Writing has always been close to my heart...an outlet for joy and sorrow, success and failure, everything positive and negative in my life. I always thought that in times of intense happiness and in pain, writing would help me celebrate, comfort, come to terms with whatever was going on in my life.
But over the past few months, I have experienced pain, anger, bitterness and sorrow on a scale that I never imagined possible. And every time I tried to blog about it, I just could not. I thought I had run out of the blinding tears, but I am finding out there is an endless reserve of them, just beneath the surface. And when the tears dry out, there is a dull, but very real pain hovering over me constantly.
This blog post in 2009 was written around Father's Day. As I thought and wrote about my father then, I felt immensely proud of him. He was my role model, someone I could not only look up to, but also have a delightful time with. My parents had planned to visit me and my younger brother in the US around Father's Day this year; my brother and I were planning a fun road trip with our extended family. That was before I got a chilling call a little after 5 AM on March 30...it was my older brother in tears, telling me that my parents had just met with a road accident in India. My father passed away; my mother was being taken to the hospital for treatment. My world was turned upside down.
My brothers and I are no longer dependent on my parents in a physical sense, but we are very close emotionally, and this is a huge blow to all of us. The past few months have been a whirlwind of helping my mother recover from surgery and deal with the crushing reality of life without her husband of 42 years, while dealing with the realities of the sudden loss of someone who was such a vital part of not just our family but the entire community.
People were incredibly supportive. Family; friends at the running club; my boss who allowed me to take 8 weeks off work.
Running helped me cope just the tiniest bit. Every time I ran, I felt closer to my father. He was my inspiration. Whenever I was able to run, that is. I injured myself more times than ever this year. The stress and sleepless nights took their toll. I did race when I could. A grand total of 3 races since March. 2 5Ks and a half marathon. And the River 2 Sea Relay. Surprisingly, I've become a little faster this year. 19:52 for my 5K and 1:32:49 for the half. The Chi running class I took may have something to do with it. And running with faster people. I would like to continue running, but after my latest injury, my racing goals are non-existent.
More than 6 months later, I still can't bring myself to write about how much my father meant to me. The inertia that had taken over my life is slowly disappearing, but I feel disjointed and out of control a lot of the time. I realize that we only have an illusion of controlling our lives. Anything can happen at any second to throw our lives completely out of whack. But that doesn't stop us from trying. And that is what my mother, brothers and I are doing. Trying to pick up the pieces. Life, as they say, goes on.