Dancing With the Limp
An invitation to run for moms.
When I lost my mom, grief entered my life in a permanent way. I became deeply acquainted with something I had no clue how to navigate. Ten years later, still clueless, practices are the placeholders for answers. Ten anniversaries of her death. And this weekend, ten Mother’s Days. Grief affects us even when we act like it doesn’t.
Anne Lamott said “you learn to dance with the limp.”
“You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly — that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”
–Anne Lamott
You learn to dance with the limp! Surely, you have to. I remember faking a limp in primary school to get a girl’s attention. It didn’t work, and I’m pretty sure I gave up after the first bell rang. Like any adversity, you can use it as an attention seeker, or you can hide it which will sneak up to you and get you unwanted attention, or you can learn to dance with it.
It’s become a practice, those days that remind me of someone I lost. Mom’s birthdays and Momo’s too.
I run.
I exercise.
I spend time in nature.
I visit the cathedral of the forest.
I do the things that would translate into a conversation they’d enjoy: something that tells them that I’m still taking care of myself. That I’m fighting for my own wellbeing, in a way they can’t.
I imagine myself, somewhere in an afterlife I don’t believe in, watching the people I love. I imagine them doing something good for themselves. Doing something healthy. That’s all I would ever want. I’d love to see them take a run, a walk, admire a flower, and it probably wouldn’t hurt if they got a little treat.
Want to run with me?
It’s Mother’s Day on Sunday. I’ll be running for my mom. Or... with my mom? I’ll be on the Sunshine Coast if anyone else happens to be around and wants to join me. It’ll probably be about 10km. And if you’re not there, join me from wherever you are. Do something for yourself, something that would feed a good conversation with your mom.
Grief, the limp we didn’t want, teaches us to move with it. Not always gracefully or even willingly, but with intention. So on Sunday, I’ll run. Not to escape the feelings but to work through them. To let them breathe beside me. And if you’re grieving, or just feeling the ache of absence, maybe you’ll move a little too. Take a walk. Take a run. Or whatever running means to you. Watch the light change. Call your mom if you can. Or don’t. Just... be kind to yourself. That’s the dance.
With love,
Andrew, Yaya, & Boo
Thank you for this Andrew. I have my Mom still, who will be 94 this month but she has dementia. It’s not easy to see 24-7 . Like other comments my greater pain was from losing my only sibling to cancer about 3 years ago. I have phases I go thru but lately I’m still in the phase where if I think of him I can’t help but to cry. My Dad also passed with cancer 15 years ago. He died in my arms and I was mentally ill for a long while after. I finally started to exercise also- hitting a punching bag with all my strength to Rage Against the Machine, and this helped . Only - I wasn’t able to kill cancer and when my brothers cancer struggle made him too weak to walk or finally eat- my running with Foo Fighters blaring in my ears only helped me tho I wanted to walk and run for him. I’m proud of you and all that you do and write and share with your followers. I love to read about Boo, And Yaya and I still love Momo with you . Your books are in my dog shrine with other very important dog related treasures. I’m sorry for your losses and I treasure my border collies with every cell in my body. Is that ok in the same sentence ?
Not sure it is but I bet you understand. Hoping to meet you someday . I love you and wish you well always.
Sandy
This is lovely Andrew, thank you. I lost my mom 5 years ago which was hard, but my greatest grief has come from losing my sister 2 years ago to breast cancer. She would join you for sure on your 10K run on the sunshine coast as a long time marathoner and Vancouverite. I will think of you both running on Sunday....