compensating

I was having a discussion with Dice a week or so ago, and was basically accusing him of using running to compensate for other areas of his life. and you know, I don't even really know him all that well so that was really unfair of me, but I was in a bad mood that day and... well... to be honest, that's exactly what I do. I use running as a way to deal with things that I don't want to deal with.

you think there's a reason why maybe I decided that THIS WEEK I had to start training for a new marathon? I think I'm something stupid like 13 weeks out. there are no 13 week plans. but honestly? i'm scared shitless of letting my mind wander right now. i'm avoiding grieving, which is by far the worst thing I could do for myself. and I'm totally aware of it. and I have every intention of not thinking about things, like I should, and instead lacing up my shoes and heading over for 3 miles on the treadmill, because you know I HAVE TO TRAIN FOR A MARATHON. IT'S CRUCIAL.

so, in an attempt to be healthier, body AND mind, here's my daily dose of grieving...

I miss her. I miss her more than words can say. Today, as I was walking through one of the waiting rooms one of the patients had on a perfume that smelled like her and immediately I ached to my core. I miss her hug, her embracing me. I miss the smell of her -- her lotions, her perfumes, her hand cream. I miss her warmth and her smell and her smile and her voice and it just fucking hurts so much that I don't know what to do about it. it's paralyzing sometimes. and that's why I don't think about it. because what are you supposed to do when you're walking through the halls at work and you smell something that reminds you so much of someone that you miss so much that it makes you stop in your tracks and remember the last time you smelled that smell.

Last Thursday would have been the date of her surgery. this also would have been the anniversary of the last day that we spoke with one another, had a conversation together. I had gone to the hospital for the surgery but was a bit late getting in so I didn't get the chance to see her before she went in to pre-op. my dad came out half an hour after I got there and told me that she refused to go into surgery without seeing me, and so I went back and she told me excitedly that it wasn't supposed to be as invasive as we originally thought, and the recovery time would be much less, and that they were going to monitor her brain waves to make sure she was anesthetized properly (she wasn't in a previous surgery). and then I told the nurse to take extra good care of her, because she was SUCH a special woman, and the nurse smiled and assured me that she would.

a few hours later her doctor came out and said everything had gone well, and explained everything to us. we got to see her later that afternoon and as soon as I walked in the door she smiled and whispered, "piece of cake." she was SO thrilled that it had gone smoothly. and as I stood next to her bed after that surgery, she gripped my hand so tightly and wouldn't let go. to the point where when I went to go get a chair to sit down she shook her head and said, "no, I just want you to stay here so I can hold your hand." and that is why, after things turned for the worse and she was intubated, I stood next to her bed for hours on end, holding her hand. I held it after they had taken her off life support, and on until she had taken her last breath.

after that surgery I went home and slept because I was exhausted from the stress of it all, and then the roommate and I went to the Pistons game that evening. she was supposed to be ok. she was supposed to recover. the next day, even, she was doing so well that I called her and talked to her for an hour but I opted to go home instead of to the hospital after work because I had to do readings for class and I didn't think i'd have time to get everything done AND go visit her. I promised her I'd come up on friday and spend the whole evening with her, and fully intended to. I should have gone that thursday to visit her. I should have skipped that pistons game.

I didn't get the chance to go visit her on friday night. the next day I got a call that they were intubating her because she couldn't breathe. by the time I got to the hospital she was being intubated and was choking on the tube as they tried inserting it. she looked horrified, and all I could do was stand there and cry. the last time my mother saw me awake, I was crying and looking terrified because I was so scared for her. that's not what was supposed to happen. I didn't want my mother's last glance at me to reveal a scared little girl. I was supposed to be strong, to be the woman that she raised.

I miss her. and every day I wonder what I can do to be the woman that she wanted me to be. to be strong. to be happy. to make good choices with my life. I don't know if she is looking down and can see me or not. My pastor told me in the hospital that personally he did not think that she would be able to. but I hope that if she could, that she would proud.

my father called tonight to tell me that he had received a very important package in the mail. he said it was stamped "diploma", and he was excited to bring it up to me and to take me out to dinner to celebrate. I was reminded that for every milestone in my life, every significant event - good or bad - this will all come flowing back. because i'll want to share it with her, just like I want to share this with her.

I love you mom. and I miss you. and if you can hear me... well, i'm trying ok? and I'll get there. I promise. because I had a wonderful example to follow after.

so now that i've gotten that out, and had a good cry, I'm going to lace up my shoes and go hit the treadmill. because I do believe that I can have balance. I just need to work on it. this next two weeks will be particularly challenging.