The alarm sounded entirely too early. I rolled out of bed, plodded to the bathroom, and headed for coffee. I was so glad that I slept in my running clothes; I don’t know how I’d have been ready on time if I hadn’t.
I wondered when I stopped being a morning person. Every day, it’s hard (both mentally and physically) to get out of bed. Normally, I take it slow, sipping my coffee and checking emails until I finally am ready to face the day.
Today was different. There was no time to adjust to the morning. A short 20 minutes later, I was off for my weekly Buddy Run. This week, my Buddy Run consisted of an actual person, and I was late to meet her.
My buddy, apparently, does not have the same morning issues as me. She was full of spunk, and greeted me with a contagious cheerfulness. Together, we ran through the park. And when she asked the question of how Tom died, I told her. She listened intently as I retold the unfolding of his cancer, until the point where he died. I told it the same abruptness that it happened, and my new buddy stopped in her tracks and began to cry.
I hate the feeling that normally comes when I drop the bomb of Tom’s death. I’m not accustomed to making people feel sad. Today, however, it felt okay. I gave my buddy a hug and then we moved on, one step at a time. I realized that our moving on was just like me each morning when I drag myself out of bed. It’s not always easy but, once you get moving, you know that it will be alright.