All the Good Cards

208 run/842 left

The miles haven’t been easy this time around. Mentally, I haven’t wanted to be out there running, and running is as much a mental endeavor as it is physical. I run anyway. I have more than once considered stopping, but I know better. I have six miles planned for this morning, and for the first time in a long time I’m anxious to get out there. I made a new playlist, I’m listening to it now and music goes a helluva long way toward getting me going.

My friend Jill died a year ago yesterday. The people who love her are spread far and wide, but we gathered Sunday for the unveiling of her headstone. I got to Rosehill Cemetery a bit early. It was cold, windy. The sky was gunmetal grey, thick with bloated clouds ready to pour down more damp chill.

As we parked, I saw Joyce, Jill’s mom get out of her car and walk, alone to Jill’s headstone. She set two massive containers of flowers down nearby, so that after the unveiling we would all be able to lay a bright stem down on, around the marker. Joyce walked over then, to the stone, looked down and I flashed to the day, a year ago when we sat on Jill’s hospital bed. Agonizing for her, holding our breath as she struggled to get air, like sucking through a straw packed with sand. We held her hands, rubbed her legs, looked on helplessly. Her nurses were brilliant. Intuitive and constant. We were all in a sort of reverse labor, each agonized breath a contraction sending her out into a different light.

Days later we bore her body to its grave. It was so achingly cold, windy. ALL I wanted was to be on her couch with her, wrapped in blankets. Every thought I have of her is warm. That day was so cold, so striking, so powerfully devoid of our girl. When I lost my mom, I remember the feeling that I had lost a person on earth that would love me no matter what, never judge me. It was how I felt too when I lost Jill and I have not recovered one ounce. It has been a year, I am no closer to healed than the day she left. I miss her even more.

When Emma was brand new, Jill came out for a day to visit. She sent me off to take a long shower while she watched the kids. I came downstairs to Jill and three year old Matthew playing Candyland. I sat to play with them. Jill and I gabbed while we played, over and over, her patience for the game far outpacing mine. Matt had a blast though, kept scoring a key orange card on his first move putting him half a board ahead of us. Good moods all around.

I recalled this day with Jill last year, how nice it was, the crazy luck that Matt kept having with Candyland. She looked at me, straight on and squinted her eyes a little like she wasn’t so sure I was remembering right.

“Jenny, you realize I shuffled the cards every time so that he always got all the good cards, don’t you?”

Jilly, sweet girl, I’d give anything to reshuffle the deck for you. Get you all the good cards.