This morning all I had to do was a short three mile run. If I had gotten my rear end out of bed a few hours earlier, it could have been a nice, relatively-cool run; however, I pulled a classic Al Brown (sorry, I'm not ready to identify things as "classic Al Jackson," as she has not existed long enough to be a classic!) and fell back to sleep after getting ready for my run. Even though it was cooler than it had been, it's never a blast to run in 88 degree, humid weather.
But that is not what this post is about. This post is about mortality.
I knew I wanted to write a post about mortality on this blog at some point. I am confronted with my mortality each time I run because there is a lovely, personalized cross at an intersection less than half a mile from my house. A man named Eric died at that spot in 2007. He was only 36 (or 35 if he hadn't had his birthday. Drat. Why does my brain always return to the mundane even when I am trying to write a poignant post about mortality and how I mourn the loss of this man Eric even though I never met him? Time for a new paragraph.)
I always think about this Eric on my runs. I say a prayer for his soul and for his family. I wonder if he was married and if he had children. I wonder how his loved ones are coping with the loss of him. I notice from time to time that the cross has been adorned with new flowers, and I take comfort that he is being remembered.
When I started running again this month, I found yet another cross along my route. This one isn't as "nice"--it's two pieces of wood affixed together with the words "RIP BOBBY" spelled out in marker. (Of course, I fully understand that God doesn't care what the cross looks like or whether the name has been professionally-engraved or hand-written; I'm just trying to paint a mental picture for you.) I got very upset when I first noticed this memorial. I suppose I had been able to work my way through Eric (1971-2007)'s death, but Bobby's death stung fresh. (I should add here that OF COURSE I do not deeply grieve for these men as I did not know them. I don't want you to think that I in any way equate the bit of sadness I feel for the loss of these men with the earth-shattering sadness their friends and families feel. But I do feel sad.)
This morning as I started my run, I said my normal short prayer for Eric and his family. But, as I ran up the road, I noticed that Bobby's cross was laying flat on the earth, more than likely as a result of Sunday's intense thunderstorm. As I continued running, I had a great thought: when I passed by Bobby's memorial on the way home, I would put it back in the ground so it would stand correctly and more appropriately honor this man I did not know.
I figured I would write briefly about this experience, and it would make me feel better...like I had done something good for this man whose death makes me feel powerless and sad.
But then, of course, the whole experience turned into a tragicomedy. [Note: I am intentionally switching to present tense...starting...NOW!] As I approach the fallen-down cross on the way home, I feel the tingles of the Holy Spirit in me. I am an emotional person, and even this tiny little act is going to make me feel good and connected to the universe...
I stop running, reach for the cross, and...CANNOT FIND A SINGLE PLACE TO PUT IT! The ground is very hard and very dry. I search desperately for the hole in which this man's cross was originally placed, but I cannot find it. Then a thought strikes me: PEOPLE ARE GOING TO THINK I AM ATTEMPTING TO STEAL THIS MAN'S CROSS.
I panic. I don't know what to do. I don't have an instrument that will allow me to dig a hole. I start knocking the bottom of the cross against the hard earth, trying to break it (the earth) up. It's not working. It's not working and I can't honor this man's life and now I am probably going to break this cross.
I ultimately decide to place the cross against one of the guard rail posts, saying a prayer for Bobby and also asking God for forgiveness for nearly destroying a cross (even though I was attempting to do something good not bad).
So, what am I to make of this experience? Was God reminding me that even though the world can be a sad place and the thought of death is scary, there will always be moments of humor and hope? I'm not quite sure, but I hope that Bobby was looking down and chuckling at the site of a woman trying to re-position his memorial...and failing so miserably despite her best attempts.
Rest in peace, Eric & Bobby
Love,
Allison
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