endurance

I used to be a swimmer in high school. I was pretty good at it too, although by no means the best.  Probably had something to do with the long limbs and the searing heat of my hometown summers.  If you weren't in the pool during those long months than you were inside with the airconditioning, probably watching television.  I preferred the water.

I swam distance races.  The kind in which someone sat at the opposite end of the pool from the starting blocks and counted laps.  Nearing the turns I would, through my goggles, see a hand gripping a lap counter suddenly appear in the water to keep my mind focused on the course of the race.  It was important in those events to know where you were at in the lap count because you had to be conscious of your energy expenditure; when it was ok to lag behind the other swimmers, when to start a relaxed picking up of the pace and when, in the final stretches, to tap the reserves and swim the last 50-100 yards in a sprint.

I've always been more physically and mentally attuned -in sports and in life- for the long haul rather than the sprinting events. Endurance is something I have in spades.  This is partially why I chose the field of work I am in -many challenging years of education- and certainly how I managed to snag my most awesome husband -many months of patiently waiting for him to realize he was as into me as I was into him.

There is noting quite like the feeling of accomplishment from finishing a race long run.  It is euphoric.

I'm seeing my therapist again today, the second time since Clio was born; the first was when she was only three weeks old.  Things have been that good.  Excellent, really.  Since Clio came into my life I have been feeling like the fully fleshed out person that I used to be two years ago instead of the shelled out version I've grown accustomed to.  I'm laughing and smiling and generally feeling pretty content with my life.

These last few days have been difficult though.  Well, actually, the last week but I've been staving off the inevitable emotional meltdown for awhile.  I've avoided anything that could possibly suck me back into those overwhelming periods of grief I've experienced since George died.  I haven't looked at his pictures since Clio was born.  They are now sitting in George's box, along with all of his other things, in our bedroom. Lately I've been putting her down for naps on our bed for the sole reason of making it impossible for me to go in there and pull out those photographs. I rarely even talk about George except with certain trusted people.  I glance over his dust-covered urn like it is just another piece of bric-a-brac on my dresser.  Next weekend we are going, along with my family, to a candle-lighting ceremony for honoring children who have died and I am not looking forward to the experience.  Yet I still want to go.

I don't think that any of that is healthy behavior.  Not that I think shrouding ones self in grief indefinitely is healthy behavior either but this avoidance of feeling any kind of emotion regarding George is really bad.  Really bad.

In a little over three months it will be two years since I held George and kissed his face.  That is a really long time to miss someone so intensely, especially ones own child.  That is a really long fucking test of endurance, one that only continues to stretch out into the future.  Grief doesn't have a finish line, no lap counters to help you pace yourself, no feeling of euphoria at the end of a race well-run.  It gets easier, yes, but you never really finish the race.

I know this is a decidedly pessimistic post and I feel kind of shitty for writing it as I have some sort of self-imposed feeling of responsibility to all the people just starting this race to only write about how things get better (they do) and to not give the impression that I am not forever and eternally grateful for my daughter (I am).  But here it is, my truth as it is today; Grief is hard and I am just so very, very tired.