I Grieve

Grief is a funny thing; it comes in waves. You find yourself walking on the beach, firm sand under your feet and suddenly a wave crashes into you, and the sand erodes and you are on your knees. And then it recedes, you recover, slowly picking your self up, as the tide gradually fades away from you.

I always thought my mother's death would be like a hurricane, furious impending doom, with plenty of warning. I pictured myself at her bedside, watching her slip away. Instead, it was a microburst, that surprised all of us--most of all, me.

Today, October 8th (the actual day of posting, I started this draft yesterday), is the day 9 years ago when my first daughter, Rachel Sheyenne was born. It is a bitter sweet day for me, as she died in my arms a few days later, again, an unpredictable event that shattered me.

In honor of my mother, and my beautiful daughter, Rachel, I chose this video, I picture them now both held and comforted by angels in heaven. As a human, I cannot release my grief, it fills me now, clouds my vision and I am able to focus on little else. I know Rachel is saying to me now, "Please don't cry mommy," and she's probably holding grandma's hand. I, however, am helplessly crying my eyes out.

Hug your kids, your loved ones today. And remember, you never know when they will be taken from you.

I picked up my training again on Friday, so I missed a total of four days of running. Friday were two services for my mother, so I figured I'd need to be exhausted rather than nervous and edgy. Finally, I was beginning to sleep again, and plans were simply being executed and not made. I ran 6 miles, not very fast, with 4 striders once that was complete. I ran 7 miles on Sunday, and 5 today, also followed by striders.