The Opposite of Out

for those who are grieving

Today is a funeral day. A sad day. A day full of grief. Loss. For me she was an old family friend. For others she was a mother, a sister, a partner, a leader, a friend, a force to be reckoned with.

Today I went for a run. I left with the intention of being alone, out of doors with nothing to do but move my feet, breathe and think. In the first mile, I remembered. I remembered the woman I knew when I was a little girl. Many of my memories are fuzzy. But what are clear was the warmth in her smile, the lilt in her voice, the openness in her eyes that always made me feel special. My mom told me just the other day that she ran into our friend just a few weeks ago. They caught up quickly and my mom left feeling good about herself. She said, “I don’t always feel like I’m the smartest or the greatest, but Kathy always made me feel like I was. She made me feel like I was a good person and not many people do that.” My dad marveled over her determination to make life better for kids in our state. He was right in his estimation that she was a woman with the means to do nothing but play tennis all day, shop, lounge and redecorate an already perfectly decorated home. I know plenty of people like that. But that wasn’t good enough for her. Instead, she chose to try to make a difference, make a change. I’ve recently been rereading Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird and am reminded of Atticus Finch, who chose to fight injustice where he saw it even if it was unpopular, even if he knew he’d lose. He had to do what he believed. I’d say she was a bit like that. I think my dad feels blessed to have known someone as inspiring and selfless as Kathy was.

The first mile felt good. It felt like the memories I’d been scrambling to find were flying back at me with each step forward. Breathing in and breathing out, I was moving. Then I hit the second mile and was struck by the senseless nature of Kathy’s passing. Steps slowing and my breath was uneven, more going out that coming in so that I was beginning to feel like I was emptying myself of everything, hollow, splayed so my insides were out were they didn’t belong and I couldn’t draw a breath big enough to pull them all back in. I bet her family and those closest to her are feeling that now. That wind knocked out of you blow that leaves you reeling, your brain screaming, BREATHE, but there’s no response. Just before you think you’ll pass out, the control your brain is screaming for returns and you pull in air for all its worth.

By the third mile, I wanted nothing more than to stop moving, but the universe had other plans for me. There are ten intersections round trip on my running route. I usually have to stop to wait for traffic at a minimum of four of them. I like the break. I get to suck in as much air as possible and psych myself up for the next bit of the run, knowing that there will be another intersection in which I can stop and breathe again. Not today. All ten intersections were clear of traffic as I approached them. I sailed on through without a pause. Even the busiest were absolutely devoid of cars. There were plenty of cars before I approached and plenty after I crossed, but in the exact moment that I hit the curb, every car in town evaporated. So I ran. I kept thinking my sister would love this. Running with no interruption, cars moved by some force bigger than me to keep me moving. Synchronicity. Normally, I love it. Not so much while running.

There is nothing like a good dose of synchronicity to make me feel in tune with the world around me. The days where everything comes together neatly and the unfathomable pieces of our lives fit without any discernable connection. At mile three, I was hating synchronicity and all its perfection. And in my hatred, I was able to see through the false sense of orderliness it builds around us. And what I saw was chaos.

As my breathing grew more and more erratic, I could clearly see that the world we live in is built on opposites. Breathe out – chaos. Breathe in – order. Breathe out - darkness, earth, fire, evil. Breathe in – light, air, water, good. Breathe out – death. Breathe in – life. And suddenly I could breathe again. In, out, in, out, in. Wrapped up in death, surrounded by life. Buds on trees, the first Forsythia flowers on a bush of stems, people in their gardens seeing possibility, birds in every tree, including a blue jay that seemed to follow me and scream his jay call whenever I slowed my pace. For reasons of my own, that jay was a reminder that those we lose to death are ever present, pushing us through our own lives hoping we don’t miss a step (thanks Papa Kelley). Life in death.

Mile four was very quiet. It is uphill and usually against the wind. I normally grimace at the invisible hand that literally pushes me backward on this last mile back to my home. But today there was no wind. There were no outward forces to slow me. It was me against myself. And every breath I took rang in my ears. Each step a promise to myself to be the kind of person that makes others feel good. To stand firm for what I believe even when the odds are stacked against me. To live so that the memories do not go fuzzy because with each of my days left on earth I honor those who I’ve lost by allowing them to live through me. Still breathing.

So it felt fitting that as I finished my run, I came across a visiting grandfather walking hand in hand with his toddling grandson, stopping to look at wriggling earthworms, budding flowers and each and every blade of grass stretching its greening limbs in the warm air. And my heart that felt so heavy was also so very light in my chest as the law of opposites swung into place. For every grief, there is a joy. For every tear, there is a smile. For every death, there is a life that must be lived.

So today is a sad day. A funeral day. But tonight, my dad said they would gather, friends and family in the warmth of good company and remember Kathy. Because although your hands may be overflowing with grief, you can always make room for a little joy, even if it is the tiniest bud waiting to bloom.

Breathe in.