When Herself walks alone, she can Think, and Process Stuff, and Work Through Things, and other such (cliché but important) activities. Where she walks is not as important as when she walks. Every day, if at all possible, she tries to squeeze in a little bit of walking. Even being on vacation is not an exception; while Herself was away in Tombstone, AZ, this past weekend, she took advantage of the early morning hours before the sun was too high to take a walk around the RV park where they were staying.
Herself had sent her farewell e-mail to her colleagues on Friday as she resigned from her telecommuting position, and the final closing of that door was surprisingly heartrending. She knew it would be sad, certainly, but for it to be SO sorrowful was unexpected. The long drive from home to Arizona barely dulled the grief. She couldn't even face socializing with her friends Friday evening -- an unheard-of state of affairs -- and retired early to be alone with her heartache.
When she woke up Saturday morning, she walked. And walking was not enough. So she jogged here and there, and ran a tiny bit, too. If only she could move fast enough to leave the sorrow behind for just a while.
She could not. Still, the walking helped.
While she walked, she thought about how a year ago in the same RV park, she had ottoman-shaped dog and ancient and decrepit dog with her. Now they are both gone. And she thought about how a year ago in the same RV park, she had her job. Now it is gone, too. It's not a death in the same way as the passing of her canines, but it is, in its own way, very much its own sort of demise.
She wondered idly whether in the future she would associate Tombstone with sadness, since the sentiment seems to be so pervasive there for her. It seems somehow appropriate for a town named such.
The past nine months have been absolutely replete with goodbyes. As long as she keeps walking, though, she will get through them all.
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