all of our lies and best intentions, we still can't escape hurting one another. I don't think Isabel is a cruel woman, but I do think she knows that hurting people and being hurt is the price one pays for being human. There was nothing out of the ordinary in our lives, but just, you know, even ordinary lives there. I could have said it sometimes. It's a decision that was made when she was younger. It wasn't the right one. But how many wrong decisions are made as we go along? We're regretting something as a waste of time. You move on. Find something else to be passionate about. In spite of their similar childhoods, Isabel and Christina see the world so differently. Christina is a dreamer, and for her, the best possible world is the one that's always just out of reach. But for Isabel, it's not about pursuing the best possible world at all. It's about making the best of this world, the one you're stuck in, and evidently, with the people you're stuck with. I wouldn't look after her if, you know, if I didn't care about her, it would have been different, I think. You know, but I was interested in what she did and how she progressed and wanted her to do well at school and do well at everything, and I was very proud of her when she did. She was with us a long time. I couldn't get rid of her. I'm just kidding. Isabel pauses, and then she says appraisingly. She deserves a good life. I do have one. Good. And I think it's better because she had some stability in it, which I feel she got in my house. Uh, I'll get on that side. We say our goodbyes and head to the car. Outside Isabel's, the parking lot has grown dark. Thank you. Yeah. As we get into the rental car, Christina lets out a sigh. Well, so how did you feel that about that? It was just really intense, and there's a lot of things that she said that were, like, that were very hurtful to me. It's like she affected me tonight, but not in the way that she used to. I didn't get, I didn't get the fuzzy teddy bear cuddly thing, and that's okay that I didn't get that. But what I got was her, and it wasn't everything I needed. But I feel like that's how she shows love. And it's not with hugs, and it's not with I love yous, and it's not with praise necessarily either. It's in a way that I understand now, whereas before I just felt like she just didn't even like me. But now I can see that she loves me in her way, and in the best way that she knows how. In the end, it seems like this is why Christina came here. Not to find out why Isabel made her stop playing basketball, but to find out whether Isabel loved her. And in her tough, straight shooting, slightly scary way, it's pretty clear she does. Do you know why I want to go to Skahawk Park? No. It's a surprise. Uh-oh. It's not a big surprise. The next morning, before heading home, I take Christina. Steena and her husband Levi out to a nearby park. I have a paper bag I've been carrying with me since Brooklyn. When the anticipation reaches its zenith, I reveal to Christina and Levi what's in the bag, a basket ball, which I think they'd sort of guess since we were now standing by a basketball court, and I was dribbling a spherical paper bag. I turn to Levi. Christina says she hasn't played in over 10 years. She doesn't even watch basketball on TV anymore. I hold out the ball, and Christina looks at it, then she looks at Levi, and then she takes it from my hands, but once she gets going, it seems to come back to her. Trash talking, calling her own shots, driving hard to the basket. There was a different sign to Christina that was coming out on the court to happen suddenly and easily. The best basketball players are said to have an almost supernatural ability to see a little ahead to anticipate what will happen next. But Christina and Levi aren't that good, and so they play like a couple of kids for whom the future doesn't matter or the past, and in that space between, it seems like a pretty good life. So, we're going to play in the next game. So, we're going to play in the next game, and then we're going to play in the next game, and then we're going to play in the next game, and then we're going to play in the next game, and then we're going to play in the next game. Oh, no, in Portland. In Portland, right, yes, after we met, I went to see, I went to visit a cousin of mine who lives in B.C. Oh, nice. It's very generous of you to say that. So this story came out by God eight years ago. Yeah, almost nine, I think. Does it feel that long ago? It feels simultaneously that long ago and maybe longer. Yeah. This might be a big question, but what's changed for you since then? I mean, outwardly, I think, not a ton, well, I mean, Isabelle died. Yeah, you would mention, I was sorry to hear that, but you would also said that you saw her again? I did, yeah, I think my foster brother called and said that she was in the hospital and not doing well. And she, I think, was 95 at this point. Okay. And so it was kind of like, if you want to say goodbye, now is your time. And so I chose to go, and she was very kind and very grateful that I went. Yeah. Do you remember what you talked about with Isabelle in that last visit? Was it just small talk? Yeah, it was pretty, pretty surface level. So she was, there was no, there was no, like, deathbed regrets. Not at all. I mean, that's not surprising. I was going to say, you can't be shocked at that. Yeah. Have you relistened to the episode? A couple of times. Really? Yeah. And I think that listening back to it kind of helped me look at it from a different perspective. I think with Isabelle, I blamed her for ruining my life for a lot of years. And in order for me to move forward, I needed to let go of that old kind of story. When you talk about letting go of a particular story, was the story that that had you been able to continue with basketball, your life would have been different? I think, I think it's a really dangerous thing to guess what our life would have or could have been like, had this thing happen or not happened. And that kind of steals the joy from the present moment. And I just made a decision that I was done letting my past define me or steal my joy. Essentially. And that sounds very, like, I don't know, woo, woo, or. No, it, I mean, it's not easy to do. Was there any moment of, I don't know, maybe it's hard to think about in this way, but was like, there a moment of illumination were just clicked? Um, after that interview with her, I just was kind of like, oh, I'm trying to get blood from a stone and that's just never going to happen. Yeah. That's well put. I wonder, though, if there's something, like, that you just needed to go through that to play it out, to see that, you know, and to have, like, to have witnesses. Yeah, I think, I think that was very powerful and very healing. Um, one thing that was very interesting for me was after our interview, leave I got really emotional and was like, I can't imagine like how hard that was for you. Yeah. And I think it just kind of gave him a little bit more of a perspective of what I went through and maybe a bit more compassion for how sometimes I can be a little emotional or overreact to certain things or be, you know, overly sensitive. Yeah. And, um, and wait, there was another, there was something else. So your last name is Whizmer, and Levi's last name is Buckingham and you've efficiently combined Port Montaud, your name's into Whizzingham. So it's Whizzingham, it's like, it gives you the feeling of a, if I may be so bold, like a pig that has attained like some kind of flight velocity. It's just whizzing by. I think you're ahead of the curve with this, just like you were with, um, with disc golf. Yeah. I think more couples are going to be doing this. Well, we actually have friends who did the same thing. And so I was the one that came up with their name. You're the guru of it. Yeah. Well, it was just nice to, to hear your voice in the catch up. Yeah. You. And give, give, uh, warm regards to Levi. I will. Thank you so much. Okay. Take care, Christina. Thanks to everyone who originally put this episode together. We'll be back with another update in two weeks. And if you want no pressure, you can sign up for our free newsletter. It's free at patreon dot com slash heavyweight. Tell everybody how great it is. Go ahead, Stevie. Yeah. Can you tell everybody about how wonderful this newsletter is? It's pretty wonderful. And boys, it's full of fun. We have photographs of Christina and her dogs recommendations for all kinds of things that myself and the staff are enjoying. Stevie, what's something that you're enjoying these days? I'm enjoying this. You know what, spoiler alert. You got to sign up for the newsletter to find out all kinds of cool stuff. Just sign up for the free newsletter. Thank you very much. In February of 2024, celebrated illustrator and children's book author, Patre Mathers and her husband, Michael, mailed letters to dozens of friends and family members to let them know they had died by suicide. Dear Hunnies, this is goodbye. By the time you get the shalliter both Petra and I will be dead. Why did they do it? Listen to Deathwin artist wherever you get your podcasts.