There is something that feels so incredibly good about working the body. I noticed that when I went on a short walk with Lily (my bulldog) this morning to get the mail. The air was unseasonably warm - upper 50s - and the sun was peeking from behind the clouds which had been on us all weekend. The ankle I sprained falling down the stairs a week or so ago is stronger now and held up just fine as I walked along our gravel driveway. No splint. No swelling.
It is days like this that make me feel that I wish I could run or take the bike out for a ride. It is days like this in which I feel that I want to keep moving this body to keep the MS from overtaking it. Can you outrun a disease? If you can, I will do my best to do just that. I was feeling particularly strong today, emotionally.
Last week was a bit of a disaster, though, because the grief was impossible to outrun. The anger welled up in me like a flow of lava, about to overrun my mouth - and on occasion it did. You never really want to take anything out on the people you love, but at times I did, because I couldn't help it. The anger was so strong in me - rage against God, against the universe, against death itself - that I could not hold it in. When asked how I felt when it was that strong, I said, "If you really want to know, I want my heart to stop beating so that I can hold my daughter again."
In reality, I have to let it beat as long as it will. What would it do to my son if my heart were to stop beating? What would it do to him to even know that I feel this way? Yet I'm certain he has felt this way from time to time since Stef's death. There is something about losing someone so close to you that makes you say things you wouldn't normally say and do things you wouldn't normally do. It is all part of the process. I guess, if Elizabeth Kubler-Ross were to analyze me, I'd be placed squarely in the Anger phase of grief. I thought I'd felt anger early on, but as they tell me in all the literature about loss and grief, we go through the phases several times, uniquely. I ran through them several times, quickly, like an LED sign scrolling and flashing. Now I'm going on a different journey, becoming immersed in a particular emotion when it's time. Now is the time for anger, I suppose.
I've got to find a safe way to get the emotions out, and I will. Thrashing about, hitting the door or the interior of my car, isn't the way. I'll injure myself for sure, and I don't need any more injury. But I find that physicality, moving my body, is a great way to get some of the stress and anger out. Maybe by drilling a thousand holes in the volcano, the lava will gently ooze, cooling as it flows, instead of blowing the cap off the top.
If you're flying over, however, don't be surprised if you see the glow of angst and rage that still boils in me over the loss of my child. It's early in the process yet, but I will heal. I know I will heal.
Peace - D