Another beautiful spring morning. Writing on the back deck, vases of sunflowers to my left and right. I am drifting, unmoored. Grief comes in waves accompanied by audible unplanned sighs. I should do something today. Maybe just go for a walk in the woods. I normally knock out this blog in 30 minutes or so. I've been sitting here now for a couple hours.
Cate, my amazing sister-in-law, gave me a copy of Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking. I'm reading that now. I just finished Theo of Golden. Wonderful. Struggling through Mona’s Eyes. C.S. Lewis is on deck. It feels easier to read than to do pretty much everything else. I could sit out here all day, just me and the dogs and a few books.
I wonder where all this is headed. Whether my new book, The Long Run, will find an audience. How long it will take to accept the brutal solitude of not hearing the familiar laugh that accompanied Sunday mornings. I will, in time. I know I will. And I also know Cate and my boys are grieving the same devastating loss.
But it's not time to move on. That would mean saying goodbye. This isn't Maverick and Goose. I'm not going to hurl a set of dog tags into the sea and make everything ok. Talk to me, Callie.
Yesterday was Orange County Championships, that tentpole marking the last track meet before the postseason. It's a marathon. You get there by 7 a.m. or you won't get a parking spot. The 1600s start at 8:30 and go through 11, with hurdles and relays in between so we don't have two solid hours of mile runs. My runners did well, winning a couple races, including a stellar girls varsity race. After, there was a two-hour break until the 800s and another three hours until the two-mile. I left after the morning session to let the dogs out and never made it back, knowing my runners were in good hands with the other coaches. I ended up spending the afternoon here in the backyard with that pile of books and Django and Sadie, checking in on the meet through the live feed. One of my girls kicked from way out and won her heat in the 8. Showed real guts. Great job, Elysse. I know you check in on the blog from time to time.
The week was a busy one, recording podcasts as The Long Run launched. I did an interview with NPR's Morning Edition. I think it airs Monday to coincide with Boston. The Tough Guys got together to celebrate the launch. We've been missing each other lately. I told them I'm thinking about climbing Kilimanjaro, which led to some serious ball busting and also a couple guys saying they might want to do it, too. I had a couple lunches, which I usually try to avoid. I ran. Recorded an Instagram Live with the great Grant Fisher. Had beers with my friend Todd Coulston. Watched the finale of The Pitt and a few old Ted Lasso episodes. Anything for a distraction. People tell me I'm holding up well, though my wit and quick smile disappear when no one's around. I talk to the dogs. I talk to the sunflowers. I talk to her prayer card. Her beautiful smile beams back at me.
I can count on one hand the number of times I've been to church alone in the last 40 years. I have not been in weeks. I pray without ceasing, finding comfort and strength in the certainty that God is with me. But I'm not ready to go back. Soon. But not today.
This Sunday conversation of ours, dear readers, is one of my anchors. Remember to drop me an email after you read The Long Run. In the meantime, it will take some strong self-talk, but I think I'll head out soon for that walk.