One Shot

I was running on the treadmill tonight, and an Eminen song came on. I picked up the pace and ran hard. Then, I started to cry. It took a little for me to process it all. I couldn't figure out why at that particular moment I was feeling so enraged. But then with grief, who knows when the rage will come? The song seemed to be for Dusty - a song he would have liked, and probably did like.

I continued to think about missing Dusty as I ran. Anita Diamant makes a comment in The Last Days of Dogtown that people focus on themselves when they lose a loved one. At first, I thought she was right and considered how selfish/ self-focused I've been. I didn't quite feel guilty - just sort of disappointed that I hadn't been some sort of super-human. Tonight, it seemed to make sense that we would focus on ourselves. Not because of some self-centered, attention driven trait of mankind. But because of the complete and utter pain of losing someone you wanted the world for. It aches in ways no one else can understand, even if they've been there. The pain is so real, so embodied, so tangible. If we venture to leave our own pain to think too long on the tragedy and loss faced by our loved one.... the reality is too terrible. Perhaps we focus on ourselves to survive.

I teared up in class this week as we talked about the war. I right out sobbed at dinner with a new friend when he asked me how I found out. And I cried on a treadmill tonight. I'm sure the memorial lecture tonight in honor of Dr. Bob also added to the emotion - oh, and the dedication in one of my language policy books to the author's daughter who was killed during the middle of her writing the book.

Love is all around, but so is loss. Eminen is right - one chance, before it slips away.