Day 129: Detour

It is a confusing time.

I am training for a marathon, which is two weeks from today. I have a crippling amount of stuff to deal with at work, and all the traveling I've been doing has been distracting me.

And my grandmother died.

Many of my friends knew that Beatrice Gold was not the typical 91-year-old grandmother. She was very close with me and my brother, e-mailing us every day. I remember when I asked her once, maybe about 10 years ago, if she'd like a computer. "No," she said, thinking as usual that whatever I was proposing would involve making a fuss, and she never liked to make a fuss. I ignored her, and soon she was e-mailing everyone. Before that, during my childhood, she shaped my love of all things transportation; she took me all over New York on the subway, and we had countless adventures. She was always unquestioning, uncritical, and unceasingly loving, and I loved her for that. She delighted in meeting my friends and remembered every detail of their lives: who was together with whom, who was changing jobs... she forgot nothing. Her loss is profound. And because my family is very small and we have had the good fortune not to experience death during nearly my entire lifetime, it's especially difficult.

I was in Chincoteague, Virginia, on Friday morning when my dad called with the news. I figured he was calling to rib me about the Sox having pulled off a remarkable recovery in Game 5 of the ALC, roaring back from 7-0 with two out in the seventh to beat Tampa Bay, 8-7. (He e-mailed me after the score reached 7-0: "Maybe next year." Then he went to sleep and missed the comeback, which I also missed, because I was so exhausted that I couldn't stay up.) But no such luck.

I had been planning to fly straight to New York on Friday, to visit my grandma, and then to return to Boston on Saturday. Instead, I flew back to Boston, packed the car with some appropriate stuff, and drove to Long Island, arriving at about 8:30. I actually took the time for a short run during my brief Cambridge stopover: it was cathartic.

I also did my last long run yesterday morning. It was supposed to be 15 miles, according to the plan, but Carson had advised knocking it down to 12 miles. Conditions were good, but I was not really in the mood to run, and I didn’t carbo-load properly in the days beforehand, and my right leg ached, so I completed only 10.5 miles, although I took a full mile for my cooldown walk. Picked up my brother and his fiance from JFK in the evening. My cousin also arrived from Phoenix; they, my parents, and my aunt and uncle all went for dinner. Spanish food. Not bad.

Today was the funeral, with a simple graveside service. An unexpectedly large crowd showed up, including some cousins with whom I was not acquainted. I saw my great-grandmother’s grave for the first time; I remember her very faintly, and I recall that when she died, my grandmother covered the mirrors in her apartment with sheets. (My mother did the same thing at her house today.) They say this rabbi officiated at the funeral of Alan King.

Then came the first day of what is called “sitting shiva,” where a massive amount of food is laid on and guests are invited to come by and share happy memories. I saw many of my parents’ friends, some for the first time in years upon years. Josh sent a soup platter and other items, and Leah also sent a package of food despite sitting shiva for her own grandmother. Amazingly wonderful. Crystal and Finn (and Kevin) announced their intention to drive from Boston, which moved me tremendously, but I insisted that they not make the journey on my account, and that just their offer to do so meant as much to me as if they had made the trip.

In all, more than 30 of my friends have been in touch to support me through this – and Scott and Jansen came to the house today from the city, which really boosted me. Thank you to everyone for your love, comfort, kind words, and offers to help. It has been a very strange time, and I haven’t been sure what to say or what to think.

I did have one moment of clear thinking, on Friday, after I ran on the Minuteman Bikeway, with no iPod to distract me from the red, orange, and yellow leaves drifting gently down from the azure sky. It occurred to me that running was one way for me to leave all the tumult of the world behind and just go out into the distance, if only for a short while. My grandmother was dead, I thought. But for four more miles, I was alive.