Thursday, November 24, 2011


This morning, Kathryn, Will and I ran the Boulevard Bolt, a five miler with 8,000 participants. The race benefits the homeless and hungry.

I was hungry for redemption. Last month's disappointing marathon result still lingered. My plan was to run the first mile with the kids, then go. Will hung with me for awhile, but I was hunting for pain. It was time to fight through it, with better results.

My Garmin clocked me at just over 42:30, an 8:30/mile pace. It wasn't a PR for this race (41:48 in 2008), but I'm pleased with the time. Will finished a few minutes behind me and Kathryn a few minutes behind him.

I thought of Dori before, during and after the race. And I'll think of her all day today, too. Thanksgiving without her is mind-numbing and heart-wrenching. Last year's celebration was an occasion her sister Kathy and I will never forget.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, and be blessed.

Thanksgiving Day Follow-Up: Some proof we were there ... Apparently this photo is on the front page of the Local News section.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Another Drop

In years past, I could count on my hand the number of times I would drop something over the course of a year. Now, each week, I drop a lot of things - a dish, clothes, food, whatever - sometimes five times or more a week. I haven't destroyed anything big yet, but a homemade artisan pizza I made last week hit the floor. After my expletive, I managed to laugh. My new clumsiness is one of the "little things" I've noticed that's different now.

Many times this fall, I've been told I need to allow people to help me manage the balance I used to have in my life. If only it were that simple. We do have a nanny, which is helpful, and my family is stepping up as well. When there are two parents, it's not too hard to handle the unexpected occurrences. When there's only one, however, it means stopping everything else you're doing and making a flurry of phone calls. It happens often. Managing chaos is a recurring part of life, like it or not. I'm working on welcoming it, though some days it just ain't easy.

The grief process, for the children and me, is about as intense as it's been. Dori's absence is felt every day, sometimes in pulses and sometimes in giant waves. I didn't fully understand her greatness until she was sick. I didn't revere it until she was gone. Her grace and understanding were immeasurable. I think the kids feel the same way.

It's funny. For the most part, the phone calls to help have stopped. Friends, mine and Dori's, don't check in as often. All of that is perfectly OK because fielding those kind calls took time; there's really not much anyone can do, anyway.

I think about Dori more than ever, sometimes constantly, now that some of the shock has subsided. Even though I still have my kids, my job and my health, at times I feel like I'm only half here. I don't have the conversation I loved, the hugs that made my day and the smile that told me everything was going to be alright.

My outlook remains positive, but my soul continues to ache. I want her back, which can't happen. It's a trap I must evade, knowing she's in His hands and I better do my best to earn the right to join her. How's that for frank blogging?