Remembering

Today would have been a beloved Auntie’s birthday, and it is very much with us. Perhaps partly because it’s the first since her passing. The awareness of loss is great.

I happened to need to leave a vehicle for a kid at the park ‘n’ ride today, so I plopped it there and ran home. This is the first planned run I’ve done in eons, and the layers of significance just keep washing into my head now, like a rising tide. First and most obviously, my Aunt was a runner at my age, and having people in your life who Do Hard Things helps to create in kids (me) the idea that Hard Things Can, Should, and Must be Done. That my mother ran through her whole pregnancy with me - alongside my Aunt - is a detail I find most delightful. My Aunt died of pulmonary fibrosis, a hideous disease, after having successfully, concurrently, fended off lung cancer (for which she had no known risk factors). We spoke of running often, and how glad she was that it had become part of my norm, and then those of my daughters. 

So today I thought about her while I ran. I have what seems to be exercise-induced asthma, and not regularly running makes it worse. It reminded me of that pulmonary diagnosis. Sucking air, bronchioles on fire, remembering, searing, mourning, counting, crossing, up, down, wave, breathe...

I though too about my friend, amidst her Guillain-Barre fight/journey/whatever story it will turn out to be. Whilst trudging uphill, slowing as the wind blasted harder, scrubbing my numbing face, speeding up over the rise, legs going numb from a cardiovascular system pushing past its baseline... Then flying down, down, praying that my bones would fall just so, GodBlessMuscleMemory, as the feeling returned to my toes.

I thought about writing, and the futility of planning to. And the absolute necessity of doing it, with or without the opportunity - just like running. Just like running, writing can play a major role in the saving of one’s soul. I remembered our conversations about spiritual and mental hygiene, about clarity and self-checking, about care for vulnerable populations, which are all of us. And about how to cram those hundred grams of protein into one person, every day. 

I thought about the hydrangea budding in my backyard, my first ever, and how my lovely auntie’s bushes would be fluffing out now. I thought about our laughing at chemo, over cupcakes we took to share with the nurses - celebrating our respective wedding anniversaries amidst general hilarity, and being so, so grateful for our respective kids that those marriages produced. 

I thought about the solitariness of running - a double-edged sword, and a persistent, highlighted feature in parenting, especially with kiddos who are medically fragile and/or have any kind of special needs. We talked about that, she and I. Alone time can be precious, and it can be just plain piercingly, exhaustingly lonely.

Good things, today... Being able to go. The wildness of the wind. Waving daffodils, a la Wordsworth, a la beloved Auntie. Remembering. Grief work in actual motion. Knowing how to spit carefully on an exceedingly windy day. Family with whom to remember, and to celebrate. 

This evening I’m heading to an event that my Aunt went to annually, as long as she could. It’s a resource fair and legislative forum for the local disability community. There’ll be Kleenex in my pockets. 

Go hug somebody, go read Lonely as a Cloud, and go, go, Go because you can. Smooch.