I am 600 burpees in my Second Annual 100 Burpees a Day for Molly challenge. I will partake in this madness until I have done one burpee for every day Molly was earthside.
That would be 5,045 from her conception day to her unplug day.
Fifty days of 100 burpees and 45 burpees on Day 51.
This will bring me to May 21st.
I will do them through May 23rd.
That was MollyB the Musical day. Seems just right.
That means 255 extra burpees, which can represent all the moments in a single day I think about her.
So much of living with child loss is trying to find meaning in it. To make something good out of something so terribly bad.
This is one of the ways I honor Molly. It is also one of the ways I carry her.
I was at CrossFit today talking to Coach Ian about the burpees. His reflection was that I had taken a painful part of the terrible week that Molly died and made it purposeful and positive.
We all try so hard to make things feel better. “We” meaning those who have not lost a child.
I say many things to other moms who have lost children, but I never tell them to feel better. I share my experiences. I listen to their experiences. I attempt to give hope by using analogies that do not impose “feeling better” or “moving on” into the fabric of their journeys.
“Grief is like a blanket that you carry everywhere you go,” I often say.
“Some days it is wet and smelly and will not stay folded. You trip on it and it interferes with everything you do.” These are the bad days.
“Other days it is light and clean and easily folded. You can strap it onto your back and hardly notice.” These are the good days.
The key detail is that there is never a day you can put it down. It is something you carry, in some manner, forever. There are days now I can wear my blanket like a superhero cape or a toga. I feel that this is progress.
Ten years later
As we approach the end of year ten without Molly, emotions are high. An eternity and a millisecond both accurately measure these past ten years. In those early days I could not imagine living without her for a moment. I was in utter panic mode all the time.
I am accustomed to it now, this living without her reality. I do not like it. I still cry quite a bit. When I talk about her to others, I see that they do not remember as clearly or feel as strongly as they once did.
And I get it.
They have lived ten years of experiences since Molly died. A big part of me stopped right there. My entire relationship with Molly as her mother stopped on May 7th, 2016. No more stories, no more pictures, no more anything.
Why these burpees matter
So, these burpees. What is it about them that both hurt me and soothe me?
Well, I was doing 100 burpees a day when she died. I had started on her birthday. It was challenging and fun. I did them all over Amsterdam and The Netherlands. I did them next to dying Molly in the emergency room. Once we knew she would not wake up, I stopped doing them. I stopped doing a lot of things.
For a long time, I could not do burpees at all. Friends were doing 13 Burpees for Molly on the 13th of each month to honor her and support me. I could watch them. I could feel the love. But I could not do a burpee.
One day in class there were burpees in the workout. I managed to get through a couple and then my world caved in. I began to cry. Coach Jon Farwell just hugged me and continued to coach the class. I sat there and cried. He gave me alternative movements for burpees in workouts for months after that day.
Eventually I found my way back to doing burpees. Last year, as I realized we were coming up on year ten, I thought about doing the challenge again. I initially thought about doing it for a year, but about three weeks in, my wrists and shoulders began to yell at me.
So, I cooked up the “burpee a day for each day she lived” idea.
I like it actually. It gives me purpose. On the day I write this, I have done 600 burpees, which puts Molly on or about December 1st of 2005. A solid two-year-old. Pondering how old she is based on what burpee I am on provides structure for my memories.
It is soothing somehow. That physical pain to provide emotional relief sort of soothing.
Honoring Molly on a child loss anniversary
I look forward to doing my burpees in France, and any other countries we may visit while we are visiting Gracie. Burpees at Disneyland Paris. Love it!
I do not always know what to do when life sneaks up on me. I am a fly by the seat of my pants kind of gal. I do manage to ease my journey a bit, and for whatever reason, 100 burpees a day feels right somehow.
I am completing this blog a day later, creating a sort of journal entry feel to this missive. It is snowing out, which feels like a throat punch today. Maneuvering child loss is full of snowy day throat punches.
Ten Years After.
The name of a band, and the title of my life for the next 12 months.
So many metaphors and analogies and comparisons for me.
So many juxtapositions.
And, of course, that endless picket fence I so famously straddle.
