Razor's Edge

Me: Look at the New Mexico sky. The sky is bluer and the clouds are whiter. It's like being inside an HD television. Even the air feels different here.

My Son: I know. When you walk outside in Oklahoma, it's like someone is trying to make a stew out of you. - Conversation en route to Durango on August 13th.

Day 193. Beautiful drive to Durango today. My son and I have been tempted to text, phone, and/or e-mail everyone we know in Oklahoma to tell them we are in the mountains; it is below 90 degrees; the sky is bluer and the clouds are whiter, and we just walked through the whole town on a trail beside a rushing river making sounds like the Nirvana Non-Fight Song. Lovely beyond words. Our energy levels soared the second we stepped out of the car. To my child's great annoyance, I commented on the weather no less than 50 times as we walked along the river. After plodding through the past two weeks of stifling, life-sucking, misery-inducing heat in Oklahoma, I feel like running a marathon. And I don't even run any more.

To my great astonishment, the 12-hour drive went very well. Probably because I only drove five hours of it. Mostly because I could watch the temperature gauge in my car and not have a panic attack. Hugely because I was a captured audience and there is nothing funnier than a college sophomore. Good times. Most of the way.

As we got closer to Durango, the desert became lush as future tumbleweeds gave way to actual trees, and dried up creek beds yielded to flowing streams and then a rushing river. With my son's assistance, I used his computer to burn a road trip CD for us titled, "Durango Bound." It proved to be bittersweet. Inadvertently, I had included songs with lyrics that spoke to me about Tom. My brain began to play a cruel trick on me. For a few miles, I could listen to the music, look around at the gorgeous scenery, and feel excited about meeting up with Tim and Dana. In those moments, my road trip happy feeling would gather momentum and send tingles to my limbs. Then the real reason for our journey would wallop me from the side when I wasn't looking, overwhelming me with sadness. Grief sure throws curve balls. With some sliders stuck in for good measure.

The feeling made me recall a comment from a client that froze in my mind the first time she said it. Together, we were processing the anniversary of the death of her infant son at the age of nine days old. This was several years after he had died. She noted that, around the time of the anniversaries of his birth and death, it felt like she was "living on the edge of a razor blade." The edge of sanity was that slim for her, and for a few days before and after those terminally important dates in her life, she never knew what side of the blade she would land on at any given second.

That is how this afternoon felt for me. From second to second, I came down on different sides of that razor's edge. I could get caught up in the moment, with the vast sky and the backlit mountains rising around me, basking in my son's company and wicked, clever humor and then - Wham! I'd slide down on the other side, tears would well up, and I would be reminded that I wasn't coming to Durango to mountain bike and talk about Afghanistan, Nepal, or other exotic foreign lands. I am here to say good-bye to a friend. To honor a life that has touched so many.

There is a poignancy and vividness unique to grief. As much as I can bear, I am trying hard to be mindful and present on this trip, because there is nothing like Death to bring Reality into crisp, clear focus. I spoke with Dana when we arrived in town, and she was working with Tim and some close friends to prepare the slide show for Sunday's memorial. Talk about crisp, clear focus. I noted previously that both Tim and Tom could be professional photographers. They have mammoth archives of photos, and I cannot imagine what the production memorializing Tom will be like. I can, however, anticipate what watching the slides will be like.

Like standing on the edge of a razor blade.

Gassho,

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