Time to Cry

Spoiler alert: grief sucks.

It wouldn’t let go of me today. It was going to squeeze some tears out of me no matter what I had to get done.

I organized a field trip to Legoland Discovery Center Philadelphia for more than 40 people this morning. I hustled around checking off families, making sure we knew the rules, and lining eveyone up to enter.

I walked in first. The place was empty and I grabbed a quick picture of the scene we would soon populate. I was alone in the large room for just a moment when I received the first blow of the day.

Three years ago I was in that room exchanging messages with my wife. She was home sick from work and insisted I take the boys to Legoland so she could rest quietly at home. The last texts we shared were about where the naproxen was and if I could pick up any special tea. I remember where I was standing as I ached over whether I should be having fun while my wife wasn’t well.

Hindsight turns that ache into a twisting guilt.

I wandered through the day like a ghost still chained to his old life. Try as I might, I wasn’t present. I wasn’t sorrowful, not yet, but I wasn’t present.

The ride home, the rush hour traffic we always face because we can’t leave before the place closes, and a fateful podcast delivered the next grief strike.

Dave Smith talked about the tragic and hopeful two weeks he has experienced watching his son born and immediately taken into life-saving heart surgery. His son, with the beautiful and powerful name of Victor, is doing well. Smith’s emotions around the events and his experience as a father brought me to tears as I navigated the hour south toward home.

I was back in Mary’s hospital room. I was holding her hand and it was today. I had been there for three and a half years. I had made a bargain with God that I would not leave her side if He kept her alive. I would have gladly made that deal and stayed in that room for as long as I breathed.

Then I thought of my sons. That wouldn’t be fair to them. What good am I at that bedside? What would I have sacrificed to simply keep her alive?

My life is full of blessings. The people on the field trip, my understanding and supportive girlfriend, and the amazing network of friends who look out for me are only a fraction of the good. Would I have given it all to stay at Mary’s side?

This question isn’t answerable, not in a satisfactory way. It can only be answered in pieces laden with guilt or remorse.

I quit the podcast and put on some random music on my phone. Brass Against played one of their wicked, horn-drenched Rage Against the Machine covers. “Mary would have loved this.” We saw Rage together in 2008 and I was reminded of how awesome her musical tastes were. Not fair. She never got to hear Brass Against, she would have loved the female vocalist’s fire over the blasting horns.

I texted my girlfriend about what I was feeling and, finally out of traffic, released some tears and briefly posted about Mary on social media.

The day wasn’t done with me. I had a soccer game tonight. Another trigger. Mary protected my soccer life better than I did when we were married. Part of the reason I returned to soccer so quickly after her passing was her voice still in my head, urging me to take care of myself. Subsequently, I’ve taken better care of myself than ever in my life.

Tears all the way to the field and while I hid in the parking lot, changing into uniform and wiping my face.

“This is impossible. I can’t play like this.”

I focused on breathing. Tonight would be against the toughest team in the league and my teammates needed me at my best. Yeah, fat chance, I thought. The least I could do was show up.

Soccer worked it’s reliable magic on me and I was present from whistle to whistle. I played well enough to have a kid a couple decades younger than me complain that I was playing too hard. If he had any clue where my passion comes from he would be begging me for the secrets to living this outrageously at 42.

Exhausted and exhausted, I drove home and told my sons I was sad about Mom and needed their help. We talked about how much she would love the friends we have made this year and how we might still have met them had Mom been around.

I told them I had to write and cry tonight. They get it. They get it in an easier fashion than I do. They understand like Mary did, not in my over-thinking-everything way.

Grief kicked my ass today as if it was the only thing on the calendar.

I hope this is the last grief beating I take for a while, I tried to honor it as I could. It’s an uncomfortable and fundamental part of me. I don’t know who I would be without it. I thank God for it.