November 2, 2013

Marathon training

Week twelve, day four


Last week I was cleaning out my desk at work and packing up my personal things to take to my new job. My “office” at the courthouse was a cubicle, so I only had one box of stuff to take and lots of trash. I figured the new writ attorney wouldn’t need some green tea of indeterminate age or twelve slightly crumpled Eatzi’s napkins. I reached to the back of one drawer and my fingers closed around what I thought was a packet of hot chocolate mix.


I pulled out the packet and saw it was covered with Japanese writing, and tears immediately sprang to my eyes. It seemed like only a few months ago, but it must have been a few years ago, before Angi got sick. Tony and I went over to have homemade sushi at her and Joel’s house and we started with miso soup. We got to talking about it and Angi told me she had instant miso soup that she often made at work when she was a little hungry in the afternoons. I thought that sounded like a good idea, and she insisted on giving me a packet. I promised I would let her know how I liked it. Obviously, I threw it in my drawer and forgot about it.


It made me wonder what else I forgot. Did I tell her how much I envied her positive outlook on life? Did I tell her that her courage inspired me every day? I know I told her I loved her, but did I tell her often enough?


I wish I could tell her these things now. I wish I could tell her that she has inspired me to do things that scare me. I wish I could tell her that even though her smile no longer lights up the room, it still lights up my mind. I wish I could tell her that at mile fourteen today, I was tired and wanted to stop, but I thought of her and ran those last two miles.


I must have held that stupid soup packet in my hand for a full minute, trying to convince myself to throw it in the trash. It’s not Angi and it’s not even my memories of her. But still, I wasn’t quite ready to let it go. I tucked it in my box between my tattered Bluebook and a picture from our trip to Rome. I’ll let it go someday. Just not today.


I miss you, Bubbles. I still miss you so damn much.

About Elizabeth

Running and thinking about life one step at a time.
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