and I ra-a-an...

Encouraged by the fact that I didn't keel over on Saturday, even after M. said, hey, "let's go for a walk" and that walk ended up being a 6K+ stroll on top of my morning run, I decided to run again on Sunday. And I ran in the opposite direction.

Now, hang on. That's kind of a big deal.

But why? You say. Runners have a number of routes, a handful of favorite courses and plenty of variations to keep things interesting. You ran in the opposite direction on the same route you run every. single. time? Um, so what?

Well, here's the what. It's true, when I do drag myself out for a run, my route is fixed. Out my door, along the river, to the trees we planted for our daughters. Turn around. Back home. It is exactly 5K and I know every crack in the path between here and there. Despite the occasional gaggle of geese, fishermen by the dam or a galloping retriever off the leash, I know what to expect. I don't have to think that hard and I can focus on getting myself from one point to the next. If that seems to be working itself out, I can let my mind wander to things like writing blog posts in my head or remembering completely and totally bizarre dreams.

Yesterday, I was feeling a little, oh I don't know, adventurous. So I stepped out of my door and turned RIGHT instead of left. I turned right and stayed on the top path, the one with more foot traffic, the one facing the busy street, the one that's a little more exposed.

The one that I was running when I broke my leg last year.

Last year, when I thought I could run right out of my pain. When I thought three weeks after giving birth was plenty of time for my body to normalize. When I still believed there was a beginning and an end to the emotions that we ball up and label as Grief.

I know better now.

The last time I ran this route I was doing this funky stop/start, walk then run then walk again kind of thing. And I honestly think all that jarring is what did my poor tibia in. Pretending I could sprint one moment, then gasping and clutching my sides and just trying to get one foot in front of the other the next.

This time, one year later, I know I'm not the fastest chic on the block (and thank you, lithe 6-ft tall athlete man for flying by me yesterday to confirm that). But my pace is steady. I know my limits and I know when I can push them a little. I know what a good ache feels like and one that signals I'm stepping strangely and need to readjust.

I know there is no end to grieving, but there are days when the path is easier than others. There are even days when you are willing to try new paths to get to your destination. That's my revelation.

And this, my friends, is my Perfect Moment Monday.

**
Perfect Moment Monday is about noticing a perfect moment rather than creating one. Perfect moments can be momentous or ordinary or somewhere in between. Go visit Lori from Weebles Wobblog, founder of Perfect Moment Mondays to read where she and others found their moments this week.

dear sunshine

Dear, dear sunshine, thank you for being out today. You feel wonderful. Especially as you beam into my face as I run and sweat and pant for the first time in over a month.

Your reflections off the water are almost blinding. I love it.

Your rays seem to be pointing down right on to Isa and Jovi's trees. I can see the dark brown-red nubs sprouting on all the limbs. Maybe this is the year they will flower. Maybe this is the year....

Dear sunshine, you're making me sweat. And the sweat is bringing up scents of this week's beer and karaoke and hot wings celebration after our dodgeball victory. I forgot I wore these pants right into the bar. I laugh as I see my run as penance for my bacchanalia. I can't help it. Old doctrines die hard.

The wind on the run back home is a bit harsh. But I'm propelled forward. I coerce myself. "If I make it back to my starting point without stopping, we shall win the dodgeball season!" "If I make it back in less time than the run to the trees, M and I will have a great week." "If I run every day this week, everything will be ok and everything will work out this time and..."

And.

And then I tell myself to cool it and hows about I take things one step at a time. Just keep moving forward and into the sun and get back home to where my love (and a nice shower, and new non-smelly pants) await.

mind dump

I spent 3 days last week at a pretty intense class for a certification exam I am hoping to take later this year. One of the test tips they shared with us is the concept of a "mind dump," where you walk into an exam setting and immediately throw down on scrap paper all of the things and concepts you studied that you are afraid you are going to forget. Once that's all down on paper, you've addressed your anxieties and can actually focus on the exam and questions in front of you.

Brilliant. That's brilliant, right? So simple. Such a "I paid xx for that?" kind of common sensical approach to something a little overwhelming. But it is common sense if you never thought of it before? If I retain nothing else from the week, it is that tip (and M2M, V2V, SPIE and a ton of other mnemonics I hope I connect with the things they are supposed to help me remember).

Not that blogging is a test, but its been a while, I don't have time to write right now, but I'm tired of having the waaaah waaaah posts at the top of my screen. Rather than try to keep all of these "gotta write abouts" floating in my brain, I'm dumping here. I need space for other things.

In no particular order:

elevators, irresponsibility, sustainability, parallels, TH*N, purposeful vagaries, positive energies, separating love from tragedy, and jukeboxes.

More later.

What One Does

When one is at the lowest of lows...wait, I should say, what I did, when at the lowest of lows, was to surrender.

I confessed to myself and to you I was overwhelmed. Drowning in sorrow, grief, self-pity. Unable to see any way out of the mire. And I just sat with that for a while. Because I think you have to. The rest of the workweek is for denial. The day of delivery of bad news is for sitting with it. So I did.

And when M. came home I blurted it all out in one non-stop sentence. And then I let him sit with it for a while too. Which is hard, by the way, when you have had hours to digest something and then you have to watch that process unfold in someone else. I tried not to rush him through. Tried to let him come to his own conclusions.

And then we went out. And cried a little more. And then the soothing began. Frankly, the soothing began as soon as the first emails and comments came in. You soothed me.

Not only did you soothe my heart, you humbled me with your thoughts and offers of kindnesses I will not detail here. But wow.

I know it is awfully hard to be supportive when you know there is something going on with someone who is being incredibly cryptic about it all. But dammit, you found a way.

Thank you.

Please

Tell me.

What does one do when the waves of bad news and heartbreaking statements simply

do.
not.
stop.

What does one do? What am I supposed to do. Please, someone. Tell me.

Tell me how to share this news with my beloved husband, someone who, on a good day, is not quite sure why he's getting out of bed and pretending. Pretending anything matters now that his daughters are dead and every

single

chance

of trying again just reveals more and more layers of bad news. How am I supposed to do this?

**

I know things cannot be as bad as they seem right now. But right now, damn.

I thought grief and all that comes with it was supposed to happen in waves. How can I catch my breathe if there is no ebb and flow?

I am waiting for a free pass here. Waiting for some divine intervention to tap fate on the shoulder and say, "now, now, don't you think m's had enough? Why don't you let them alone for a while?"

Please, fate. (chance, circumstance, gods, whatEVER) Please leave us alone. At least long enough to lick our wounds before you inflict more.

Please.

Aw Hey

Life's not so bad. Really it isn't.

Of course we went to happy hour.

And of course right at the depths of his "whatamIdoinghere?" angst about work, some things happened over the course of the day that made M. realize its not all bad. And that his young and ambitious (and sometimes a little bossy) boss has the exact same thoughts he does. And she IS all about the corporate track. And maybe it is time to start looking around for something else. But in the meantime, while M's hard, hard work may not reflect in his paycheck, damn, those health insurance benefits, some of which we never ever had before, have been so necessary this year. I'm not sure what we would have done without them.

But we'll make a plan. We always do. Fine tune it over a Bell's or a Dogfish Head. And then try to make something happen.

Me? Oh hey, I'm just handling the reprecussions of my own resolutions. My crises are completely of my own making. And they're not baaaad, they're just, well, hard.

I asked for more autonomy and authority at work. And shit. I got it. And shit. It's not easy. Especially when I feel pretty strongly about having down time during my week. Keeping things to 40 hours is unrealistic, but I get incredibly cranky and resentful when things push past 50. So, there's that.

And I told myself I would make more time to say yes to friends and family and that takes, well, time.

And I am trying to be a better partner. Someone who is able to hold up and support M in his deepest hours as well as he does that for me.

So, I'm just trying to make all this happen, and hang on to the hope of a family, and stay sane.

and kick some dodge ball ass.

Just a Bit

So, BlogHer tells me my blog's been dormant for another two weeks.

Sorry.

So, um, whadyawannaknow?

Some things are creeping slowly forward. Other things feel hopelessly stalled (but then I realize I'm being all dramatic. they're not. they just FEEL it). We're playing dodgeball and wouldn't you like to know about that?! Maybe later. Another post. It definitely deserves its own post. Work is kicking my ass. Work is bringing M down, down, down....

Into a state that turns a LOST episode filled with resurrections and time travel into a tenuous and sad precursor of a night with no sleep. Or at least no good dreams. A night of if only's....

Sigh. This babies grieving is hard.

And a W2 really should never, ever, be used to quantify one's own self worth. Or question past decisions. Or wonder if a life not on the corporate path was one you really wanted. (well, yes. IMHO, yes)

But it's not me we're talking about. So I'll just keep my mouth shut and keep on hugging.

And hope we're making a trip to happy hour this fine evening. Cause I sure would like a beer.