Running, it’s been a therapy of mine for a long time. I went
through a pretty traumatic experience about 10 years ago and running became my
therapy. My way to escape, a way to channel the hurt and brokenness into
something positive, as long as I ran I knew one foot was going in front of the
other, I was still moving, I was still alive.
When
I had my eldest son, I ran a ½ marathon right under a year after he was born.
Again it was a bit of escapism for me, running to have “me” time, running to re-energize
and spend time outdoors. When I got pregnant with Malachi, running took a bit
of a backseat. I had some symptoms from the beginning of my pregnancy with him that
were not right, and wreaked havoc on my previously fit self. When Malachi was
born, and I almost lost my life, running was pulled off even the backburner and
put into the pantry. Every ounce of strength, fight and will in me, was focused
on him. His health, his survival, his life, fight and journey. I neglected
myself for so long. I ate and drank barely enough to survive and pump for him,
my body shuts down when I am stressed, and as you could try to imagine, we were
in the most stressful situation of life. I lost a lot of weight, the unhealthy
way. I became a shell of my former self. Sunken, dark eyes, ribs showing, dark
circles, lifeless skin…where life once thrived, I remember looking in the
mirror and feeling it had all been drained out of me. Then, that day, that
awful, horrible, heart shattering, life-changing day when Malachi went to be
with Jesus. The depths of my sorrow knew no limits. Not only did physically I
resemble a shell, now I felt as if the whole world had been pulled out from
under me, just as I was learning to stand on my two feet in the halls of the
NICU. Everything we had hoped for, prayed for, dreamed for; for Malachi, was
gone. In an instant he was gone from us and taken into eternity. A perfect and
whole eternity for him, shattered and broken hearts left behind. I often wonder
how eternity looks for him, if he looks down on me and thinks “just wait mommy,
it’s so wonderful here, if only you knew…you wouldn’t be sad...” What I’d give
for a glimpse of eternity in heaven. Dealing with all the decisions and plans
that follow a death is distracting, I love to plan. Now I was planning the most
beautiful party I never wanted to attend. After the service we were swept away
to a mountain retreat with the closest of friends {Family}, and beautiful
distraction followed. Time for us to be away, just the 3 of us. Upon our return
we were graciously gifted with a getaway for LaRon and I, again, beautiful
distraction in a tropical place. How can you not love laying on sundrenched
beaches listening to the waves without a ‘care’ in the world. Except my care
lingered, I could always feel the grief, just below the surface, it would
explode at a moment’s notice. A smell
that would send me back to the darkness, the sound of a baby crying, the
swollen bellies of expectant mothers without a care in the world…those and more
triggers that would unleash a torrent of unstoppable tears and sobs from the
deepest parts of me. When we got back, friends and family made sure we were
taken care of, meals, phone calls, visits, we weren’t alone. In all truth I
couldn’t be alone. I feared for what would come if I was left alone in my
sorrow. Schedule and routine of friends spending time with me became my
lifeline, especially when my Love returned to work and I was still at home. The
sounds of the emptiness of the house were far too much to bear alone. Where newborn
cries should’ve filled the air, instead was silence and the murmur of the
ceiling fan. I am so grateful to my mat carriers who carried me through that
time.
Then it happened one day.. I had the urge to run. But how to be alone? I
didn’t know. What I did know was that I needed to learn to be alone with my
grief. To really process it. To really learn from it. And to learn how to honor
Malachi’s life with it. So I ran. I ran until I felt like I couldn’t that day
and I broke. Tears flooded my eyes through my run as I was finally alone with
my grief. I knew then, that running would again be my escape, my safe place. To
be alone with my thoughts, which now wasn’t so scary, to pray, to talk to God,
to talk to Malachi… the only place really free of distraction, was what I
needed. It has been so healing and therapeutic for me to run again. If I am
having an overwhelming grief day, I run. If I am feeling overtly good that day,
I run. I run to celebrate my life and his. I run for him since he never was
able to. I run for so many reasons. In early winter I registered to run a ½
marathon with a non-profit group that helps support local NICUs in Sacramento,
our hometown. That ½ marathon is this coming Sunday, Mother’s Day. I am running
in honor of Malachi. I am running for myself because I know that one foot in
front of the other is sometimes the only way to get through a day. How precious
is it that this run falls on Mother’s Day. My first Mother’s Day without
Malachi, but running a tribute run in his honor. I can think of no better way
to spend the day. Soon my passion for running will be fused into another way to
honor and celebrate Malachi’s incredible life and legacy and I am so excited to
share that with you soon!
But this weekend, for 13.1 miles, among the 16,000
registered participants It will be me and him on that course. His spirit with
me every step of the way. Guiding me out of darkness into a future of hope and
life.
