The morning after Thanksgiving I had planned to wake up early and get to a 6am masters swim workout. Instead, I watched the revival of Gilmore Girls and bawled my eyes out.
Two days after Thanksgiving, I ran a PR at the Moustache Run 10k and snorted down my tears for the entire second mile.
Sunday afternoon, I silent cried while watching my youngest play hockey. And then I cried again while slow dancing to our wedding song in the kitchen after finishing dinner’s dishes.
Do you catch the theme here?
Then you won’t be surprised to read that I cried on my run on the following Monday morning and later that night when I finished Gilmore Girls.
So why did I think that listening to the 1st Terrible, Thanks for Asking podcast would be a great way to start my day on Tuesday? Actually all the crying is helping. Recently, I realized that I haven’t felt much for weeks. Maybe months. Grief is such a shape shifter. And it creeps into corners and just waits for me.
I spent the majority of my bike rides this winter spinning while listening to podcasts. In an accidental way the time became my grief therapy. It has been therapeutic for me but it also strikes me as privileged. After all it is a tidy and convenient way to address the pain. Alone on my bike trainer in my dark ‘closet’.
But my seat in the stadium of grief is not at the field level. I’m somewhere midway up. I can clearly see the action on the field but the hits only reverberate in my plastic chair.