24 years ago i watched the Boston Marathon from a hospital bed, having just delivered my first child, a 9 pound 7 ounce bouncing baby boy. i had of course heard of this elite racing course, and watched the results from afar. but that weekend in 1989 was the most precious race to watch.
husband and i watched the race, and sporadically the crisis in Tiananmen square, but we were understandably in a cocoon of indescribable joy, and thrill.
so all these years the Marathon for us was framed in a soft focus kind of swoon, always planning for a way to celebrate our first son’s birthday. until this year.
the grief, the sadness is unbearable, the trauma still fresh after a couple of weeks. i’m tempted to ask my Doctor for some magic medications to ease the anxiety and pain, and to stop myself from calling our daughter in college twice a day to say good morning-good night…just to reassure myself. helplessness is the one word that comes to mind.
i’m determined to focus on the happiest aspect of course. next year my son will celebrate as grandly as ever.
my Granma used to call her daughter, my Ma, to remind her that life was like a wheel, in Tagalog of course, “ang buhay, parang gulong ng palad,” and that one never knew when one would be up or down in the wheel of life.
i choose to think what she really meant was, we should carry on, and make the best of what we’ve got, and be ready for those awful terrible bumps on the road.