Why is it that our past can be so paralyzing? Sometimes it's something we've done that's so bad--a mistake, a lapse in judgement or outright rebellion--something so "bad" we just don't think there's anyway way we can be "good" again. Other times it's something we've experienced, that when we go back to that moment in our minds, we remember the agony, the helplessness, the fear and the hopelessness. Those feelings are so vivid in our memory that they can paralyze us even now.
Maybe you've experienced those emotionally paralyzing moment or events. They are the times in life where we feel like all we can do is just sit there. Taking a step seems impossible. Moving forward isn't even on the radar. Living can seem hopeless, let alone living life to its fullest. It's easiest just to sit there because nothing else is even plausible.
I go there often. It's hard not to. I try not to, but I find myself there.
Tonight I decided to go for a jog. Now I've never been a dedicated runner. I go through spurts where I run regularly, but those spurts seem to come between significant lulls where I don't jog for several weeks and sometimes months. Tonight was the first time I jogged in 251 days. The last time I ran on the road was December 11th, 2012. I haven't really wanted to run since then. I don't know if I associated jogging with those paralyzing events of the next day, or if it's just been a good excuse not to run. Either way I just haven't done it. Jogging is also a time that allows me to just think. When I have time to think I tend to go to that paralyzing place. It's hard to avoid thinking, but I've done my best for the past 8 months. I don't like going to "that place."
Tonight I decided to run again.
I also haven't visited Thomas' grave in awhile. The day we buried him I had in mind that I wouldn't go another day the rest of my life without visiting. I think I've made some sort of similar declaration when it came to jogging too. But visiting the grave is tough. It's peaceful and somewhat comforting at times, but it always seems to take me to that paralyzing place. I don't forget that my son is gone, in fact it's on my mind constantly even 8 months later, but his grave often takes me to "that place." Why? What happened? Is this seriously real? Am I really looking at my son's grave? When will I wake up from this nightmare? How will everything turn out?
I go there often. It's hard not to. I try not to, but I find myself there.
So tonight I decided to run to Thomas' grave. If I know I'm going to "that place," I might as well go all out, right? It's only about a mile or so from the house. I left at dusk and arrived at the cemetery as it was just getting dark. As I ascended the hill--slowly plodding along--I could make out the outline of his grave marker. We chose his particular location for a couple of reasons. First, it is the Eastern-most plot in the cemetery and was located by itself, and away from some of the more crowded areas. Second, it is also the Northern-most plot in the cemetery and is located closest to where the road next to the cemetery turns from pavement to gravel. Thomas loved to hold rocks. He would rarely throw them. There was just something about holding them that made him happy. It made us happy to bury him as close to the rocks as we could.
As I approached his grave from the road, I decided to go ahead and run to where the pavement turns to gravel. I like to have certain points to run to when I jog. This just seemed like a logical stopping place. When I reached the gravel I had every intention of then stepping off into the grass and making my way to the front of his grave marker. But, there was something about that gravel tonight. Being in the rocks reminded me of him being happy, and I wanted to stay there. I couldn't get out of the gravel. My mind went to "that place," and I just stood there in the middle of the gravel road looking at his grave. I stood there for several minutes. As my mind replayed the events of December 12th, and the ensuing days after, I all-of-a-sudden realized that at some point, I had to go home. Standing on the gravel, I knew that my only way home was to get back on the pavement and go home.
I stood there for several moments staring at the pavement in front of me. A couple of times I actually lifted my foot, only to place it back down in the gravel. It's like this when I drive to the cemetery too. It's hard to be there, but it's even more difficult to leave. When I'm in "that place," sometimes it's easier just to stay there. In some ways I want to experience the pain. I want to think those paralyzing thoughts. I want my heart to break again. For some reason I feel like it honors the memory of our precious boy. I don't want to leave him.
But I can't stay there. I have to go home. As much as it hurt, I finally got the courage to get back on the pavement and jog home. It was like jumping into a cold swimming pool. You want to do it, but you know it's not going to be pleasant, and at some point you just have to jump. When I got home tonight I went to each of my other kid's rooms and prayed for them, thanking God for three incredible reasons to come home tonight, and to face the day each morning. I also thanked him for Amy and the incredible wife and mom she is. I love coming home.
Staying in the gravel is tempting. Continuing to allow yourself to be paralyzed by your past is a choice, but so is deciding to get back on the pavement again to head home. Try getting back on the pavement again. Look for reasons to head home again . . . I guarantee you'll find them.
No comments:
Post a Comment