Nine months after my son died I ran my first half marathon.
Never a runner, I found myself in desperate need of something to focus on.
Grief takes different forms and for me grief meant I had to keep moving…running
in fact…to escape the emptiness that was relentlessly trying to consume me.
It has been 2 and a-half years since I lost my son and I am
still running. Doing everything I can to fend off the deep, austere, hollow
feeling that makes me gasp for breath and clench my chest.
I still can’t believe he is gone.
Life has gone on, like I knew it would. I have managed
through days and fought through nights, watching others live their lives and
letting them think I am living mine.
In reality though, I am just running.
I am running from the hollowness in the pit of my stomach,
the tightness in my throat, the hole in my heart.
I am running from the fact that my son is dead.
I wonder if the thousands of runners that join me at the start line can see how truly broken I am.
As we all see the sun rise and feel the promise of a new day, can they see the emptiness in my eyes? Can they sense the sadness that surrounds me?
I have medals hanging in my house for each of the 23 runs
I have completed since that first half marathon. Shining examples of how to avoid
feeling anything. The same trophies that show others I have moved on with my
life are merely reminders to myself that I am still running.
Running through life, with a smile on my face, hiding from
the empty ache that doesn’t allow me to breath.
Because even now…after all these months have passed, I don’t
want to stop running. I don’t want to feel what waits for me in the reality of
my son’s death.
So for now I will keep finding solace in my ability to run, because as it turns out, running through the emptiness doesn't require a destination.
Running from something or running toward something?
In the end it doesn't matter.
Because it is the slow, steady healing ability embedded within the run that is, for me, the destination.
3 comments:
Keep running. Whatever helps you survive and, maybe even one day, heal. For me it's been writing -- not an escape, but a processing and sometimes a way to distance myself from what I'm feeling by finding the words to describe it. And yes, I wonder sometimes why others cannot see how broken I truly am.
Thank you Laurie. My daughter is still here...I'm awaiting her sentencing, from a distance while raising her two daughters. I'm not a runner but none the less, feel like I've been running and mourning for a long time. guess I am here trying to prepare myself to carry on just in case...and wondering how I would ever do it. I guess I will have to find a way to metaphorically run. For now I hope for airacle but stay away for self preservation. I also feel an awful feeling that I have left her but just can't seem to take anymore right now and concentrate on the little ones that are so vulnerable.
Thank you for sharing.
Great metaphor Laurie! Whether you run to bury the issues you are facing or as a form of catharsis to let everything out ...if it works it works. As long as it works. I finally sat down and wrote my book as a form of cleansing . Maybe I should have tried running as I would have gotten the added health benefit . )
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