Crossfit?

I started doing Crossfit (crossfit.com) and it is absolutely kicking my trash. I think that I may have permanently damaged my hips in the last workout (just kidding, of course, but it still hurts every time I take a step or try to get up from a low seat). It's insane. I have realized, however, that I am in terrible shape. Here's to a new year of getting into the best shape of my life, hopefully!

Sorrow’s Echoes

“What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;

Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak

Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.”

-William Shakespeare, Macbeth

I couldn’t hear her very well. Maybe it was the wind, or my 19-year old cassette player set into the dusty dashboard of my Chevy. Maybe it was her tears.  Nevertheless, I understood what was going on, and I quietly told her to immediately call the ER and then call me back. No, it was okay; she didn’t have to look and she didn’t have to get up from the toilet if she didn’t want to.

          

          Everything I had said, all of the jokes I had made; all of the moments that I had stubbornly ignored; it all rushed soundlessly through my mind and settled into my chest. Well, all of the difficulty of recognizing the reality of a new life had suddenly dissipated, leaving me feeling like man standing alone, with his hands open and empty.

          The water was too red to really see what had settled at the bottom, but I knew it wasn’t clots. I had seen clots many times before. Forty-five minutes later, a quiet, grey-haired, soft-spoken doctor told us that she was diagnosed with a threatened miscarriage. It was minimally better than a confirmed miscarriage.

            

         Our formal dinner was no longer an option, but we decided to drop by the Gunfighter Club and find out whether or not we could get the food to go. I stepped inside, still in full uniform; no one was at the ballroom doors, and for some reason I felt really uncomfortable entering them into the room filled with quiet, well-dressed couples enjoying their dinner. I kept walking, drawn by the squeals of the children being watched by volunteers in the next room. I knew the volunteers.

            

         A1C Karley Karlson was there, and I briefly explained to her that my wife may have just miscarried and if she would mind finding someone I could ask about getting our food wrapped. She left me watching the little kids in her absence, and I joined in chasing them around the room. Actually, I only chased one of them around the room; he was so little, and reminded me of my own little son, the one who loves dancing and is obsessed with the word car.

            

           Karley directed me toward the back of the ballroom, where a woman waved to me. I approached her and she said that they were getting my food. I conversed for a moment, and when she asked how I was doing I answered and told her that it was pretty hard on my wife. Obviously trained in subtle tools of effective communication, she closely looked me in the eyes and repeated the question: Yes, it must be very difficult for my wife, but how was I doing?

            I guess I didn’t want to think about it. An invisible vice clasped around my throat, and I wasn’t able to answer her, and the gentleman who approached and introduced himself also didn’t get a response other than a nod. He then asked me a simple question, but I didn’t answer that either; instead, I just looked at him. He backed into a chair, perhaps realizing that I wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

           It was a long two minutes before the vice loosened enough for me to shakily say “Well, I guess this is life sometimes.” She was quick to respond, “Yes, but it is one of the suckey parts of life.” My eyes were still too wet for me to focus properly, but I automatically refused to draw attention from other parts of the room by raising my hands to correct it. I was sad; sad for all of the times that I had felt frustrated by an inability to feel my connection to a pregnancy that had most likely just terminated, sad for the joke I had recently made about how pregnancy tended to make women “crazy,” sad for hardly ever talking to Steph about our coming baby, sad for so many things that can’t change now. How was I doing? How do I explain that to someone? You can’t explain sorrow, or guilt, or even the peace in a storm. Music may sometimes express it, and art depicts it, but words simply describe, leaving only the echoes to be heard by a choice few.

           When we arrived home, the water had settled and we could get a better look at what Stephanie had lost. It looked like a miniature version of something I see often, during the fourth stage of labor. I closed the toilet lid and put my arms around Stephanie, and we finally talked about how it may very well be a miscarriage. I told her that it looked like a miniature placenta, and that whatever it was it was tissue and not clots.

           We just stood there for a while, and Steph cried on my shoulder. I didn’t know what to do. I asked Steph if I should flush the contents, but she had no answer for me. What if our embryonic son or daughter, who would have been termed a fetus in just a few days, was in with that placenta? Of all the parts to this, this was the part that made me feel worse than ever before, in a way I can’t describe. I considered burying it, but that didn’t seem appropriate either. Finally, after the lid had been closed for a long time, I reached over from where I held Stephanie and I pushed the handle, just enough to hear water slowly filling the toilet bowl. It flushed softly, and I pulled Stephanie into the hallway with me as it did so.

            After that, the blood and clots increased tenfold, and we knew then that there was no possible way our tiny baby had survived. We just sat together on the couch, with the TV on and our thoughts elsewhere. I felt very close to Stephanie, which brought an enormous amount of peace. We just sat together through the whole evening, even when Steph soaked in the bathtub in an attempt to relieve the cramping. I was on the closed, padded toilet seat, and we talked quietly about lots of things.

           I don’t grieve very often in front of people. I have an inordinate difficulty in expressing my feelings, even though I seem to constantly attempt it. This afternoon was full of grief for our tiny family, but also gratitude. My boss had asked me to attend a company grade officer commander’s call to represent our unit, essentially approving me in leaving work two hours early so that I could also go to the formal Dinner for Two that was being sponsored by the Airman and Family Readiness Center. If it hadn’t been for these circumstances, I wouldn’t have been able to answer my cell phone and wouldn’t have already been driving home when Stephanie called and needed help. I suppose it is one of Heavenly Father’s tender mercies that he lets us experience through times of sorrow.

            It’s like losing a loved one that you never knew. Except, normally we don’t love those we never know; in this case, the perplexity is loving them, and the not knowing them just makes it all the more difficult. Today we grieve, and tomorrow the world continues, though not quite like before. 

I went backpacking yesterday and today; it was a complete blast. I think it was the most difficult hike I've ever done, but I survived and posted a bunch of pictures on Facebook if you want to see 'em. The climb was terrific, over 4000 feet in a matter of less than two miles (I'm already sickeningly sore) after the initial four-mile grind. I've always had switchbacks, but this trail just up and decided to brave the mountainside in a straight line: vertical line. Aaaah. I manufactured a tent using a tarp, then broke my lighter this morning so ended up not eating breakfast. The weather was beautiful, although the Sawtooths brought the temp down to near 15 degrees Farenheit or so, but luckily I had my military socks and a good sleeping back. I hiked part way up yesterday afternoon, camped, and then hiked from about 5 am to 9 am to make it to the top of the ridge. Steph's out of town, so I thought I'd take advantage of the opportunity to do a little sight-seeing!