Tuesday, February 2
grief : noun. intense emotional suffering caused as by a loss.
My definition: a heart that feels as though a giant has reached into your chest cavity and placed it in a strangle hold; a pit in your stomach that makes you want to puke, eyes so blurry you can't see, and a brain that's fuzzy that you really should make important decisions. The fetal position is now preferred for self protection.
I woke at 4a.m. this morning, patting the area on the bed where Gracie would sleep. No furry butt taking up most of the area, no gentle moaning as I would rub her belly. The space between Ron and I was empty--my definition of grief slammed itself on my chest and stayed. The tears streamed down my cheeks as I curled up to assume my state of protection.
A few days before we set Gracie free from her pain I started running again. I haven't run in a long time. Those that know me are thinking wait a minute--Val's a runner. Well yes, but in the past few years running hurt, the knees would scream, the back was howling and frankly running just sucked. I was rather surprised last Friday when I laced up my shoes and started running--there was no discomfort.
This morning with Schatzie's locket urn and Gracie's id tag in hand I tapped the timer on my watch, I was off. My pace was quick, the breeze was light, my breathing wasn't labored, I felt the sweat beading up on my skin, my grief was fading it was a freeing 25 minutes.
I pushed the button on the timer as my feet stopped... and the grief came rushing back.
I need to keep running.
Thank you all who have left comments, called, sent texts or just kept Ron and me in your prayers. We are grateful. I'm not sure what direction this blog will take, but for now it will be one of my ways of dealing with my sadness and grief. I hope you will continue to stop by, I promise to share more of our Hawaii adventures.