Friday, August 22, 2008

Remembering Rob


I'va had a hard time not being able to be at the funeral. I feel like I've been conditioned to wait for that service to really cry, because that's what you do. No amount of telling myself I'm not going has allowed me a good cry. "What am I waiting for?" I keep thinking. Tears streaming down your face never substitutes for a good weep, and I've been not wanting to freak out my kids. It's one of the curses I think of having self control, I wish I couldn't help it, and could just cry.

My husband encouraged me today to spend even an hour alone this morning, so I utilized the drop-off hourly childcare place (that costs an arm and a leg I might add) and then thought about what my friend Sara said.....to do something that we used to do together, or that he loved doing.

So I drove right back home, put a picture of him in my back pocket, and rode out the driveway on my bike.

I have the advantage of have a beautiful Open Space Preserve right in my backyard. I set out on the trail and immediately felt something begin. I don't know if it was that I had his picture with me, or that I was simply on my bike, but I felt nearer to him in that moment. I half expected to round a corner and have him be there, as he often used to be. I can't remember ever being the one to pick where we biked, but I do remember he often picked places that were more challenging for me than I would have picked on my own. He would eventually end up ahead of me, and at some point I would round a corner and he'd be waiting there for me, one foot on the ground, smiling. "You doing okay?" he'd say. "Yeah." I'd reply. "You wanna stop?"...."No, I'm good." (or sometimes truthfully, "Well, maybe, isn't this drop-off kind of steep? You know I'm afraid of heights..." He'd then laugh "Well this will help you get over it.") (By the way Rob, I'm still afraid of heights, and no it didn't help, so there).

Today I turned right up this part of the trail I have avoided, because I have deemed it too steep. I pushed myself and panted, and made myself go all the way to the top. When I got up to the flat part, I almost swiveled back around to head back, but something made me want to go all the way to the end, because I felt this urging to do so. Anyone looking around would tell you Rob was not up there waiting for me, but when I got to the top and put my foot down, I put my head down on my handlebars, and started balling. Because he was there. Because I have needed a place to physically put my foot down and grieve him, and for some reason I thought that would be in a stuffy funeral home. But of course it wasn't.

On the beautiful coast back down that hill, noticing all the trees I hadn't paid attention to on the way up, I thought about all this. It's easy in life to keep coasting and never put our feet down. But putting our feet down into the pain is what's important. It's what reminds us that we are alive. That other people were once alive. It's messy, and I probably looked like a slobbering mess to anyone that happened by, but it was real. The coast down would never have felt so good had I not put my foot down and had that cry.

I wish Rob could have had that coasting part of his life. I feel like those of us that were wounded as children face such a battle to really feel free as adults. Only God can break those chains that weigh us down, trying to convince us that we are still that child who felt confused, violated, and unlovable. It was something that unfortunately we shared, and I will never forget all the times we came together sometimes without even talking, just to be together, to get through some moment of pain.

Goodbye Rob. I wish we could throw our bikes in your pickup one last time for a ride.
I will miss you. I wish you peace.

3 comments:

BeeARawFoodie said...

Call me. I'll call you. As I write, words fail, but I'm here for you if you need me. Where is the funeral? I'm deeply saddened by your loss. When you let your soul be your pilot, you do get the emotional catharsis in mysterious ways -- like on a bike ride at the top of a grueling hill. Don't hide your grief from your kids. If you cry, just explain that when you love some one and you lose them, it hurts. I know you are strong, but you are strong when you teach people you love that grief is hard, sudden, unexpected, but a process.

Karla said...

I'm sorry to hear about your loss. I'm from Mankato, and while I didn't know Rob he was a friend of some of my friends. I about fell off my chair reading your post. My thoughts are with you as you grieve.

Karla said...

I'm so very sorry to hear about your loss. I'm from Mankato, and while I didn't know Rob, he was a friend of my friends. In fact, I'm pretty sure you're friend Deb is my neighbor. Just from process of elimination. I about fell off my chair reading your blog today. My thoughts are with you as you remember your friend.