5K

On September 2, Levi and Missy's kindergarten  teacher posted something on Facebook about a 5K to raise money for the city schools' Backpack Program.

(By the way, I've recently decided to just give in and call myself crazy.  I think/do/say so many things that just seem... crazy.  Like, run a 5K.  WHO DOES THAT??)

Anyway...

So when I saw the post about the 5K, I decided I'd run it.

I should say... I'm not a runner.  Never have been.  I've always hated to sweat.  My mom will testify to that.

But, on September 2, this is what was going through my mind:

September is going to be hard.  Because October is going to be hard.  Her birthday is coming up.  What can I 'dive into' to keep me from spiraling hard and fast into the big black hole?

A 5K.  I dove into training for a 5K.

I downloaded a free Couch-to-5K app on my phone.  I started out kinda easy.  But then I felt like I could do more, so I jumped ahead a few days.  I did that more than once.  :-)  Had a short bout with shin splints, but ice, stretches, and strengthening exercises helped.  'Trained' in 4 weeks.

(Do you hear that person talking in those last couple paragraphs??  That's so not me.  Well, not the 'before Elliana' me.  I don't jump ahead in the schedule because I think I can handle more.  I don't DO strengthening exercises and stretches.  This is just so... not the 'old' me.)

Anyway... I think I can accurately say that I have walked/jogged/run at least every other day (sometimes 2 days in a row) since September 3.

And I have loved it.

Running has *almost* taken the place of throwing things.  Not quite.  But there have been at least a few days that I've thought, 'I need to either go for a run or throw something.'  And running seems more productive.  With a lot less mess to clean up.  :-)

There's something about the energy that it takes to run.  I have to concentrate - on relaxing my ankles, relaxing my shoulders, breathing evenly.  I'm not a natural runner, so I actually have to *think* about what I'm doing.  But... maybe that's good for me?  I don't know.  Honestly, it feels like one of those things I should chalk up to my 'crazy' list.  Or at least my 'obsessive compulsive' list.

So, I ran a 5K on Saturday.

And except for the large crowd of people (I avoid crowds at all costs), I really enjoyed it.  :-)

When it was time to gather at the start line, I wasn't sure if I was a 'serious' runner or a 'trying to do well' runner, or just a 'here for the fun' runner.  So I just positioned myself somewhere in the middle front of the group, and hoped I was in the right spot.

As soon as the guy (I have NO idea what his professional title is.  'Go Man'?  'Start the Race' Man?  Whatever.  I'll call him 'Race Man'.) said 'Go', I was ready to GO.  And the people right in front of me were too slow.

That might have been the moment that my competitive side reared its 'ugly' head.  :-)

I ran up the first big hill, through the cemetery (not our cemetery), trying not to think about... well, cemeteries, then I ran through the neighborhood.  A friend, who has a whole lot more running experience that I do, met me part-way through and ran about 2 miles of the 5K with me.  That was kinda fun - having a running partner.  (Thanks, D.)  :-)

Crossing the finish line was pretty cool - seeing my race time, getting hugs from the kids and Jason.  And my friend, B, taking pics.  I have to admit - I really did enjoy it.

A 5K.  I ran a 5K.  In 33 minutes and 28 seconds.  I still can't believe it.

Who is this person?

That might sound like a stupid question - I know it's me.  But it's a very different 'me'.

A 'me' who runs 5K's.  And sweats.  The 'me' who sweats... and likes it.

And has marshmallow-ey Nike's.

The 'me' who couldn't stop baking last December, but who hasn't baked anything (other than the household standby, chocolate chip cookies) since December.

'Me' - who loves to go shopping.  Particularly at Charming Charlie's.  For purses and jewelry.

Who is this girl?

This girl who throws beer bottles at brick walls.  Or takes a fire poker to a box of wine bottles when throwing them isn't a feasible option.

The 'me' who doesn't really watch TV anymore.  Who thinks that most of it is stupid anyway, and who'd rather watch re-runs of anything comical and free of dead bodies.

'Me' - who has not a single child in diapers at home anymore.  Nor a single piece of baby paraphernalia set up in the house.

This person who can't walk through the front doors of MPC, because the memories are too... painful?  That doesn't feel like a strong enough word.

This person who cleans a piece of stone at a nearby cemetery with Murphy's Oil Soap.  And who sits for an hour or two making new flower arrangements.

This girl who used to direct a choir, but now feels like it's a foreign concept.

'Me'.  The one who carried a little Lindegirl for 31 weeks, 5 days.  Who was changed forever because of that Lindegirl's life.  And death.


I ran a 5K.  I'm 37 years old, and I ran my first 5K on Saturday.

And I can't wait to run another.

Goodbye, Kids Path

Last Friday was our last appointment at Kids Path.  Levi's been 'done' for a while.  Elijah 'graduated' last Friday.

It was probably harder for me than any of the kids.  Almost exactly one year ago, I was sitting in one of those rooms to the right side of the hall, signing our birth plan, unaware that my baby girl would be in my arms in just a little over a week.

So when I left Kids Path last Friday, I was a bit of a mess.  Thinking about the birth plan we'd made.  The day shortly after that when a friend came to help me clean.  The Sunday I suspected my water had 'broken'.  The week in the hospital.  The day she was born.  The moment I held her.  The moment the nurse shook her head, confirming that her heart wasn't beating anymore.  The moment Funeral Home Man took her away.

All of those memories - from the time I pulled out of the Kids Path parking lot until I was somewhere on Business 85.

And I just missed her.  I just wanted her back.  I just wanted to hold her again.

And then.. for the first time, this thought came into my mind:  I will hold her again.  One day.

I've known this.  Since... well, since the day we found out that she probably wouldn't live very long.  I've known it.  But last Friday was the first time that thought found its way into my grief.

But...  'one day' feels So. Far. Away.  Years away.  Decades away.

Do you know how long one day feels when you can't hold your baby?

I just miss her.

There is a degree of 'comfort' in knowing I will hold her again one day.  But it feels like a really long way off.  And i just miss her.

I want her here.  Now.  I don't want to wait for eternity, whenever that is.  I want her here now.

I just miss her.  

Hope for My Friend

I think my friend, the one whose unborn baby has a 'poor prognosis', might be anticipating her baby's arrival tomorrow.  I could be wrong - it may be October.

But...

IF it IS tomorrow...

and IF you believe in praying...

Please pray for my friend.  And her baby.

I hope the doctors are wrong.

I hope she gets to hear her baby cry.

I hope she has more than hours or days with her baby.

I hope she gets to take her baby home from the hospital.

I hope her baby lives.

You are dear to my heart, Friend.  I hope you get to *mommy* this little one for a long time.  :-)

THAT ROOM

Writing does require a lot of energy.  It's so much easier to just not think.  But... even if I avoid thinking and just stay distracted and busy, it never goes away.  It's like Grief eventually just stands in front of me, face to face, demanding my attention.

Several weeks ago, I wrote about transitioning to a 'new' church, starting to direct the choir - just... changes.

So far, Jason and the kids are transitioning back into MPC.  *I* can't go on Sunday mornings.  It's too hard.

I am going on Wednesday nights for choir practice.  I can manage choir practice.  I get there right at 6, I park where I see as few people as possible between my car and the choir room, and I do what I need to do.

I do enjoy it - leading choir practice.  I do enjoy it.  :-)

But talking to people just scares me.  I wish it didn't.  But it does.  Maybe it won't always scare me.

This is what I need to write about today:  band.

We all know I love to play in a band.  :-)  And I get to play with the MPC band for their fall festival on October 19.

I do need to say here - I miss my GF band.  I'd like to come back and play with you one day in the near future.  :-)  I need to come back and play with you soon.

Anyway... if I'm going to play with MPC's band for the fall festival, I have to go to practice.  I don't mind practicing.  In fact, I enjoy practices.

But not when they're in MPC's worship center.

When I walk into that room, vivid memories of funeral day flood my mind.  The door through which we entered, the music that was playing, who I saw in the seats and on the stage, seeing Elliana's casket at the front center of the room, remembering the pictures that sat on the stage, 'seeing' Jeremy at the front of the room, playing the piano during the service, some of Jeremy's words, the moment Jason picked up her casket, walking back down the aisle, leaving the building, watching Jason put her in the back of the hearse - I remember it all so clearly.

So... I've spent many hours in that room by myself, playing the piano.  Not sure that there was ever an actual 'goal' in playing.  I just needed to play.

And then one time, there was someone up in the sound booth while I played.  I was ok with that.  One person, far away, in the sound booth, not interacting with me, but hearing me play.

And then another time, there were two people in the sound booth.  I was mostly ok with that.  They were working something out, but they were far away, not interacting with me, and hearing me play.

And then this past Wednesday, I attempted a band practice.  Just the last 15 minutes of it.  I walked in through the kitchen (because I can't go through the front doors - call me crazy) and stood in the back watching for a couple minutes.

The band leader, my friend, 'N', played at the funeral that day in October.  He was standing in the same spot, playing his guitar, singing.

Then 'N' saw me and motioned for me to go ahead and come up.

It took so much effort to walk from the back of the room to the stage.  I couldn't walk down the center aisle - that's where I walked on funeral day.  I went around - down one of the side aisles.  I didn't want to look at anyone, talk to anyone, have conversations with anyone - I just wanted to sit (hide) behind the piano and play.  And mostly, that's what happened.

I played.  With 'N', another guitarist, the bass guy, and the drummer.  And one other singer.  I got teary-eyed a couple times.  And I was only there about 15 minutes - which is about all I could have handled, I think.  And afterwards, I just wanted to leave - without talking to anyone.  It's difficult to think about having conversations about anything/anyone other than Elliana in that room.  

I made it through Wednesday night.  15 minutes.  With 4+ people in the room.  But it was so hard.

There was another band practice today at 4.

If I hadn't had to drive myself to practice, I might have had a glass of wine before band practice.  :-)  But, I had to drive, so the wine waited til after practice.

So... here's my play-by-play of 'Sunday Afternoon Band Practice in THE ROOM'.

I parked in the back.   I think it feels like I'm hiding if I park in the back.

I texted 'N' to ask if he'd mind letting me in a side door - because I couldn't go through the front doors.

'N' opened the door for me.  (Thanks, N.)

I walked S L O W L Y across the room, passing the spot where Elliana's casket had been.

I think I walked even slower up the stairs to the piano on the stage.

While everyone else arrived, I tried not to think.  And although I'm pretty successful at *not thinking* when I need to *not think*, I think it's just harder in that room.  So... I failed at *not thinking*, and I got teary-eyed.  I remembered a box of tissues in the side room, so I grabbed a tissue.

I thought about leaving.  I thought about just leaving.  I really wasn't sure I was going to be able to do band practice at all.

But after we started playing, it got a little easier.  If I focus mainly on the music (and not so much on the words), I'm ok.

And then - at the end of practice - I got to lead a song.  I got to lead - in a great big room, with a drummer and lots of guitars.

And I really enjoyed it.

In THAT ROOM, with such hard memories... I enjoyed leading a song.

This song.

The only way I can really sing it is to just not think about it.  Because when I think, the tears are just there.  And the tears come because I don't know how to reconcile the truth of what I'm singing (which, to be honest, feels like BS sometimes) with the reality of this life.  With brokenness.  And death.

So... I don't think when I'm singing.  :-)

But I enjoyed it.  I enjoyed something in that room.  THAT ROOM, where my baby girl laid a few feet away from me.  THAT ROOM, where I couldn't hold her anymore.  THAT ROOM - the last place I was able to 'be with her' before we buried her.

It made me smile - to lead that song, and play with the band.  IN THAT ROOM.

It felt like a big deal.  Maybe it won't be quite so hard to go in that room for band practice on Wednesday.

Don't Even Know What to Call it.

I feel like I don't remember how to write anymore.  I think I'm afraid that writing will require thinking, which will require energy - emotional energy.  And I'm just not sure if I want to put energy into *any* of it.

I wrote about starting to direct the choir.  I feel like such a mess.  I do have a plan each week, I can manage to think through what I want to accomplish.  But when it comes to standing in front of all those people who are just sitting there watching me, I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing.  I can't think of the words I want to say, I avoid eye contact, I fumble through warm ups, I mix up the parts.  

My mind wanders to the place on the other side of the wall where I sat beside Elliana as friends came to hug us on October 10.

My mind goes there.  In the middle of a song, the middle of a phrase, or the end of a phrase when I'm supposed to be giving the choir a cut-off... my mind goes there.  

And it's hard not to think things like, 'I'm not a choir director any more.  I'm the mom of a child who has died who's just *trying* to direct a choir.'

Threw a few wine bottles tonight.  Choir practice + band practice in the room where the funeral was + conversation with someone who had *no idea* where I've been over the last 13 months = the need to throw something.

Will probably have to clean up some glass tomorrow.

My baby girl's first birthday is right around the corner.  And I have no idea what I'm going to do. 

Done. For Today.

New flowers and a very clean stone. :-)

 

The aching hurt so much more today.  It's been sort of a dull ache the past several weeks - probably since the week we went to the beach.  But today - this morning - her absence felt so much heavier.  The ache, so much sharper.

Football season has begun.  Jason was convinced that Elliana 'liked' football.  It was their thing.  :-)

I wish I'd been able to bring her home.  Rock her to sleep.  Hold her in one arm and do dishes with the other.  Change her diapers.  Give her a bath.  Watch her kick her feet.  Hold her in my lap during a meal and try to keep grabby little hands away from my plate.  Kiss her sweet cheeks.

I wish I knew what she would have looked like at 11 months old.  

I've been putting it off, but I *will* do it tomorrow.  There will be new flowers at the garden tomorrow.  And a clean stone.