The Taming of the Demons

Today is the Winter Solstice.  Here, in the Northern Hemisphere, it is the shortest day of the year.  Every day, beginning tomorrow, until the Summer Solstice six months now, there shall be an incrementally greater amount of daylight than there was the previous day. 

Mom died in early June 2017.  Six-and-one-half months later, I had done a less than stellar job of processing how I felt about her death.  Do not misunderstand.  I am not a complete moron.  I knew that I felt a profound sadness - far worse than anything I had ever felt - or have ever felt - about my father's death thirty-six years earlier.  Without my mother, I felt a bit adrift.  No Broadway impresario would ever put up the money necessary to mount a production of "Little Orphan Adam" when the "orphan" in question is a fifty-year-old man.  Nor should they.  I, for one, would not pay to see it. 

I happened to be at the beach two years ago on the Winter Solstice.  In 2017, the Winter Solstice fell on a Thursday.  Since I had to be in court in Toms River at 9:30 that morning for a Settlement Conference, I slept Wednesday night in Lake Como.  When I awakened Thursday morning, I went for a short run, heading south down Third Avenue into downtown Spring Lake before making a quick left turn out towards the boards and, thereafter, a second left turn that aimed me north towards home. 

My run began in the darkness, as my runs do more often than not, and the sun was beginning its ascent over the Atlantic Ocean as I headed north towards home.  As I ran north along the boards, the sun rose not only to my right but also behind me.  The sun rises farther south along the Jersey Shore in December than it does in July.  I could not help but notice - as I was running north - the number of people who were running across the sand in a southeasterly direction towards the sunrise.  Finally, after a couple of minutes, I stopped and turned around to see what it was that had captured their attention.  What I saw was, quite simply, jaw-dropping. 

   

Early morning is my favorite time of day.  When I run along the water, whether on the boards or on the beach, I take photographs of the sunrise.  While it is a phenomenon whose beauty I appreciate every time I see it, I am constrained to admit that its beauty varies from day to day.  I have yet to see a sunrise as spectacular as that which I saw that morning.  

Two years further on up the road from that spectacular sunrise, I am constrained to admit that I still have difficulty dealing with Mom's death in spite of now being two-and-one-half years removed from it.  I am resigned to the fact that my profound sadness regarding it may not in fact ever go away but, instead, through the dual elixirs of time and distance become less pronounced.  Grief as white noise if you will.  A little background music, perhaps, to serve as a musical accompaniment as I run along the water, fighting with and trying to tame my own demons.    

I, for one, welcome the company...

-AK