Today is the Winter Solstice in the Northern Hemisphere. It is the first day of winter. It is the shortest day of the year - in terms of daylight. It is also the first step on the journey towards summer. From today to the Summer Solstice six months from now a minute or two of daylight shall get added to every day. A minute or two of daylight. An elixir for the soul.
I wrote what follows here on this date two years ago. All hail the Winter Solstice - the first step on the road to summer. I shall defer to Wilma, the Keeper of All Things Righteous at the Shore, to calculate how many days it is until Memorial Day. After all, I went to law school in significant part to stay away from hard math.
Enjoy your Solstice...
-AK
Monday, December 21, 2020
I Shall Not Ever Forget
And those you are with
In the presence of miracles,
You never forget.
- Bruce Springsteen
"Born to Run"
I spent the back half of 2017 processing the death of my mother. Everyone grieves in his own way. On what proved to be the final day of Mom's life, I wailed and bawled uncontrollably for several minutes - sitting as I was in my living room - after saying good-bye to her for the last time. A few hours later, Jill and I were on our way to Florida, in Delaware if memory serves, when Kara telephoned to tell us Mom had died. There were additional tears shed in Florida. Of that much I am certain.
Once we returned home though, the trajectory of my grief had changed. I am my father's son in certain respects, including the internalization of bad, terrible, and truly horrible things. Unlike my father, my method for expelling the demons that get pent up inside me is running. I spent a considerable amount of time that summer and fall running. It turned out that the training required to run the Marine Corps Marathon in mid-October and, thereafter, the New York City Marathon on November's first Sunday, both of which I had committed to months prior to Mom's death, proved to be therapeutic.
In the weeks following the New York City Marathon, I ran more often than typically did following a long race. I found comfort in the repetition of the sound of my footsteps as I ran. I also found humor in the words of my great friend, Dave Lackland, who buried first his father and then his mother, in less than two years' time with his mom's death preceding Mom's by less than six months. When I talked to Dave for the first time after Mom died, he noted that he and I were now both orphans. As if recognizing that "orphan" is an odd word to use to describe a fifty-year-old man he quickly added, "Not like Orphan Annie or anything. Not the cute kind." I laughed when he had said it and, thereafter, any time I thought about it it made me laugh (including writing it right here).
The Winter Solstice 2017 occurred on a morning that I had to be in the Ocean County Courthouse for a Settlement Conference at either 9:00 am or 10:00 am. I spent the night before in Lake Como, which shaved 2/3 of the time off of my drive to Toms River. That morning, before sunrise, I set off for a run.
I ran south through Spring Lake and then headed north to home running on the boards in Spring Lake. As I ran, lost in thought, I was taken by the number of people running towards the boards and the beach in a southeasterly direction. It was just about sunrise.
Being a bit slow on the uptake and more than a bit stubborn I broke neither my stride nor my north-fixed gaze until the twelfth person or so ran across my vision field. When I turned my head to look out towards the water, I saw what each of them had hastened to the beach to see...
Winter Solstice 2017
Spring Lake, New Jersey
Winter Solstice 2017
Spring Lake, New Jersey
Standing on the beach in Spring Lake, looking upon the splendor of that sunrise, I was by myself but I was not alone. At that moment and at that point in time, I felt Mom. She loved the ocean and made certain that she lived the final two decades of her life 1/10 of a mile from it in Jupiter, Florida. I stood there and realized she was right beside me.
Same as she had always been. Same as she shall always be.
I shall never forget. Neither shall she.
-AK
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