I Am a River

My kids often sleep over their grandparents’ house on Saturday nights. As you can imagine, it’s nice for me and my husband to get a little time to relax after working the five jobs we have between us and trying to spend as much time with those amazing little rugrats as we can when we are not working. If I don’t have to work at the sleep lab on Saturday night, I really enjoy sleeping in a pitch black room with no baby monitor and no 3 am diaper changes. And sleeping in, I really like sleeping in. Although, these days, 8 am is “sleeping in.” If I’m in bed until 9:00, I feel like I’ve wasted much of my day.

However, alarms are the devil. I despise waking up to an alarm. I much prefer the cute yells of “maaaaaa!” from my 13-month old or even the creepy little “sneak up to your bed and then punch you in the arm” technique of my nearly six year old. Either one is much preferable to an alarm. I created those sources of morning wakery. Perhaps if I had invented the alarm clock I would not despise it so …

But I digress, the reason for the above is to lovingly transition into telling you that this past Sunday, I did wake up to an alarm clock. At 6:30 am. I did mention it was Sunday, right? Not Easter Sunday & the Easter Bunny “forgot” to hide eggs Sunday. Plain old, no kids at home, Sunday. My husband and I had signed up to run in the Wolfe Island Classic. We were doing a 5K and being as Wolfe Island is – you guessed it – an island, we had to catch a ferry to arrive on time for the race to start. It took a while, but we dragged our butts out of bed, hubby took a bit of convincing but we made it out the door and onto the ferry in plenty of time.

Now may be a good time to mention that I’m a terrible runner. I hate running. I’m slow and I’ve been told that I do more of a waddle than a run. But I’m no spring chicken and having kids makes staying in shape a bit difficult. I know that running will help my stamina in keeping up with the two miniature loves of my life and help me teach them that staying active and being healthy is important. So, I do it. It pisses me off every time, but I do it and I feel better afterwards.

My goal for each run is threefold:
1. to finish without vomiting, passing out or pooping my pants
2. to run the entire time (with the exception of water breaks – I tried to keep running through a gulp of water ONCE, almost choked and decided it was OK to walk for future hydration breaks)
3. to not be the last one to cross the finish line (this happened once and it was very embarrassing – my husband actually said that while they were waiting for me to finish, a few of the more seasoned runners actually considered running the route again – jerks!)

I’m happy to report that I accomplished 1 & 3 with great success, but as you will read, #2  proved a bit more difficult.  For now, let’s start at the start … I’ve recently been on a Foo Fighters kick and since Dave Grohl broke his leg and came back to finish his concert and is now performing on a THRONE, his music has had an added element of pump-uppery for me. So I chose the newest album as my running mate, noted that it was 42 mins long and vowed to finish before the album did. A very modest goal for 5K or 3.2 miles.

I started running and immediately the tears welled up in my eyes, I got a lump in my throat and I felt like I was going to be the crazy girl bawling through 40ish minutes of waddle-running. The last time I ran this race was two years ago, on my wedding anniversary, and the very next day I got an awful phone call revealing that my sister’s boyfriend had committed suicide. I could not run it last year, as odd as it may be, I associated that run with one of the worst days of my life. A shitty day that turned into an awful week, heartbreaking months and now we are onto the second year of missing Terence. Today is actually the anniversary, an anniversary that we do not celebrate but rather acknowledge, usually with a shot of Jameson.

Waking up to that alarm, as awful as it was, had to happen on Sunday, I needed to associate this run with something else. I was running it in Terence’s memory. I was running it for therapy. I was running it to overcome something I thought I would never face. That flooded over me in the first few steps and I had to let it go for a second before telling myself that I would never get through this unless I got it together, even if for just a few songs. I focused more on those lyrics than I ever have. “I’m something, from nothing, you are my fuse …” I was taking the pain, the ‘nothing’ and turning it into my goal, which was to finish that race. Ok, I can get through this. I HAVE to get through this.

I started thinking about that day, with Dave Grohl screaming in my ears. Terence liked loud, heavy music, so I’m sure he would approve. Over the years, I have lost people I’ve loved in every way you can imagine. Murder, medical malpractice, car accident, heart trouble, old age. Each time you think it’s the worst pain you’ve ever felt. I’ve started making sure to tell the people I care about that I love them every chance I get. I always tell people to drive carefully whenever they leave me and I do my best not to leave anyone with unkind words. But something like this, you never see coming. I have to say that I do believe suicide is the worst way to lose someone you love. All other losses could be “blamed” on someone else or chalked up to nature taking its course.

When someone chooses to leave, there is such an inner conflict to decide if you should be mad at him for leaving you or simply mourn his loss. I say ‘simply’ but it is not simple at all. I have several times changed my mind. It has been two years and I still don’t know how to deal with this. There is guilt, a maddening amount of sadness and the overwhelming desire to love everyone I know with everything I have. As Dave sang “is there anybody there?” I wondered if that was how he felt. Yes, Terence, WE were there. And we are still here, wishing you were with us. I bonded with him instantly the first time we met over quoting stupid movies. He was the master.

As I continue to run and I’m starting to get a bit tired, I don’t let myself stop to walk. I know that he struggled with things we never knew about. I know that many people, every day, struggle with depression and things in their lives that make it difficult to get out of bed, or to face each day with optimism or at least a smile. This 5K was merely a physical challenge for me and I was being selfish by thinking of taking a break. “Where is your blind faith? Open your eyes, step into the light!” Dave screamed at me. Keep going, keep going.

I vowed to finish this race in memory of my friend. In my black “O’Brien’s Pub” t-shirt on a hot July morning, in possibly the hottest spot in all of Canada, I would run until I was going to fall down if I didn’t slow. I took a short water break when I was nearing kilometer three and got back at it. I knew once I ran around the old man that stood as the turning point, that I was going to be running downhill but I would lose the nice breeze helping me at the beginning. “God as my witness, it’s gonna heal my soul tonight …” I hope so, Dave, I certainly hope so …

I don’t know how to mourn this, I cry and then I shake it off and decide to do something to show strength. But it’s not really me that needs the strength. It was him, and it is the countless people every day that use suicide to leave a life that they no longer have faith in. I truly cannot imagine that feeling. I guess I am somewhat using this post as my therapy. But I’d like it more if someone that reads this, looks at the struggles of a single suicide survivor and seeks help for themselves if they were considering leaving the people they love and that love them. I would love it if someone was noticing signs of depression in a friend, family member, neighbor, co-worker or even the cashier at the grocery store and reached out to them. Putting the scariest, most painful experience of my life on the internet for anyone to read about would be worth it if it helped just a single person.

There is no shame in therapy. There is no shame in asking for help. There is no shame is showing moments of weakness. We all have them. “There are days I might not make it. There are days I might start breaking.” Even the biggest, most bad-ass rock star in the world (in my humble opinion) understands it.

As I started down the hill, in the still air, sweating in places that I dare not describe, this was what I was hearing: “don’t you go count me out, my dear.” I stopped a little before the next water break and prolonged my rest before wrapping up the last 1.5 km. No challenge is easy, otherwise it wouldn’t be a challenge. This race was my challenge on this day. Sometimes raising my children is my challenge. Sometimes it’s my marriage. Other day’s it’s my job.

Other people’s challenges are bigger and I understand that. I can only equate this race and the small setbacks that I faced to life and its setbacks in a vaguely respectable comparison. There are always struggles and hardships that need to be faced. Such is life. And life is worth continuing. This race was worth continuing, if only so I could remind Terence that he’s thought of every day. He was loved, he is still loved and the people that care for him remember him and speak of him fondly. We only wish we had known his struggle and could have prevented him from leaving us.

So, the final song has just started, I have less than one kilometer to go and I can see the finish line. The heat is giving me a headache and my eyes are going a little out of focus. But my legs will carry me, my realization that my struggle is only physical and that I need to finish strong in honor of my friend will carry me and my favorite song of the album will carry me. “The soul is yearning, the coal is burning, the ember starts a fire … is that what you want, is that what you really want? I AM A RIVER! I am your river.”

And a river doesn’t stop.