Three times yesterday I found tears in my eyes. I don’t follow
the “real men don’t cry” Jesus like some blowhards, so I cried
slightly and wondered aloud Well, okay, now what’s this about?
I’m leaving in a few minutes for CrossFit class, working out
with people half my age. Half my age—that makes me double
them. They’ll keep track of their rounds and reps and arrive at
a final score, but I don’t keep score anymore. My goal’s to keep
up, but at times I do confess I quietly shift into my secret gear to
let them know I’m still here. Like a little wine, a little hubris works.
Mom called last night. She calls one night, I call the next. It’s our
routine now, life-after-Dad. She’d like to visit the cemetery where
we planted Dad but it’s an hour’s drive away along deadly curves.
I worry about her. I know the real Jesus said Don’t worry, but I do.
I said I’ll be there in a few weeks. Let’s go then. We’ll stay as long
as you want, Mom. She said Okay, that’ll work. Alright, goodnight.