Archives for June 2007

I was doing well until I hit the freeway exit. My eyes began to well up as the familiar sadness hit yet again. I’d wear my sunglasses as long as I could. I’d do my best to hold it together and be strong. Today, the sadness was different. I pulled into the church parking lot, pulled myself together and joined the crowd.

The hearse arrived, followed by the limousine. We all cried as she, and his family, got out of the limousine. Today it wasn’t about me as much as it was about her. I tried to keep that in mind as each familiar person asked me how I was doing.

We are both too young to be widows, but nobody asked for my opinion on this topic. It wasn’t important I guess. As I listened to the mass, I tried to take in the words of the priest. I sifted through the various messages for some golden nugget of wisdom.

Afterwards, I sifted through the caverns of my own heart to find a little more hope and courage. I am crawling (however slowly) out from under the rubble to the life that remains. I will help pull her out too – when she is ready.

On a clear night
the moon shines bright.
It lights the way
to the perfect place.

Wading through loss
to find hope,
as ocean waves,
soak shoes and chill toes.

Dancing with the sand,
the grey ash
catches a wave,
as the final ride begins.

A single rose,
rides along
for as long as it can.
Eventually, even it will be cut loose.

From today on,
all that remains,
are the memories.

https://keeping-pace.com/2007/06/24/490/

The sun is shining, and the birds are singing. It is looking to be a beautiful day. I had this in my awareness, yet I lay in bed wondering what reason I had to get up. My bladder was full but I found that, if I lay still enough, it wasn’t really a compelling reason to get out of bed.

As I lay there, I thought of the activities of the day. There is a Summer Solstice gathering of Tom and my mutual friends. I have not had much contact with them in the past few months – an occasional email from one or two of them, nothing more. I am still contemplating making the drive. Seeing as how Tom died on the first day of Spring, I should be happy to celebrate the coming of a new season. But I wonder what emptiness the new season will hold. I wonder what extent of numbness I will experience as I try to mingle at the event.

Now, before you comment, please know that I have been reading and talking about the process of grief. I am not alone in my apathy. It is normal to feel and act this way.

Is it only coincidence that the roses on my table are a near match to those on the cover of the book, A Grief Observed? I bought the book yesterday and wasn’t surprised to see the familiar image. In fact, it was comforting in an odd way, as are the words C.S. Lewis uses to describe his own survival of “the mad midnight moments.” The book is thin and while the writing a raw, unpolished, and even hard to follow at times, I realize that I am only observing a fraction of of it. My mind drifts off to someplace else as I am reading. I imagine that I will read it over and over.

I think about my assigned run. Coach was kind enough to replace my rest day with a three mile run. It hardly seems worth the effort of changing my clothes though. I wonder if I can do my long run instead. Tomorrow will be a busier day. Tomorrow I will see my kids once more. Even better, I will be able to have them home with me again. I’ve missed them tremendously.

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