I’m out of words. I can no longer express the sadness that has found our family this month. Sunday evening my father-in-law passed away. He has been battling prostate cancer for six years. It finally spread beyond his lymph nodes and his bones. The tumors spread to his liver and also surrounded his lungs.
I really have no words…
We are finding comfort in all the small things.
We spent all day Sunday with him at the hospital. We watched him breathe for hours until his breath became more shallow and more spaced out. He passed away 45 minutes after his sister finally arrived at the hospital. He passed away with his wife and his sister by his side.
My father-in-law is a sailor. He grew up on a sailboat, and his eyes glisten when he talks about his Catalina. High tide was an important time in the day for him because it allowed him to get home. When the tide was high, he could sail up river to his house. (When it was low, he’d get stuck drinking margaritas waiting for the tide to change.) John passed away at the peak of high tide. His final breath was the moment the waters were the highest. High tide took him home.
Cole on Grandpa’s boat
My father-in-law loved Jimmy Buffett. Before he passed, my mother-in-law mentioned that she didn’t even know what his favorite song was by Jimmy Buffett. He woke up, opened his eyes, and said Come Monday. He passed away on Sunday. Come Monday, everything was alright for him.
In one of his last conversations with my mother-in-law, he told her he already got his miracle. He was diagnosed six years ago. In his six year battle, he watch Christian and I fall in love. He attended our wedding. He welcomed all four of his grandchildren into this world. He got to see his sons become husbands and fathers. He squeezed an extra six years out of life.
When my aunt passed away, everything felt raw and exposed. Now that my father-in-law has passed away, everything feels numb. I thinking being here and going through the journey with him has made it easier to understand. I think watching him transition through the final stages of his life makes knowing he has found peace more comforting to everyone in our household.
Tomorrow is John’s funeral. The days after will be the hardest. Planning has given everyone a purpose. Living life without him hasn’t happened yet. Family dinners, holidays, Cole’s school events, Chet’s milestones, it is in these moments when I think the sadness will hit me the hardest. I still expect to hear I’ll sit next to what’s her name as we sit down to eat (that’s what he has always called me). I still expect him to be home 3 miles down the road.
Earlier this week I made one of the hardest decisions (but really a decision that required no thought) in my adult life. I cancelled my flight to my Aunt’s funeral. The moment my father-in-law started hospice care, I knew I needed to be here. I needed to be here to take care of my boys so my husband could spend his time as needed. I’ve had every single emotion about this decision from anger to selfishness to selflessness. I’ve felt cheated for not being able to go even though there was no way anyone could convince me to leave. When discussing these feelings with a friend, she suggested I do my long run on Friday during my Aunt’s funeral. She suggested I dedicate every mile to a memory of my Aunt. That simple suggestion saved me. Thank you Sara.
I ran 18 miles yesterday. This is the furthest I’ve ever run. This is the run that sent me to the doctor with a stress fracture last training cycle. After my 17 mile broken run last week, I needed this run to be good. I needed this run to feel strong. I needed this run to heal. This run did not let me down. It was the best run of my life. I ran smart. I finished strong. Miles felt easy. My Aunt carried me. This run wrapped its arms around me and soothed every inch of my body and every exposed emotion. Every time my watch beeped, I thought of a memory of my Aunt.
My favorite trail – Long Creek
Mile 1 – The day I meet her in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. We sat around the kitchen table with her mom, step dad, and my dad. I was a teenager. Everyone talked and shared about their lives. This afternoon healed so many of my teenage insecurities. It gave me the courage to embrace my identity. It made me feel at home.
Mile 2 – My senior year of high school my Aunt was living in Charleston, South Carolina. On a weekend trip with my mom, we went to visit. I bought my prom dress on that visit while shopping in historic Charleston.
Mile 3 – On that same visit, I was exposed to her wonderfully artsy family. Her family was built on music. She showed me a love for this world that forever changed my life.
Mile 4 – During college, my Aunt flew in town to visit. I picked her up at the airport. We sat in my parents’ backyard by the pool soaking up the sun because of her allergies to cats. My parent’s big fat black and white cat was the enemy to her allergies. Because she couldn’t spend too much time inside, we enjoyed the entire afternoon in the sun.
Mile 5 – Being pregnant with Cole at the same time as both my Aunts. Beth’s daughter came first. Two months later was Cole. Six weeks later, Amy had Liam.
Mile 6 – Living in Nashville, my aunt was a now a few hour drive away in St. Louis. Her family all lived in Nashville too. Sitting around the Thanksgiving dinner table that was so perfectly set by her mom.
Mile 7 – Cole was just a young baby when I lived in Nashville. My Aunt and her sister were the first people to make me feel comfortable breast-feeding in public. What a gift!
Mile 8 – Her middle son’s birthday party at her parent’s house. The pool was so cold, but all our kiddos insisted on swimming.
Mile 9 – Her laugh. I could hear her laughing on the quiet trails. I was half way into my run, and I swear her laughter was in the trees.
Mile 10 – Going out on Thanksgiving night after searching and searching for good live music. We settled on 3rd and Lindsley downtown. We sat at the bar enjoying a drink, and (GASP!!!) smoking cigarettes.
Mile 11 – PeePee Boy. Enough said!!!!!!
Mile 12 – Paolo Nutini Concert in Indianapolis. Swoon!
Mile 13 – The phone call from my Aunt Beth that Amy was diagnosed with Thyroid Cancer. Sitting and waiting for her to get out of the surgery that seemed to last a lifetime and hearing the good news that they got it all. Celebrating her being Cancer free!!
Mile 14 – More concerts in Indianapolis. Over indulging in things we shouldn’t be indulging in. And her so gracefully passing out into my boyfriend’s arms. Even then she was graceful. Always graceful.
Mile 15 – The email from her (now living outside London) to tell me she had breast cancer. I ran a half marathon I wasn’t prepared for five days later. I cried the whole race. A week later, I signed up to run my first marathon in her honor and in the honor of my father-in-law who had hit a bad patch in his treatment. I never ran that race due to a stress fracture. The marathon this time will be so much more than a race for me.
Mile 16 – Our phone call together the night after I meet my husband. Sharing all the “I love him” details with her while she gushed on the other side of the phone.
Mile 17 – Introducing her to my husband! Having Christian say to me “I totally understand why you love her so much. You make sense with her.”
Mile 18 – Our last visit together. She was in town for Thanksgiving while I was pregnant with Chet. Sitting on the couch while she felt my baby move.
18 miles wasn’t enough. I finished my run with a huge smile on my face. I felt like I could keep on going. I had so many more memories to remember. My aunt carried me on Friday. I had 18 happy miles with a huge smile on my face. I love her so much. I will always love her. I will miss her so much, but I know I will always find her on the trails. She knows that the trails are the home for my heart. She will find me there.
18.06 miles in 3:07: 43 (10:24 pace) on my favorite city streets, over the Chesapeake bay, and on my favorite trails.
Snow was on its way
Two more long runs, two more fall back weeks, and a taper is all that is left of this training cycle. Marathon Day is going to be so bitter sweet this year knowing I signed up for my first marathon to honor my Aunt and my father-in-law. I always thought they’d be cheering me on during my race. My father-in-law was admitted to the hospital last night. His body is in renal failure. Our time left with him is so limited. Marathon Day will be all about honoring both of them.
Today’s run broke me. It didn’t break me physically, but it exposed my already broken heart. My father-in-law started hospice care today. I still can’t come to terms with the loss my aunt.
Let yourself be gutted. Let it open you up. Start here. ~ Cheryl Strayed
I was drawn to the trails today. I needed to be surrounded by the world that I love. The views comforted me, but the trails with the pretty views are physically challenging. My legs didn’t want to go slow either. I tried to hold back knowing I was entering new territory today with 17 miles. I couldn’t (at first).
Mile 1: 9:57
Mile 2: 10:50
Mile 3: 10:40
Two and a half miles in, I was falling apart. I doubted my ability. I didn’t think I was mentally strong enough today to run.
I can’t.
Long Creek Trail
Mile 4: 12:16 (crazy dunes and man-made steps that are unrunable)
Mile 5: 10:37
At mile 4.5, I had to stop. I laid my head on top of a bridge. I cried. I cried until my shoulders shook.
Keep going.
Osprey Trail
Mile 6: 10:12
Mile 7: 9:58
Mile 8: 9:52
Mile 9: 10:06
At mile 8.5 I reached my turn around point. I can do this. I’m half way. I’m strong. I’m running strong. I can do this. Craving more comfort, I ran 2 more miles back to the park entrance in the sand.
I can.
40th Street
Mile 10: 10:37
Mile 11: 10:33
I left the beach, and I had found my way back to the park entrance. Before I left the sand, I needed something. I needed a shell in my hand to remind me to keep going. I had a long boring flat 3 mile trail ahead of me. I have to do this. Six more miles.
I have to.
61st Street
Mile 12: 11:07
Mile 13: 11:04
Mile 14: 10:44
Mile 15: 10:50
That long boring 3 mile stretch broke me. It cracked me right in half. My hips were burning. My faster early miles on trails caught up to me. I stopped. I sat on a bench, and I cried. I cried hard. After I got myself back together, I kept on. F&*$! F*&$! F*$&! I hate this trail. I hate cancer.
F*&%!!!!
Trees
Mile 16: 10:36
Mile 17: 11:03
As I made the final turn back towards my car, I saw two woman just ahead of me. It took me a half mile to catch up. As I did, I knew I needed them to get back to my car. I was choking on tears. I couldn’t stop trembling from emotion. I needed a band-aid. As I got closer, they moved to let me pass. I told them they were pulling me, and I asked to join them (something I would never do in normal life). I introduced myself to these two woman, and I ran the last mile and half with them back to my car. They saved me. The are running the Shamrock Marathon too and were running my exact same route today but in reverse. They where exactly were I needed them today.
Thank you!
Today’s run broke me. It cracked me in half. I don’t know why I do this. I even doubted running a marathon somewhere along that long Cape Henry trail. I told myself I didn’t want to do this next weekend. When I sat down next to my car before driving home, I cried more. I’m looking for strength to get through this time of my life. Even though I don’t know how to do this, I’m embracing it. And when my run came to a close, I was amazed that I did it. I wanted to turn around at mile 2.5, but I kept going for 14.5 more. I did it. I don’t know how, but I just have to keep going. I cried when I needed to, I reached out when I needed it most, and I made myself proud. I proved to myself that I am strong. I will be running 18 next weekend. I will keep going because I love it. Where else can you live a lifetime of emotions in 3 hours? I’m starting here.
If you can’t fly, then run, if you can’t run, then walk, if you can’t walk, then crawl, but whatever you do, you have to keep moving forward. ~ Martin Luther King Jr
17.03 miles. 3:01:24. 10:39 pace – trails, beach, and boardwalk (run time. does not include cry time. I took an extra 20 minutes to cry.)
Today I needed something good for my soul. My emotions have been all over the place: up, down, down some more, cleaning this, organizing this, buying this, ignoring life, embracing life, squeezing the life out of my children at bedtime, and trying to make sure I pour every ounce of love into every day because you just don’t know. My aunt has left behind three boys who she filled with all her love. I need to make sure my boys are filled with all my love too.
Tonight’s plan: Yoga. And not just any yoga, yin yoga. I had to google it when I saw it on the class schedule.
All forms of yoga can provide benefits physically, emotionally, and mentally and Yin Yoga is similar, however Yin Yoga works the deeper levels of the body/heart/mind: the connective tissues of the ligaments, fascia, joints and bones and the energetic channels of the meridians, nerves and blood system. One big difference noticed by students of Yin Yoga is the long-held, passive nature of the posture, which gives time for a deeper journey to unfold, a journey into the meditative aspects of yoga, a bridge to living life mindfully. ~Bernie Clark
My body, my tight runner muscles, needed this deeply today. My emotions needed it more. There are so many things I hold on to tightly. As we laid in saddle pose, I felt my emotions stretching along with my hamstrings. Remembering to breathe when both became uncomfortable was a gift. Being asked to stay in a pose for minutes instead of moving through them forced me to stay present. Hiding wasn’t an option. Emotions trembled out of my shoulders during pigeon pose. Comfort was found in child’s pose.
Class ended with an Om. The vibrations in the room shook lose my tears.
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My aunt’s Facebook page has been flooded with photos and memories. The past week I’ve found comfort reading and rereading every post. I’ve looked through her photos dozens of times. My favorite, a quote by her, posted by a friend:
The world is hard, but it’s magical too. Don’t take it for granted ~ Auntie A
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The world is unpredictable. It isn’t certain. Tonight we got more heart breaking news about my father-in-law. I’m not sure my heart can take more. The world is hard. The world is also magical. In this same heart breaking time, I’ve been blessed with new friendship, deeper friendships, nonstop love from family, and a deep contentment deep within my soul. I’m stretching further than I thought I could stretch. I feel deeper than I thought I could feel. A much deeper journey is unfolding.
The world is hard, but it is magical too. And the magic is oh so good.
I didn’t sleep much last night. I lay in bed thinking and crying and tossing and turning and thinking some more. My aunt’s health was rapidly declining. In a desperate attempt to clear my head I reached for my phone and this blog to write down my thought.
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I’m laying her in bed, in the dark, listening to my husband breathe. I can’t sleep. My heart is too broken. I wish I could cry. I wish I could crack. I want to find my way to vulnerability. I’m sick of I’m okay.
As we, my husband and I, lay in bed tonight reading. He wanted attention. No. Not that kind of attention. He wanted my hand on his chest or to hold my hand. I couldn’t. I wanted to stay on my side of the bed fearing that touch would hurt too much.
He’s grieving too. On a scale of grief (if there is such a thing), his is so much deeper than my own. His dad. My aunt. Today he talked with his dad about what he would want to keep just in case. Today I learned that the hospice nurse has said my aunts vital signs are declining.
It’s too much. And I’m too afraid to go there. I desperately need to let go and be vulnerable. I need it for me and for my husband. I need it so I can support him too. Perhaps that is why I share what should possibly be just a thought, but instead I’ve turned it into a blog post. How do you grieve and still hold it together? How do you prepare yourself to say goodbye to a woman who taught you self acceptance while loving your husband enough to get him through his grief. I’m afraid of cracking.
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After I wrote all that down, I did what I have always done when life gets over whelming.
When I was 18 and falling asleep alone and drowning in doubt and sadness, I would lay on my back in the middle of my bed. I would repeat the words Inhale (and inhale) and Exhale (and exhale) over and over again until my mind was freed from thoughts, and I’d slowly fall asleep. I’ve used this practice to survive that period in my life, to get through a divorce, and many other emotion filled events both good and bad. Now that I have a yoga practice, it’s nice to know that Savasana has always been there for me even if I didn’t have a name for it.
Last night I inhaled and exhaled my way into sleep.
I woke up this morning full of sadness. I moved slowly through my morning. I hugged Cole a little tighter as he left for school. As I pulled out of the driveway, I felt the crack happening. All of the emotions and feelings started to spill out. All my sadness attached to my aunt’s cancer fell out of my body tear after tear. Shortly after I got to work, I learned that she passed away this morning. At 8:10 am this morning, Amy left us for something as big as her spirit. She is gone, but the world has just absorbed an energy, a love, a passion so big it can add happiness to the life of everyone. Every extra smile today, the beautiful rainbow my dear friend saw on her commute to work, and all the laughter on our planet today, I know it was her.
I am sad. Selfishly sad for myself and all I have lost. And selflessly heart-broken for her sister, her three boys (ages 8 -18), her mother, my dad, her husband…
I don’t know how to deal with grief. I don’t know how to do this. So I did the only thing I know to do today. I ran a simple trail in my favorite park. I ran fast and hard, and through my feet I tried to leave behind some of my sadness. As my run was coming to end, I had to remind myself to inhale and exhale again. I sat next to a tree, and it hit me. I miss her. I miss my aunt. I don’t think that will ever go away.
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Tonight as I tucked my boys into bed, I cried some more. I held them tight. I will show them how she loved the world. There are very few like her. Tonight I can’t put into words what she meant to me. It hurts too much. But she loved me deeply, supported me unconditionally, and she showed me how to love myself.
I miss her. I can’t believe she is gone.
My Aunt Beth, Aunt Amy, and Me – Moonshine Party back in Nashville
Kristy Maute 