Riding a Tandem

We just returned from a week's vacation in Bonita Springs, Florida.  Dan brought along his buddy Josh to keep him occupied for those moments his decrepit parents just wanted to read and not swim in the balmy 65 degree waters of the Gulf Coast.  While it wasn't as warm as we would have liked it we had fun and kept busy doing things that didn't include shoveling, scraping, or lake effect snow.  We took several long walks on the beach, read a few novels, went bike riding daily, ate deep fried grouper fingers, fries and a drank a Corona at Docs on the beach, played a game of LIFE, slept late most mornings, went fishing, went canoeing, went to a Pops concert at the Philharmonic in Naples, enjoyed spending time with Nana and Papa, hung out in the hot tub, went shopping, and walked through an art show in Naples.

By far one of my favorite activities was our daily bike ride.  The community Brenda's Mom and Dad live in has miles of bike riding trails.  We ride through some beautiful neighborhoods, past golf courses, through a couple parks, and by a marina.  We got exercise, had some good talks, and enjoyed soaking in some Vitamin D!


Often on these rides my mind would flash back to the countless times David and I rode a tandem bicycle together over these very same trails.

I could hear his voice trying to to engage every person who passed us with a cheery Hello or a, "Hi I'm David, who are you?"  I remember trying to describe to him the color and design of an exotic tropical flower, the shape of a lizard, or the looks of the girl who just passed us on her bicycle.  At times it was a challenge to keep the bike balanced because David was more focused on the people going by him than he was on doing his part in keeping the bike going forward and upright.  Often I would have to encourage him to keep peddling.  When he got tired he just stopped doing his part.  I remember sometimes grumbling having to always be the one to take David on the tandem.  Now I miss him and our tandem rides together.  I wonder if there will be tandem bicyces in heaven?  If so David gets the front and I'm going to sit on the back seat pretending to peddle just like David did!

As I continue to plod through my grief over David's death, I am beginning to discover that it is very much like learning how to balance a tandem bicycle.  When I first started riding with David I thought each ride would be our last.  We would careen down the road or bike path, looking like two drunken sailors after a long night on the town.  I would try to go right while David was leaning left listening to the faint voice of a fair maiden who just passed us by.  But after a few practice runs we started to get into a rhythm.  Each time we learned a little more how to ride together.  The same is true for grief.  The first few days and weeks after David's death were horrible.  Everything was out of balance.  Just the littlest thing would topple me over. But as the days, weeks, and months go by I have began to find a rhythm as I practice riding with my new tandem bicycle partner called grief.  While there are still times I wobble down the road, I am beginning to find comfort and even joy in the challenge of living without David along for the ride.  Currently I am working on trying to master the art of balancing how to cling to the memories of the past, yet at the same time moving forward into the future.  To be honest it is hard.  If you see me wobbling down the road encourage me to keep on peddling.  I'm glad many of you are riding along side of me.  Just as I had to continue to encourage David to keep peddling, I need you to do the same for me.

The Dash In Between

This morning as I was relaxing in my recliner, yellow fire dancing in the fireplace, sipping a dark french roast coffee from Brueggars, enjoying the beginning of a new day, my cell phone rang, indicating I had just received a text message.  It was from my son, Daniel.  It simply said,

"Mr. Shafer from English died this morning."  

I don't know who Mr. Shafer is, if he was sick, or what he died from; all I know is that he passed away sometime this morning.  It wasn't planned.  I'm sure it caught his family, friends, and students by surprise.  I know that they are grieving.  My heart breaks for all of them.  Please pray for his family.

Mr. Shafer's death stirred something inside of me.  At first I couldn't identify it.  It took me a few minutes to wrap my head around the emotion I was feeling.  And then it became clear, it was fear.  Not the fear of actually dying, although I don't particularly look forward to it, but the fear of getting to the end of my life and discovering that I had wasted my life.  It could have just as easily been a text from one of Daniel's friends to their parents saying, "Dan Pfohl's father died this morning."  I wondered if I knew tomorrow was my last day how I would live my life differently today?

Not wanting to really think about this I packed my gym bag and drove to the YMCA to work out.  As I watched my heart rate climb to 140 beats per minute my mind was going even faster as I thought about my Dad's unexpected death at the age of 58, David's death at the age of 20, and now Mr. Shafer.  In an attempt to slow down my mind or even shut out the myriad of thoughts passing through my brain I plugged my skullcap headphones into my itouch and selected a Chris Rice album, Amusing.  A couple songs into the album his song, Tick Tock started playing.  If you have a few minutes listen to the song: Tick Tock by Chris Rice.  

It was the exact song I needed to hear.  It took my racing thoughts and slowed them down.  It remineded me that its not important how long I live but how well I live today, moment by moment that really matters.    David's short life is a perfect example of this.  What matters is how well we live the dash out on our tombstone.  (You really do have to listen to the song.)

Thank you Mr. Shafer for living out your dash the best you could.  While I am sure you were used in the lives of many students and people thorughout your life, even in your death God used you to motivate me to make my life count.

How are you doing at living out your dash?

Comfortably Numb

Some of you will recognize the title of this blog as a Pink Floyd hit that first appeared in 1979 on their album, The Wall.  While I am no longer a Pink Floyd fan, nor do I continue to support his methodology of getting numb, the title of the song captures how I am feeling.  I am both comfortable and I am numb. 

I had lunch with a friend who lost his wife almost three years ago to cancer.  As he described his journey through grief he talked about a long period of time where he just felt numb.  No highs, no lows, just numb.  I know what he is talking about.  I have sat down numerous times to try and write something on this blog, wanting to feel something, to share something about my journey through grief, only to have my fingers frozen to the keys, mind blank, emotions flat lined.   

But I am OK with that and surprisingly I am learning to be comfortable with it.  I know it is normal.  I know it is a phase.  And I am trusting that God is at work; healing, molding, watching over me and my family as we all wrestle with this complicated animal called grief. 

I am comfortably numb.