Out and Back

By Diane Strong

An out and back is a run that starts and ends at the same point. Along the way we are changed. In the end we are back where we started.

Amber runs every morning, bakes home cooked meals, and keeps a spotless house. She homeschools her children, grows an organic garden and milks her own goats. But Amber Stonewall is not perfect. She is a mother who fails, a wife who is unable to show affection, a daughter who is absent and a sister who knows it all. When her mom dies, it all slaps her in the face.

A diary-like glimpse into the thoughts of an obsessive running/fitness junky as she tries to deal with the death of her mother and other stressors life throws her way. Amber's daily jogs are the vehicle as she speaks to the reader much like writing a journal, with multiple flashbacks to her childhood in an attempt to grapple a family crisis back at her childhood home in Minnesota while her own personal dramas are unfolding at her small ranch in Kentucky.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diane Strong
• Release date: Apr 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476180991

Diane Strong

Diane Strong lives in Kentucky with her husband and their two children. She received a liberal arts degree at Itasca Community College, a Bachelors of Science in Psychology and Equine Studies from Rocky Mountain College in Billings, Montana and a Master’s degree in Veterinary Science from the University of Kentucky. She writes a small column for the Georgetown News Graphic and homeschools her children. In her spare time she competes in road races, triathlons and adventure races. She is the founder of the Georgetown Run Club and Intellectual Society. She loves what she does.

Book preview

Preface

I realize that this book reads like a true story but it is not. Any similarities to people places or things are purely coincidental. Seriously…this is a book of fiction.

This book wrote itself in four months. It did not edit itself however and for that I must thank the many first readers, especially Beth Dean for the painstaking work of correcting my grammar. I would also like to thank the most well-read man I have ever met, Riaz Dean, whom was my very first reader. If he had not said, I really liked it! I may never have bothered to edit it.

I would also like to thank my sister for designing the cover of this book and providing the inspiration for Leah. I am indebted to Rebekah Tilley for her thoughtful first reading, advice on self-publishing and priceless technical support, Jeannette Bracken who advised I make the lead character less of a Bitch and the various strangers who read and critiqued it honestly. Without the constant encouragement of my hardworking husband, Danny Strong and my mostly self-entertaining children, this book wouldn’t have gotten written- at least not outside the confines of a detention center.

I would also like to thank The Georgetown Run Club and Intellectual Society, you are my favorite people in the world and it is because of you all that I stay sane (or at least think that I do).

If you are familiar with my writing, you will be happy to see my humor throughout this book. The main character is very real and we can’t all be funny all the time. We must also be a bitch. I hope you love her and hate her as much as I do.

This book was inspired by the death of my mother.

According to Chris W. on Yahoo answers: An out and back trail brings you back to your start.

On the topic of bereavement, Hospice says: Each of us will take a different route. Each will choose his own landmarks. He will travel at his own unique speed and will navigate using the tools provided by his culture, experience, and faith. In the end, he will be forever changed by his journey.

Prologue

November 10, 2010

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Update Status: If you are the praying type, I’d appreciate you saying a prayer for my Mom…she is in the hospital . . .

November 12, 2010

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Update status: Mom has been downgraded to the ICU

November 14, 2010

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Update Status: The prayers seem to be working, Mom is making progress

It was a blur. I managed to pack and arrange for the pet-sitter and cancel appointments without thought. It just happened and I remember very little. I felt dazed.

On Thursday morning, I woke early so I could go for a run before we got on the road. I decided to be easy on myself and only go five miles. As I ran, I felt heavy and taxed, not at all normal for me. I struggled to get air between sobs. I tried to look into the eyes of the driver of each passing car. I wanted them to see I was crying, wanted to scream at them…tell them my Mom fucking died. She is gone. I had to stop multiple times, buckle over and catch my breath. But I had to run.

We drove half way, stayed at a cheap hotel. When we walked into the hotel room I couldn’t breathe. I was trying not to cry and it took my breath away. The urge to call her and tell her we were half-way home almost killed me. I always call right now. Who do I call now? Who cares that I am half-way home, I am off the road, safe, at a hotel?

I can’t cry in front of my children, I must be strong. I go to the bathroom and regain my composure.

At the hotel I have my first dream about her. I assumed she would come to me in dreams and tell me she loved me and life would be okay without her, but that's not the kind of dream it was. She was standing in the distance, smoking. She didn’t have her nose on, and she was grinning I think. Then her doctor walked up to her and swung a huge padded bat at her. It knocked her down, and she got right back up saying, ‘its okay’. Then he swung again, knocked her down and she slowly got up. He swung again and this time she only made it to her knees before he swung one last time. She didn’t get up. I stood by and watched, unable to speak.

The next morning I woke early, stared at the ceiling remembering the dream, trying to make sense of it.

How could this be happening? Just weeks ago I felt as if life could not get worse. The struggle to get our home sold before the bank took it back had taken over my life. The fear of going bankrupt, going back to square one had intensified my life to the point that nothing else seemed to matter. And then suddenly the swirling stopped and here I am staring at the ceiling of a cheap hotel.

I went for a run along the streets of the unfamiliar town. It was cold, but I felt nothing. I couldn’t breathe. The exhaust from the cars clogged my lungs. I ran in slow motion, trying to keep my normal pace and failing horribly. I do know that it is nearly impossible to hold back tears when you run. You either let it out in wails and keep running or you hold it in and stop for lack of oxygen. I chose to run.

Chapter 1

November 17, 2010

2:03 PMYes, ahh this is Betty, I am a nurse at Grand Itasca Medical Center. I am so sorry but your mother’s condition has changed dramatically, we need you to come down as soon as possible. …She just coded and the doctors are doing CPR on her now. Oh, god… I am so sorry. But I’m in Kentucky . . . Oh my, I thought I was calling Leah. I am so sorry. Your Mom, uh, she must have choked on her vomit, I was down the hall getting her feeding tube and she coded. She must have fallen because they are doing CPR on the floor right now. I am so sorry, so sorry.I can visualize Nurse Betty standing at the nurse’s station that I have never seen, frantically glancing between my mother’s room and her fingers that are continually winding the cord around her index finger. I picture her as petite, mid-forties. She is sweet, kind and honest. I have spoken with her numerous times over the last week, she’s been my mothers’ nurse nearly every day.I picture my mother’s bloated body being slammed against the hard tile of the hospital room floor. I imagine the nurses fumbling with the oxygen mask, not sure how to cover the crater that exists where her nose once was. Just that morning my brother told me Mom was--and I quote-- ‘not going to kick the bucket anytime soon, so you shouldn’t need to come just yet.’ She had made a turn for the better, she had a feeding tube, and she would finally get calories to nourish her screaming body. Those calories would heal her; she would slowly come back from the brink. Her hearing would come back, her eyes would heal from her cataract surgery, and she would regain her strength and be able to walk without collapsing. But death is never convenient is it? No. And mothers are not houses. You cannot put them up for sale when you have given-up on them.

While I was up to my eyeballs in my life back in Kentucky, my mother was dying in Northern Minnesota, without her youngest daughter there to tell her not to.

Despite the fact she was in the act of dying, my children still fought over a harmonica in my dining room, my house still sat for sale without an offer in over a year, my kids’ library books were still overdue, my laundry was still waiting for me and my dinner still needed to be made before my husband arrived home. And as pathetic as it sounds, in the back of my mind I was debating if there would be time to go for a run before I had to head north to Minnesota.

I run. It is who I have become. When I discovered running four years ago it came as a welcoming challenge. What started as five laps around a gym track has evolved into a daily ritual of five or six miles of which I cannot function without. It is my cocaine. I need my fix. I need to have my hour alone on the quiet country lanes with myself and my thoughts. I need to plan my day, untangle the messes in my mind, focus on my future and lately, try to fix my mom.

They say you should take rest days. They say you need a day off each week to allow the micro-tears in your muscles to heal. They are not dealing with a mother who is wallowing in her cancer, or kids who constantly fight or a husband who works too much. The last time I took a ‘rest day’ I felt edgy and irritable and unable to concentrate. I felt fat and bloated and guilty about everything I ate.

I need to run. If it is not for my health, than it is for my sanity and for the safety of those who surround me. And lucky for me I have been blessed with a husband who does not understand this desire to run, but none the less bends his schedule and enables me my vice without hesitation. He is the one constant in my life, unchanging, never judging, consistently a beacon in the night.

Chapter 2

Damn it Mother! I told you this would happen. I told you, you wouldn’t live to see Christmas. I told you! Why didn’t you listen to me? I was right. I told you. Now look at you, you’re gonna die. Damn it!

It all happened so fast. Late Sunday night she had fallen in the kitchen and as usual could not get up. Dad tried to help her but it ultimately took half an hour to get her off the floor. As usual, she hit her head.

On Monday Dad told me all about it. He sounded so desperate, as if he couldn’t do it anymore. He sounded spent. Normally he just sounds pissed-off at her. He gets pissed that she can’t remember things, that she doesn’t eat, that she drinks non-stop and falls down sometimes two or three times a day. He is pissed at himself for not being able to help her. But on Monday, he just sounded desperate.

I meant to talk to Mom after my Dad confessed the fiasco of the night before, but I knew she was trying to get ready to go to town with my Dad, and these days it took her a long time. I cut my conversation with Dad short without talking to her and immediately called Leah.

Leah still lives in my hometown, so does my brother but he is oblivious as to what my parents are doing or going through. Leah is stuck with many of the responsibilities involved with my parents, since I am a thousand miles away. Leah has committed her Tuesdays to my parents for over a year now, ever since my Mom went through radiation and needed someone to drive her to Hibbing once a week. Now she takes my Mom around town on Tuesdays to get her shopping and running done, then they have lunch together.

Recently Mom quit asking Leah to take her to the liquor store; she was tired of having to explain why she was buying ten bottles of liquor and mixes when she just purchased that much the week before.

Emotionally Leah was torn. She was resentful that she was losing vacation time in order to run Mom around. Not that she would ever be able to take an actual vacation that consisted of more than a few days; the newspaper couldn’t survive without her that long. Really, the vacation days would be lost if she didn’t use them. I think it was the lack of appreciation that bothered her most.

Each week Mom would eat less and less at lunch. All Leah could do was sit and watch. If she could have shoved the food down Mom’s throat, I think she would have.

When I phoned Leah at work and told her about the desperation in Dad’s voice she promised she would call me right back. She did. Together we decided that the following day would determine our ultimate plan. Assess Mom, insist that she call to make a doctors appointment ASAP in which Leah would accompany her and give her the choice of either coming to live with Leah, or go into a nursing home where they can make sure she eats.

In Kentucky, I got out my Grand Rapids phone book and started calling Nursing Homes and Human Services. As it turned out, in order for social security to pay for a Nursing Home, Mom had to be sent there by her doctor and only after spending two days in the hospital.

Convincing a doctor to admit my Mom would not be hard. My mother was sustaining herself on about 300 calories a day and most of them were from the margarita mix. A woman her size, all of five feet, requires 1,000 calories just for organ function. She was suffering the effects of malnutrition. Why her doctors hadn’t already admitted her was beyond me. Most likely, they didn’t know she was collapsing from weakness, vomiting half the time when she tried to eat, dealing with water retention in her legs that caused them to weep serous fluid. One good look at Mom and the doctor would admit her, I was sure of it. Mom just had to agree to the doctor’s appointment.Mom looked worse today than I have ever seen her. Leah says, And then she said she was in the mood for a burrito. I took her to Taco John’s and went through the drive-thru then sat in the car while she ate it. Leah’s voice gets serious now, I almost called 911, Amber. She took one bite and it was like her body was revolting against her. She started gagging and I couldn’t tell if she could breathe, I thought she was choking. Then she finally stopped and said it happens sometimes when she eats.I knew what she was talking about; I had been on the phone with Mom a few times when she started coughing, then gagging and had to hang up suddenly. It sounds horrible. What’s even more horrible is the thought of vomiting without a nose. Half of the vomit would come out the cavity where her nose once was. The tissue of the cavity was very sensitive adding to her misery.That was when I told her she had to come live with me. I told her that at least I would be there in the morning and evening to make sure she was eating.So what did she say to that? I say.She said no, she was afraid to be left alone. And I have to say I agree with her. She is so weak Amber. Leah pauses. I told her we had to go to see a doctor together then, and we were gonna tell him everything that is going on. She called while I was sitting there. We have an appointment Thursday.And guess what else Amber? She agreed to go into assisted living. It surprised me.

*

I finally spoke to my Mom on Wednesday.

Hello?

Mom?

Oh hi honey, She sounds trashed.

But lately that is the norm. I don’t think she is necessarily drinking more than usual, actually she is probably drinking less. It’s just that between the lack of calories and the narcotics, the alcohol is hitting her harder than ever. She sounds like a sleep deprived drunk.

Mom, you there?

Yeah honey

Leah wanted me to make sure you ate something, she said you promised you would eat tonight.

What? she says this with astonishment. No I dote have any halucin’tigent’tic drugs!

Huh? What the..? What the hell was that about?

No Mom, did you eat? Leah said you promised. Have you eaten anything?

Oh, naw. She says in a given-up, yet matter-of-fact voice.

She isn’t even bothering to add a ‘not yet’ or ‘I was just thinking about what to eat’, she is not making excuses anymore.

So ma, I’m glad you’re going to see your doctor with Leah. And I really think that going into assisted living for a while is a good move.

Yeah… Her voice is a honking hush. The nasal, hare-lip voice that has become hers.

I think Dad will be okay, Mom. He’s a big boy, he can handle being at home alone for a bit.

I def-in-ately think I should get a walker. E’veryone keeps telling me to get a walker. It would keep me from falling. And hitting my head. …I can’t keep hitting my head.

A walker? Yeah Mom, that sounds good.

At this point, I realize I have lost her. It has been gradual until now, but today she is not hearing me. She is having her own conversation and it’s confusing. I realize now that we waited too long.

Back home in Kentucky I went through my days as if nothing were wrong. It was hard to tell weather this was really the end or just another episode. So I busied myself with my life. I ran every morning, I got my kids up and fed them and prepared their schoolwork for them. I did my grocery shopping and kept up with the laundry. On Tuesday I went to my run club and didn’t even mention my mom’s situation. My run club was aware that my mother had cancer, but I didn’t want to think about it when I was with those friends, so I left them out of the details.

The kids knew there was something wrong with grandma…and with me. I was becoming more and more short with them. My morning runs were no longer enough to deal with the stress. I found myself craving an evening run which was impossible since Trent was at work. I was praying that no one would want to see my house, dreading a call from my realtor. Despite needing desperately to sell the house, I couldn’t bear the thought of preparing it for a showing.

I was craving my mother’s advice. I was wishing I had someone to talk to and she was the only voice I wanted to hear. But talking with her was not only unproductive, it was crippling to me

Reviews for Out and Back

[amywaters · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

It was mildly entertaining. Character is a lousy mother who is raising ungrateful brats. Don’t know if it was the transcriber or author but a lot of misspelling and grammar errors