Livestrong

I'm off on another business trip this week. This morning I boarded the plane and waited to see who would be sitting next to me. A fellow about my age and about my build (tall and thin) sits down in the center seat. I politely worked on Sudoku puzzles for a portion of the flight before I began to talk to this guy, Luca. He's originally from Italy and has now lived in Vermont for about ten years. I inquired about the yellow "Livestrong" band he wore. Initially he simply noted that he was a five year cancer survivor, over time he told me bits and pieces about his ordeal and treatment. As the conversation evolved we found we shared a passion for cycling. We talked about bikes, gear, rides, and racing. I have the "American's" perspective of bike racing which is mostly limited to knowledge about the Tour de France. Luca had a more extensive knowledge about the entire racing season and the competitive riders in Europe.

I described the Five Boro bike ride through New York City. Robin and I had done it a couple of years in a row, then last year I rode it with my brother Corry and friend Larry. Dad missed out on it and has been training to ride it this year (actually next weekend).

The conversation has been flowing very smoothly until this point. I try to tell Luca that my wife Robin died from cancer. Nothing comes out of my mouth. Tears start welling up and I'm sunk. I try several times to start to talk. I'm sure Luca is a bit confused now - he's thinking "what's going on with this guy??"

This is the second time in a month that I'm speechless. It's harder this time. Luca has no idea what's happened to my speech center and motor functions, nor could he guess the history behind it. He's now staring straight ahead with a vague expression on his face, but I can tell that he is listening. I can't imagine the confusion in his head, and then as I begin to communicate, how do the thoughts come together for him as a cancer survivor? Last summer I was on a similar flight to Florida and spoke to a man with a Livestrong wristband, but I never told him my history. Here was the opportunity being presented to me again.

Over a matter of two or three minutes I mumble and spew and get some words out about how my wife had died and I sometimes have trouble talking about it. I still have tears in my eyes, but then I start talking about the details. The dates, the doctors, what we guessed, what we knew, Once I get going with the details the grieving symptoms disappear. Once I begin communicating again Luca's face softens and my words flow.

Why have these symptoms reappeared so strongly now? I feel like I used to be so good about talking and telling the story. Suddenly it feels like I'm completely out of shape. Like a marathon runner who has taken six months off from the sport and suddenly decides to go out for a long run, I feel emotionally atrophied.