He was my heart. He was all my life, my friend, my partner and the one who made me realize that up to now I'd never had it right. Of course, as the existence of this blog proves, I didn't have it right this time either.
The madness of the initial incident is over for now. He's locked away. His mother is starting over and learning to live. I am standing here now looking back at 4 months that changed me completely and attempting to figure out what to do now. His recovery will occur behind bars, mine will occur on these pages over the next few months.
I am hoping to use these entries to document the thoughts I can't say out loud. I will write about the sleepless nights, the long runs, the brutal workouts and in the midst of it all, I hope some precious seconds of peace. I don't want to be a sad person. Should anyone read these words, you'll see fairly soon that I have humor and levity deeply rooted in me. That's where I am the most satisfied.
I said my good byes yesterday... It should start to get easier now, shouldn't it?
Last night was dreamless. Red wine helped to put me to sleep, though, so it wasn't particularly restful. When I woke it was with the memory of how he once took care of me when I had the flu. He was so afraid when I blacked out. He waited on my hand and foot. He held me, he carried me to the couch, and he made sure to bring me power aid zero, because he knew me SO well. I'd never have drunk the full calorie gatoraid! He loved me... But he's dead now.
I can't run slowly right now. I can't lift light right now. I flew through 4 miles today, and almost killed my running partner. I am tearing my body apart. Right now, the only way that I am convinced I can move forward is to hurt physically more than emotionally. One of them will drown out the other, I suppose.
The madness of the initial incident is over for now. He's locked away. His mother is starting over and learning to live. I am standing here now looking back at 4 months that changed me completely and attempting to figure out what to do now. His recovery will occur behind bars, mine will occur on these pages over the next few months.
I am hoping to use these entries to document the thoughts I can't say out loud. I will write about the sleepless nights, the long runs, the brutal workouts and in the midst of it all, I hope some precious seconds of peace. I don't want to be a sad person. Should anyone read these words, you'll see fairly soon that I have humor and levity deeply rooted in me. That's where I am the most satisfied.
I said my good byes yesterday... It should start to get easier now, shouldn't it?
Last night was dreamless. Red wine helped to put me to sleep, though, so it wasn't particularly restful. When I woke it was with the memory of how he once took care of me when I had the flu. He was so afraid when I blacked out. He waited on my hand and foot. He held me, he carried me to the couch, and he made sure to bring me power aid zero, because he knew me SO well. I'd never have drunk the full calorie gatoraid! He loved me... But he's dead now.
I can't run slowly right now. I can't lift light right now. I flew through 4 miles today, and almost killed my running partner. I am tearing my body apart. Right now, the only way that I am convinced I can move forward is to hurt physically more than emotionally. One of them will drown out the other, I suppose.
So, if you feel like watching a Phoenix rise then you may like this blog. If not, feel free to pass by. Either way, I'll be writing...
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