Sometimes, now that the numbness has finally left the building and the deeper understanding regarding the permanence of loss is here, I hurt so much I have to squat down or double over. These moments come out of nowhere; unexpected, unprovoked, unaware I go - and the choice becomes - do I push it down, swallow hard and soldier on? Or do I stop in my tracks and watch it happen, let it happen, wash over, around, above, underneath, all around me? It’s difficult. At home when I feel the pang of lonliness come over me I can justifiably sit down and allow it, but at the drug store in the cough medicine aisle? When a memory so strong hits me that I literally feel the wind knock away? What then? Or at the airport - quietly reading and listening to music when I am struck by the powerful knowledge that I will never touch my mothers hand again, never see her smiling small self on the couch, never hear I love you from the one person who has known me longest & loved me deepest? How do you “move through” this shit? How do you ever get to the other side - to the peace of mind and understanding that loss will continue coming, not just once but many times over - the longer I stand on my own two feet.
Running is helping. Running, deep breathing, rhythmic pounding clears my mind, pinpoints my focus, produces in me a “comfortable pain” that I am used to, like going home again, as close to my mothers arms as possible. And for this one pure act of mirroring physical and emotional self I am thankful. All the better that I have a partner in this long run.
Yes, I’m still running. Yes, the 50 mile race is 5 weeks away and nothing, nothing, nothing will stop me from being there on that starting line, breathing in the cool fall Appalachian air. It will - It will - It will be further progress, further movement and hopefully a celebration of being alive and being able to do just this much.
