Forty-one years ago today, in a hospital in Chicago, my mother died. She was 57 years old. I was 19. I will remember today in my thoughts and in my prayers.
On Saturday, at the first run of the summer session, a man in my running club was hit by a car and killed. I didn’t know him well, he was just a friendly face seen the starts and the aid stations and the social events. He seemed to be a very nice man and some of my friends are deeply mourning. What a shock, to be so healthy and vibrant one second, and the next second dead. The news said he ran into an intersection against the light. I can understand only too well how that happens. Running, although people, including myself, claim it clears the mind, also befuddles it in weird ways. After many miles, there is what I would call a form of psychosis where perceptions of time and space are greatly altered. God bless him.
And Rodney King. Ever since his first appearance to the world, as a sort of stuttering shy man pleading for peace, I have had a special place in my heart for this man. The media talk about his “demons,” that too, I understand only too well. I feel sad for him. God bless him too.
Sorry, didn’t mean to go there today. I am happy that it is Monday. And that I have a place to go. I feel bad that last week I felt I couldn’t bear it for one more day. It reminds me of my days of early sobriety and PMS so bad I felt I couldn’t be trusted from one moment to the next because of the most dreadful transient depression.
We get through all these things in life – sober. Thank God I never had to drink away any of the stuff that has occurred in my life. That is no small thing to be grateful for!