Grief

A dear friend of mine received some terrible news. She has suffered a loss so painful that my mind shies away from trying to imagine it. For those of us around her, it's a painful reminder that life is sometimes bitterly unfair, often tragic, and never truly safe. 

Dearest friend, I cannot make this pain less for you. I know that. Grief is a dark bubble that surrounds and separates. To grieve is to be more alone than feels possible in a world with so many other people. Everything said is muffled to the point of being nonsense. A single day stands as the dividing line in time; there was Before, and now there is After. For a while, they seem so close that your heart doesn't want to believe that Before is gone. There should be a way to reach back, and pull it up to you, so that After doesn't come. It shouldn't be like this. 

We, your friends, never know what to say in times like this. We want, so badly, to help, even as we know there is little we can do. This grief is yours. We hurt for you. We cry for you. But it's you who has to find your way through that dark bubble. Just know that we are out here. Row upon row of us. We rest our fingertips on the edges of that darkness. We hold up candles to guide you out. You may not feel our touch yet. Our lights may not be able to pierce through to your eyes. But we are here. Always. 

"Got your hands full, don't ya?"

I didn't really know what I was getting into when I decided to become a stay at home mom. I'd been a working mom for years. A working single mom. A working-two-jobs-and-going-to-school-single-mom, even. It seemed to me that I would have unlimited time to do whatever I wanted. After all, I'd managed to keep everyone fed, clothed, dropped off and picked up (most of the time...kids may occasionally have been left places on accident), and the house reasonably clean. Or, at least, not a SuperFund site. I pictured myself making delicious meals in a spotless house, and doing educational, age-appropriate art projects with my little darlings. Peace, perfection, and happiness. And, in reality, some days come pretty close to that.

This was not one of those days.

Not even close.

I suppose it started the night before. When Sam threw a tantrum, pitched a shoe at me, and split my lip. That earned him an early bedtime, for the benefit of both of us. Except Bryn was still at volleyball, and BJ was at work, so when she called for a ride, I pulled the sleeping child out of bed and loaded him in the car. With both babies strapped in, I turned the key and "clickclickclickclick"....dead battery. No problem. We have a battery charger...that required at least a couple extension cords to reach the front of the car. Ok, quick call to BJ at work, cords located, car hooked up...nothing. Both little ones are screaming bloody murder from their car seats. First rule of trouble shooting? Is it plugged into the wall? Ok, no it's not, easy fix. Car started...

By the time I get to the gas station that is the bus drop-off on game days, everyone else is gone, the station is closed, and Bryn is sitting cross legged on the curb, doing her homework by the light of Powerball sign. Mother of the year, right here folks!

Then Astrid woke up at midnight. The hour and a half of sleep I'd gotten so far was the longest stretch I would get all night. Seriously, couldn't we have figured out a better way to get teeth by now? Evolve already!

At 6:30 am, it was time to get Bryn up for the day. And make coffee. Lots of coffee.

"Umm, Mom?"
I responded with a grunt.
"I think something is dead in here..."
I thought "is it me?"

The cats, in an effort to prove that my late-night declarations of their utter worthlessness were, in fact, nothing but slander, had killed and dismembered one or more mice...I'm not actually certain. The...parts...were strewn about, but some seemed to be duplicated more times than they should for only one. Now, I don't know about you, but dead animals in my kitchen are a bit more than I care to deal with pre-coffee. Unless it's bacon, of course. However, Bryn was now dancing about, doing some rather dramatic retching, so it seemed unlikely that I could pawn this off on her, despite "cat care" being part of her chores. The cats were kind enough to leave me all the squishy parts. Thanks, ladies.

Sam had speech therapy, so I was lucky that BJ got home in time to help me get the little ones stuffed into clothes are car seats. Car seats that were strapped into a car with a dead battery. Again. BJ got out of bed and came outside to switch car seats to the other car and get mine hooked up to the charger, earning himself the "Best Husband Award".

I stopped for coffee on the way in, having never gotten around to making it at home. This prompted a meltdown from Sam, because he wanted my coffee. When I let him have a taste, he had another tantrum, this one because he didn't like my coffee. He cried because I put his shoes on. And to be picked up. And, immediately, to be put back down. He threw a fit when he saw that the video game had been removed from the waiting room. Another one when the speech therapist handed him the bubbles that he had previously been begging for.

And then...the final straw. I had not used valet parking when we came in, because the parking lot was nearly empty. So, I had no parking ticket to hand to Sam as we left the appointment. Which meant there was no chance to trade that parking ticket to the nice old men at the valet stand for a dumdum sucker. I ended up hauling Sam out of there like a sack of potatoes in one arm, while juggling coats, diaper bag, and Astrid in her carseat in the other. As we walked out, the security guard smiled and said, raising his voice to be heard over Sam's screaming, "Got your hands full, don't ya?"

I smiled at him. The calm, peaceful smile of a mother who understood completely that toddlers have bad days, and it isn't their fault. The smile of a woman who was 100% certain that the situation was under control. A woman who would never lose her temper at her darling child, because she knew that children need to be allowed to express their emotions before they can learn to control their emotions.

Actually, judging by the way the burly ex-cop recoiled and suddenly seemed to have urgent business elsewhere, I may have given him a feral snarl that might have hinted at the violence I was imagining visiting upon him.

Just another day in paradise.

Running

In the past two weeks, autumn has arrived in full force. Our trees are exploding into colors, there is a bite to the air, we've even had some frost...and the farmers are out harvesting.

I'm excited for them. This is when they find out if a year of hard work was worth it. Some of them will have a difficult year; this spring's flooding means that some fields are stunted. But, while I am certainly no expert, most of them look pretty good to me. At night I can see the lights of our neighbor's combines as they lumber around the fields. In the morning, they are already up and running at 6:30 am, when I get Bryn up to catch her bus.

The only downside to all this activity is that it's driven my runs indoors, to the treadmill in the basement. Not that I don't appreciate the trusty machine. I do! Winters are long and bitterly cold here. The wind never stops. Ice and snow piles up in drifts taller than I am, hiding ditches and dips, making the way far too treacherous for running outside. But the never-changing view of the basement wall does leave something to be desired.

When I started running out here, in mid-June, the corn and beans were just barely sprouted. Astrid was 6 weeks old, and in my mind I could already hear the clock ticking down to my Physical Training Test in November. That first day, I ran for a minute, walked for five, repeating a few times. I didn't get very far, and I certainly didn't go very fast, but I came back to the house red-faced, panting, and cursing a blue streak about all the doggone hills. I had ten thousand reasons to not drag myself out again the next day...but I did.

I came to love it. Running our gravel road helped me learn the area, helped me become part of it. The wildflowers that grew in the ditches made me smile. When I saw the neighbor out mowing and baling the ditches, I thought I would miss the flowers. Instead, I just enjoyed the cut-grass smell. Someone's beef herd grazes about half a mile down from us. At first, they looked at me in placid, bovine confusion, but after a few weeks, a black cow with remarkable white markings over her eyes, who I call "Eyebrows", started to run along the fence when I came by. I frequently ask BJ if I can track down the farmer and buy her as a pet, but it seems I have found out just exactly where he draws the line on my crazy ideas. Chickens? Yes. Goats? Sigh, ok, fine, but not until spring, ok? Cows? No.

In July, I was joined on my runs by a 5 month old Blue-Heeler/Husky cross named Henry. He's a wild critter, and he wants, more than anything, for me to let him off the leash so he can herd those cows, but he's a damn fine running buddy. I've never really been a dog person, so it's a little surprising to me that getting Henry was my idea, but, chewing aside, he's a nice addition to the family. After all, whats a farmhouse and an acreage without a dog?

The days started getting shorter right around the time my runs started getting longer. It got harder to fit in an evening run before the sun went down. One night, I started off later than I would have liked. I run for time, not distance, and I was planning on 40 minutes of running, with a five minute warm up, and a five minute cool down.  It was a much longer time than I had run previously, and because it was already getting dark, I opted to go straight out and back, rather than making a loop, since I wasn't totally familiar with all the roads on the loop.

Night always seems to creep up slowly, and then rush you. I wasn't very far down the road before I lost all concept of where I was on this road I thought I knew so well. The fields were just dark patches, with only the switch from corn, to soybeans, and back again to break them up. I felt like I had been running forever. I felt like I was struggling more, going more slowly than usual. I kept checking to make sure my phone hadn't died, since I hadn't heard the chime that would tell me I was halfway, and it was time to head home.

I was pretty shocked when I came to an intersection, and my shoes hit pavement. This blog wasn't titled randomly; no matter what direction you go, there is two miles of gravel between us and the hardball. I was over the road and just even with the sign that warned drivers headed the other direction of the upcoming stop sign when my phone chimed. It's amazing what a change of perspective will do; minutes earlier I had been exhausted, irritated with my pace, and just wanting the whole thing to be over. Suddenly, I was excited, proud, and determined to finish the return trip without a break. Turns out I can do a lot more than I think I can, especially when I stop trying to talk myself out of it.

For now, though, since "squished by a combine" is not on my bucket list, I will be plugging away on the treadmill. And there might be a little piece of masking tape over the the block that shows the details of my run. Maybe I should even turn off the lights...