6-Months and Not Okay

I read somewhere that the heart knows when to stop grieving. I can't even begin to stop at 6-months and I am waiting on my heart for any inclination that I am going to crawl my way out from beneath this heavy weight.  

Tears rain down so easily with the slightest memory to trigger me with a song, sunset, sunrise, moon, scent, experience and so on. I can usually hide it beneath glasses and turning away or evacuate the moment. If the eyes are a window—hide them, shut it out, and open it in private. The loss doesn't let up, and is picking up momentum. I am sure it's a cycle and I have a lot to unravel. Maybe it's my mind's way of letting me come through this in segments so I don't completely break beyond ability to function. I tell you, there is no way that one can not love someone when spending 4 - 20+ hours running with them every weekend for the years we did. Runners share a special bond. What is said on the road and experienced together—binds. 

The loss extends beyond the road and trail…I've missed her at plays, trips, games, and events that she would have attended with or for our family and friends. I've missed her laughter and shenanigans, and the feeling that I could say anything to her without judgement. The vivid woven fiber she was in our lives is nothing but shredded edges now. I can't escape or mend this. My soul/sole sister is forever in memory and gone from my present life and future. 6-months, and I am not okay.

Gut-wrenching to look at this last Bayshore medal with the yellow and orange ribbon—the color of the sun—that Evie would have had. She had almost every one of the others on my collection rod.

The shirt image that shouldn't be.
BeliEVIE

Last week, a group of around 25 ran/walked together in remembrance of Evie at the Traverse City Bayshore Marathon in different race distances. A race all by its self holding memories for me created with Evie—starting as the first marathon we ran together 11 years ago. I am so glad I wrote about it in this blog to connect again. 

The existence of a shirt with her face brings me pain that I have to fight my brain every time I see it. It scorches. The image was created from a photo of the two of us. I just can't breathe fully looking at it. 

My daughter ran her first half marathon for Evie at this race—something she might have never done before we loss of her Aunt Evie. I am proud of her and hopeful that she will find her own love for the run. Evie would laugh and probably shutter that she ran it in basketball shoes, but she would be excited that she did it and in stiff, 2 year old, Nike basketball shoes that gave her major hip pain at mile 8. She had refused to let me get her running shoes. That changed a few days after the race was over and her hips were recovering. I took her to the running shoe store Evie worked at many years ago and had her fitted. We walked out with Hoka Bondi 8s. Probably my personal favorite Bondi's so far. 

I am looking for any silver lining here to lessen the personal hell of this post. So, maybe my daughter can keep turning it over for her own adventures, and I might run again with hope in my heart and a lighter spirit than I feel today—weaving new memories. 

FUCK 6-months. 

My daughter's first half marathon--finished for Evie. 

Sue and I trying to feel the sun that was Evie for so many of our runs.

Evie Lower and her dog, Jasmine, were killed December 8, 2022 when they were hit by an impaired driver. The driver has yet to be prosecuted. Please do not drive impaired or distracted.

Coverage regarding the Bayshore Marathon and Evie. Note the pink brush from one of our many runs with things we find on the run.