Sucking it Up

My Papa's still dead.  I know that sounds really stupid, but it's just the weirdest damned thing that he's not going to be there the next time I go home.

It's probably no coincidence that the Saturday after he went was my absolute worst run ever.  I was supposed to go 6 miles.  But it was humid, and I was probably dehydrated, and I know for damn sure that I was exhausted.  I was also still recovering from my half-marathon the weekend before.  I just didn't have it in me.  And then for some stupid reason, on top of all that, I decided to hand myself another crapload of emotional baggage.  A few months ago, my grandma sold her house.  If there was a house I grew up in, it was that one...she'd lived there since I was about 3 years old.  Until the day she sold it - and maybe it's still there - the screen door from the kitchen into the garage had a spool nailed to it, near the bottom.  There was a step down from the door into the garage, and the handle had been too high for me to reach when I was small, so I'd pull the door open by its edge and my grandparents were afraid I'd pinch myself, so they nailed the spool there so that I could use it as a door handle.  All the other grandkids used it too, but it was my spool.

When I started running Saturday morning, I pretended to myself that I didn't know where I was headed.  Turns out that it's 3.1 miles from my parents' house to my grandparents'.  Along the way, I passed the hospital where my mother was born.  I passed the house my high school boyfriend lived in, and the house that another boy I had a crush on lived in, too.  I passed the house where my aunt used to live, and where I spent many weekends parked in front of the TV playing Super Mario Bros. 3 on her Super Nintendo and drinking all of their milk.  I passed the Baskin Robbins where my grandparents used to take me for ice cream, only it's a flower shop now.  I passed the Kwik Shop where my favorite cousin and I used to go for popsicles in the summer.  It's a small town, but it's hard to believe that all of that is encompassed in just a few miles.

When I got to their block, I slowed to a walk.  I wanted to see the house.  It looked the same, except that the new owner, a young guy in his 20s, had planted some flowers in the flowerbed out front.  It looked well-kept, but the rocks that my Papa had lined it with were gone, which made me sad.  I bent down and touched the grass for a second, then I circled around to the alley so I could see the backyard.  The swingset that my grandparents had put up for us was gone, and the tree I used to climb had grown so much it was unrecognizable.  The lilac bushes that my Papa loved were gone, but the honeysuckle still grew along the west fence.

I was pretty much spent at that point.  I mostly walked back to my parents' house, jogging very short distances here and there just to maintain my self-respect.  The fact that I'm running again now, after such an extremely shitty run, has to mean something.  I'm not sure what...but something.  I'm even looking into my next half-marathon, which will probably be October 20, in preparation for the full marathon on December 9.

The funeral is over, and S is back in school.  I'm co-planning the recruitment rally for the Cub Scout pack next week.  Tomorrow after my run, I'm taking the foster dog to be shown to prospective families, and the Beagle to get his nails trimmed.  Then I'm picking up a graduation present for our neighbor, and J and I are going to her party, which is a crawfish boil.  Last night, J and I went to see a touring broadway show, and we both really enjoyed it.  Sunday is Mother's Day.  There's an immense pile of laundry staring me in the face, which I'll have to tackle tonight, and vacuuming to be done, and groceries to be shopped for.

Life is going on, but I'm still not sure when I get to cry.

Comments

[Mrs. M]

I lost my dad 3 years ago in March. I was just 6 weeks short of graduating college. I didn't get to cry either. Until one night it just came. It just came and it didn't quit for months. I cried myself to sleep everynight for a year. Some days, it still isn't over. Most days now I'm just mad that he had to go to leave my little brother so helpless with a crazy drug addict of a mother! I'm mad because just being his sister and loving him more than anything I can't get custody of him to give him a decent life that he deserves. I'm mad because my dad had to go and if he were here none of this would happen! I understand your greif, but I don't pretend to have a cure. Between my mad/sad/crying I still have a long way to go. But I am at a point where I can truly enjoy happy memories. I hope you get there soon.

[Finn]

I'm so sorry honey. So sorry.

As for the crying, make time. Wallow in your grief, revel in it. The only way to get through it is to experience it. Make an appointment with yourself to remember, to cry, to scream, to yell. I think, as women, we deny ourselves so many things -- but this is nonnegotiable. The grief, the grieving, it's for the living, for the loss you've suffered. Give in to it for a while or it will sneak up and overwhelm you later.

xo