Sleep Walking Thru Grief
Estimated reading time: 1 minute, 18 seconds
Walking has always been important to me and has become even more critical during my grief journey.
Most days, the walk is efficiently completed.
My feet move like a ballerina, feather-light as I glide across the pavement.
This morning’s walk was as if I was sleepwalking.
The sidewalks felt as if I was walking in a bouncy house.
My legs sunk into the ground I was unsure if I could stand.
Despite the uncertainty and doubts about continuing, I persisted and achieved the minimal goals of time, distance, and calories burned.
As I turned north a few hundred steps share of the halfway mark, a rainbow appeared above the Lincoln School.
It already seemed washed out as the colors were not sharp, but it appeared like a well-washed tie-dyed shirt.
By the time I reached the school, the rainbow, like its mythical pot of gold, had vanished.
Walking up the stairs to my humble abode, I was reminded of my true love’s words of wisdom.
Richard, you are capable and strong, and I believe in you.
Love never dies, and I will never quit walking.
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Days can become weeks, and our lives may change only incrementally.
We may not notice that we have grown or our lives are not what we once dreamed they would be.
But then we have days when everything changes in the blink of an eye.
I am not sure what happened last night, but I woke up in the wee hours of the night, and my leg was like molten rubber.
My legs swayed like I was on the Titanic after the iceberg.
