A Very Bad Time

Dear Readers,

What am I going to do about this time?

Beau died four weeks ago today, a Monday at 6:30 a.m. As if Monday mornings weren’t tough in general, I now wake up and feel sick. This morning, I forgot for a few minutes, yet I still felt awful. My body knew even when my brain didn’t. There’s no escaping it.

I had a dad at 6:29 a.m. and one minute later I did not.

A lifetime ago, I was obsessed with another time on the clock.  Actually, on a stopwatch.

Twenty-three seconds. That’s how fast I needed to swim the 50 freestyle in order to get the school record, make Senior National in 1986 and qualify for the Olympic Trials in 1988. I fixated on that time for four years of college–23 seconds on my mind for 1,400 days. Needless to say, I am very good at fixating on time.

So your timely response would be much appreciated.

Love,

Gal

One Comment Add yours

  1. frangipani says:

    23 seconds!! Wow!!
    6.30 am on Monday morning: suggest a 1-minute meditation on what your father meant to you. Be at peace.

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