Fireworks

A few months before Mark died, I got a bone density test. I’d had one before and the results weren’t stellar since thin, crumbling bones is the card that was dealt to the women in my family. I had been avoiding another scan for too long until my doctor insisted on it and the results were borderline osteoporosis. This raised all the flags and I was written a prescription for a bone building med. Because I dabble in drama, I immediately spiraled into despair as I pictured myself as the female version of Quasimodo who was going to spend her golden years looking at filthy floors because she was unable to lift her head.

Mark did more than dabble in facts and immediately got on the case. Part of his job was to facilitate med student discussion groups where a topic was assigned and the students were supposed to find research on it and advise a protocol. He assigned his group osteoporosis and told them his wife was pretty close to having it so he needed some good published papers to reference. After that he came home and told me that based on the research of the med students and a discussion with his friend, Joe, I should take the prescription. I presented my own research that showed that the drugs could cause necrosis of the jaw and how did he think I’d look without a jaw. Mark asked, “How long did it take you to find the one case where someone’s jaw died,” and with the confidence of an acclaimed Google Researcher I said, “Long enough to make me not want to roll that dice.”

I kept on doing my own fact finding and all of it said that exercise and supplements was the best way to build bone. On my breaks at work I’d do a couple of loops around the campus, I only took the stairs in my building, up and down three flights several times a day, and then I’d walk after dinner every night to get my 10,000 steps. Though he never said it, I think Mark looked at walking as being kind of lame for a manly man like him who started and ended every day in a spandex outfit, and so he’d say, “Have a good walk,” and keep watching cable news and screaming at the t.v about Trump. But one day he came home and told me about some research he’d read that showed walking to be great exercise for cognitive health and he started joining me after dinner. I loved those walks as we talked about everything under the sun for a quick 30-40 minutes around the park and through the neighborhood. It made it go by so fast and it didn’t seem like exercise but our own little staff meeting every night.

On the weekend before Mark died the one thing we kept doing throughout was walking. Our walks were longer and a bit slower than usual, there were some heartbreaking revelations that made us both stop and look at each other, there was understanding mixed with utter confusion about things I did not know, there was quiet and unspoken love. One night I checked my Fitbit to see how close I was and if we needed to walk further or head for home and Mark said to me, “Don’t you love it when you hit it and the fireworks go off?” Mark never lost his boyish wonder at those kinds of simple things and I miss that so much.

After Mark died, I took my Fitbit off and put it in a drawer. I’d walk to clear my head and look for my husband who must have lost his way on his bike and needed to find me so I could show him the way back home. Achieving 10,000 steps in a day and the density of my shitty bones were the least of my problems.

A few weeks ago I opened the drawer, took my Fitbit out and charged it. I strapped it on my wrist, put my gym shoes on, and headed out the door. Since then I’ve worn it daily and have only reached my goal once which isn’t so important to me at least for now. I look back at Mark’s last summer here and and wonder if meeting my goal every day was something I was doing for myself or to give Mark a reason to be proud of me. It’s one of those dumb insecurities I have now that circle round and round when I know we were always proud of each other and said so often.

I walk now in search of a new life I never wanted and try to find some pride in the way I am doing it. Some days I can see it and some days not, but in every single one of those steps is the prayer that I will have fireworks again in my life.

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