Melissa on my mind

I've spent the last couple days here in L.A. thinking about Melissa. Of course, I'm out here on my way to the 1/2 marathon I'm running in her memory. It's been a very gratifying four months of training and raising funds for the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation of America. I am honored to have been able to raise more than $5,000 that will go toward research that aims to cure these diseases and to programs that support children and adults suffering from them. As long as I knew Melissa, she would say that she wanted  to help make sure that others wouldn't have to go through the pain and anxiety ulcerative colitis caused in her life. She donated to CCFA when she was alive and through the donations of all of her friends and family, she is donating after she has gone.

Melissa's memory is with me every day. Just about everything in our house bears the stamp of a shared memory with melis. Even the things that are indisputably mine and not Melissa's bear the stamp. The set of Warner Brothers character drinking glasses that Carlos, Gina, and I collected when we were kids, sit in the kitchen cabinet and were used more often that the Macadoo's glasses she collected. The pictures I took in the high mountains of Peru and framed in what Melissa thought were terrible color choices for matting have hung on our walls for years. They remind me of the compromises one makes -- we made -- when we intertwined our lives.

These couple examples of things that are indisputably mine and not Melissa's are by far the exception. After 11 years together, just about everything has a story that involves Melissa and me. The "Regulator" was a wedding gift. We tried out the chimes when we first got it, but decided we wanted our time pieces to be silent in the house. It has had a prominent place in all the places we've lived. The martini glasses remind me of the trip to Ireland and our tour of the Waterford Crystal factory. We watched one of the glass blowing artists etch his initials on the base of each glass. The list goes on and on.

Here in L.A., the week before the race, I'm feeling added nostalgia. Maybe it's because these aren't my regular routes anymore. This is still a place we used to be together; where we started our life together. When we left to go back home to Virginia, there was no cancer; no death. Since Melissa died I have been creating new memories in a world without her. I haven't had much time here to make memories post Melissa. Everything is still as it was.

Yesterday I walked down the steep steps at the end of Knob Hill in Redondo Beach and looked at the volleyball court where I used to play. Melissa would ride her bike 12 miles to meet me there. After we were done playing, I'd carry her bike up the stairs and she'd carry the chair I'd brought for her to sit on. I've run past Martha's 22nd Street Grill four times. It's a breakfast place half a block from the sand in Hermosa Beach. It was one of our favorite places to take our visitors. It was part of the standard Bealanoza visitor's package. The package also included a sunset bonfire at Dockwiler Beach. I've driven by there a couple times, too, this week. I look down at the fire pits and think about how much Melissa wanted our visitors to have that experience when visiting us. Visitor prep always included a trip to Ralphs for a bundle of wood, hot dogs, hershey bars, marshmallows, and graham crackers.
 

Two days ago I walked around LMU's campus, where we lived for a couple years. I walked out to the bluff to take in the million dollar view we once had from our apartment. The same walk we took together the last time we came back to L.A. to visit. El Pollo Inka, LAX, our old condo. . . the list goes on and on.

I've done the physical training, but I feel as if in these couple of days I'm filling up my tank of emotional strength that I'll need for the race. At times during training I've used Melissa's image as a motivational tool. When I get tired or feel myself slouching or looking down, I lift my shoulders, look out in front of me and picture Melissa riding her bike, looking back, smiling and encouraging me to keep going. That image always makes me smile and gives me an extra push. Being here has helped to strengthen some of those memories that give the image life. There is no doubt in my mind I'll need that image on Sunday.