At bedtime, I was at peace- I thought.
Earlier, I took out my calendars, planners and began to set goals again. I felt better than ok.
But in the night, a different reality. I could see my father- in all different stages and phases of his life.
I saw his face driving the boat, looking over is shoulder at me (likely on a kneeboard) and smiling.
I saw the dark red hair of his younger days- a warm sweater and moccasins- looking at me and teaching me to hike like a Native American- quietly so I could see more nature on the mountain path.
I saw his arm reach over and a hand land gently on my mom's knee in the car ahead of me- a dark silhouette of him stealing a kiss while he drove. Mom's hand was on his knee, too, forming an x. I remember wanting to be loved like that one day.
I saw him cheering on my sons at baseball games, it was joyful.
But later... images of him skinny and pale. Images of his face before he passed, twisted with pain, images of his last fighting breaths- his face after.
Over and over, I saw these images and tried to rest my mind.
A heaviness hung over me this morning- a morning I thought I'd look forward to. I was eager at bedtime for my "longer training run" and the sunshine I'd be lucky to enjoy with sunshine at my cousin's graduation party.
But the heaviness wouldn't leave. I began to dread my run. My body was betraying me.
I willed myself forward anyway.
4 Miles might well have been a marathon.
I heard Dad's voice telling me, "exercise" so I stepped again and again.
I ran in the sunshine and I ran in the shade.
Maybe life and grief are just like that.
Hope I made you proud today, Dad.
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Intuitive mother, writer, teacher, wellness coach, daughter, wife, friend and advocate for true belonging and self love.