Self-Mutilation

The day after Rick died.  I was so restless; I had to do something.  I put on my running shoes and walked out the door.  I started walking and didn’t stop.  I made a loop, up the hill, through Karen’s neighborhood and around the back way to our house.  It was a good mile and a half.  As my feet pounded the concrete I said, I have survived one day without him.  I have survived one day without him. I have survived one day without him.  I have survived one day without him. I have survived one day without him.  I have survived one day without him. I have survived one day without him.  I have survived one day without him…

On the second day, I did the same thing.  I tried to walk as fast as I could; I wanted to feel pain.  I wanted to hurt.  I felt that if I could hurt, then perhaps my heart would stop breaking.  As my feet pounded the concrete I said, I have survived two days without him. I have survived two days without him. I have survived two days without him. I have survived two days without him. I have survived two days without him. I have survived two days without him. I have survived two days without him. I have survived two days without him.  I have survived two days without him. I have survived two days without him…

Dr. Tiscione told me later that in some tribes in Africa, woman mutilate themselves when their husbands die.  I could completely understand them.  Walking was a form of self-mutilation for me.  On the third day, I did the same thing.  I walked out the door and kept going.  My feet pounded the concrete and in my head I said, I have survived three days without him. I have survived three days without him. I have survived three days without him. I have survived three days without him. I have survived three days without him. I have survived three days without him…

People thought it was great that I was walking.  What a terrifically healthy thing to do when one is mourning.  On the fourth day, I did the same thing.  I walked out the door and kept going.  My feet pounded the concrete and in my head I said, I have survived four days without him. I have survived four days without him. I have survived four days without him. I have survived four days without him. I have survived four days without him. I have survived four days without him…

The days turned into weeks and then months and then a year. I walked every day for 18 months until I ripped my Achilles tendon and had to stop.  I had lost weight and looked great but what did it matter? I had lost Rick.