Sometimes you write something, and end up feeling like an idiot. Today is one of those days. I look back at my whiny obsessive posts about my lost iphone, where I actually use the word "grief."
A good friend's son was killed while surfing off the coast of Australia yesterday. One minute you're obsessing over whether you've bought enough for Christmas, or whether to get a new car or pour more money into the old one, and the next you're staring mutely at your computer screen, reading words like "talking with the U.S. consulate" and "trying to figure out burial arrangements." This will knock you off your self-pity pedestal and bring your world into crystal-clear focus, I assure you.
Yesterday I had a quick turnaround trip to Houston. I got the news upon my return. The last thing I wanted to do was go for a walk, but a few hours later, that's all I wanted to do. There was no way I was going to get any sleep if I didn't. I was tired of crying in my house, and felt like crying outside, in the dark. It was still warm, and I wore shorts, and I didn't even have the energy to put on socks under my walking shoes. But as Banks and I circled the neighborhood, I found myself picking up speed. When we returned, it had been an hour and 15 minutes, but I was confident it'd been five. I had walked as fast as I ever had, faster than I usually do even without Banks, and when I walk at that pace, it's a 15 minute mile.
Today a cold front is scheduled to come in sometime in the afternoon -- temperatures are supposed to drop 40 degrees within just a few hours. Welcome to our world. I am holding out for that weather, for a hoodie-and-scarf walk later this evening.
Love you Vicky. Godspeed, Ian.
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