One week.
I go for a long hike near our former home where we ran and walked thousands of times. Up and down and around the gorge, my heart is pumping, legs burning -- why is this so hard? This was once a warm-up for the day. Ah, I need to get in shape again.
It's been months since I walked this far, this steep. The last time, with Rich --
Damn the memories to hell.
How can Rich be everywhere, but not here?
There are his trousers, braces still attached to their buttons, there are his shoes, neatly ordered by color and function, his socks, everything waiting, waiting...
I'm still sane, but dropping the pretense.
Nothing the mind mumbles can soothe.
Because my heart knows that he's gone, and I'm not sure how it will get into shape again.
Candace
1 comment:
As happens so often, your vivid words touch me. This is such a big, big change for you. You have lost 1) your normal life with Rich, 2) your chordoma-life with Rich, and 3) most importantly, Rich himself, that is to say, his presence. His suspenders . . . that reminded me of seeing, after my father's death, all his yard-work jackets hanging in the basement - abandoned, unable to know that he wasn't coming back - and recalling the words, "His place will know him no more." Yet then, and 26 years later, the awareness: our love for each other is still real, and just as alive as when he was with us.
With love, Jane
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