Running and Prepositions

The day before I lost Huan, a friend texted me: “I am trying to get a 4 woman team together for a marathon (about 6 miles each). Would you be interested?” “I am interested. Keep me posted,” I replied.

After Huan passed away, days went by before I heard from her again. She was scared to ask about the race for fear of sounding insensitive (which she didn’t), but she needed to register soon. My immediate inclination was to say, “No, I am not interested. Not anymore. I’ll get back to you when I can muster up the strength to crawl out of this fetal position and keep my composure for longer than a five-minute stretch of time. Maybe in about six years.” But, instead, I told her I was still interested. And, by “interested,” I meant “willing,” kind of in the same way someone is willing to get a tetanus shot when she accidentally cuts off a bodily extremity with a rusty knife. She knows that it is as necessary as it is painful, though certainly less painful than the alternative.

I have never been a serious runner, and I certainly have never run a race. But I never had a dog like Huan or felt a loss of this magnitude. So I committed to a training schedule, one which I have observed--religiously, persistently, diligently--for eight weeks now. In addition to weightlifting and boot(y) camp days, which were already part of my fitness regimen, I added three days of running each week, two shorter runs and one longer run. Today was my last long run before race day next week--and my longest run to date. I ran 7 miles, without stopping.

Running has been one hell of a tetanus shot. Necessary. Painful, though certainly less painful than the alternative. And I feel my immunity building every time my foot meets pavement.

It’s funny…when I teach my students mechanics rules--and I always look for any excuse to talk grammar (like now, for example)--I often tell them prepositional phrases are “grammatical garbage.” “Toss the baggage!” I shout, as I point to plural pronouns and their disagreeing singular antecedents on the chalkboard. (If you are a grammar geek like me, see footnote* below for explanation.)  But running, at least for me--personally, right now, in this very moment and time--needs to be qualified, and such qualifiers are essential, not superfluous: I have run through puddles, torrential downpours, and 40 mph winds. I have run in frigid temperatures and snow. I have run with a shoulder / neck injury and with a sore throat and runny nose. I have run in spite of exhaustion. I am running because of my grief, because it is colder, more consuming and crippling than any Buffalo weather, muscle strain, or illness. I will not run away from grief, and I will certainly not be paralyzed by it. I am running through my grief, without stopping. Maybe someday I will just run--no qualifiers needed--but right now I am running for Bubba. And that kind of baggage alone is worth its weight in gold.

*Certain pronouns, namely each, either, neither, and any variation of one or body, are always singular, regardless of the phrase that may follow them. But if the object of the preposition that follows is plural, one may get confused and opt for a plural verb and referring pronoun. For example: Either of the students has his homework is correct. Of the students is “grammatical garbage,” a prep phrase whose object is students.  The subject of the sentence is Either, which is, again, always singular; so the writer should opt for a singular verb, has, and a singular pronoun (technically a possessive adjective), his.

Grief Pangs

Sometimes I am just minding my business, doing nothing in particular, and I will think of Bubba and cry. I don't even know precisely what it is I think of. I guess that's the thing. There is no thinking, really. There is just this massive void, and sometimes, out of nowhere, I feel it.  And, man oh man, does it hurt.

And then there are specific times and moments and occasions that make the grief more pronounced. Every time Grace turns in her high chair to look at Huan's pictures, for example. Every time I find myself asking her questions that I once asked him: "You hungry?" "Want to go for a walk?"  "Wanna go night-night?" And, likewise, every time I issue her a command: "Mama kiss.""Stay." "Sit." "Gentle." "Roll over." No, just kidding. She doesn't roll over, at least not on command. (Neither did Huan, incidentally. And I have never told either of them to roll over. Frankly, I think that's just a stupid waste of everyone's time and energy.) Sometimes, particularly when no one else is home, I expect to see him waiting for me when I walk in the door, and the surprise of his absence stings. Now that it's nice out, I miss walking with him, and I miss the eventuality of watching him pick apples from our trees in the backyard. Just the other day, David felt his own pangs of grief when he mowed the backyard lawn and Huan wasn't there with him, rolling around and scratching his back on the grass and running aimlessly, joyously--jowls flopping--with sticks (ok, logs) in mouth.  Just this past week, I had a bad day, and I cried because I was overwhelmed. And then I cried for Huan, because I thought of how much I would have loved to cuddle him, how he wouldn't have judged or made demands of me, how he would have been my one comfort. Every time I see his box of ashes, I ask myself, "How can a 200 lb. piece of my heart be reduced to THAT?" Every time I am around another dog who begs for food, pulls on its leash, jumps on people and bowls them over, is hyperactive, etc., I think of Huan, of how extraordinary he was, of how blessed I am that he was mine. I say the words, "He was a good dog" to people constantly. And I still tell Huan I love him pretty much every night before I go to bed and every morning when I wake up. I actually say the words aloud.

I miss my boy.

A Baby, a Birthday, and a Bubba

Grace celebrated her first birthday this past week! I cannot believe she is one year old. 

When I first thought about getting pregnant, I thought about how nice it would be for our future baby to have a relationship with Huan well into his or her toddler years. Although our baby didn't even get one full year with Huan, I know his life--however short--touched hers. We have pictures of Huan hanging on our kitchen walls behind Grace's high chair, for example; and when I feed her, she is constantly twisting and turning, trying to see him. She coos and squeals in excitement. Sometimes she cries. We can even ask her, "Where's Bubba?" and she will turn deliberately to look at his pictures. We never, ever taught her that. She did it the first time I asked her that question. I find that so touching--and so revealing. She doesn't have the words to tell me, but I know how much Huan must have meant to her and how much she must miss him.

Every one of my posts thus far has spoken to my relationship with Huan. Today's post is in honor of Grace's.

Maternity pants, specifically the elastic bands on them, give me the eebie jeebies the way snakes and spiders do to some people. But I had to include this picture because I love it so much. I am 37 weeks pregnant and FINALLY breaking the news to Huan that Grace is "in Mommy's belly." I think he took it well. David caught this moment on camera, unbeknownst to me at the time.

I am equally in love with this picture. It marks Huan's first official interaction with Grace. We had just gotten home from her one-week pediatrician appointment. She was in the living room, sleeping in her car seat. David left the house to run an errand, and I was in the kitchen preparing something to eat. When I came in to get her, this is what I saw.  This picture "speaks 1,000 words" about Huan and his heart.

This is the first time, but certainly not the last, that we laid Grace on Huan. For this particular "photo shoot," there  were at least fifteen shots total. We moved. Grace moved. Huan never moved--not once, not even when her foot ended up in his jowls and her hand in his eye.

It is like she is seeing him, really seeing him, for the very first time. : )

One of my friends said it best: "Such 'lil pals."

Hand holding

By this time in Grace's life, we never had to "stage" a picture. Huan and Grace developed their own relationship, independent of us. He often lay next to her when she played.

"He often lay next to her when she played": Exhibit B

"OK, I practiced my 'Roooooooooar,' but I am just not a convincing lion, despite my mane and size. Let's call it a day and smooch."

"So, what do you really think of Mom's jungle themed Halloween idea?"

I like this picture because it gives a good indication of the discrepancy in sizes...

and I like this picture because it shows the discrepancy doesn't matter, least of all to Grace.

This is one of the last pictures of my babies together.  It's technically not a "good" photo. I captured it with my cell phone, and the light is not conducive to a clear, "high quality" picture. But I think it's appropriately symbolic.

I make a living teaching and touting the power of words. Language is, after all, our primary mode of conveying meaning. But neither Grace nor Huan had the capacity to verbally qualify their relationship, and yet their relationship is seemingly all the more meaningful without words. Perhaps more accurately, its meaning and value derive from the type of beauty that exists and endures beyond words.