March 11

I did something different today. I hit things. Balls, to be exact.

I am not what you would call athletically inclined, but something got into me tonight. Whether it was the Holy Spirit or the Devil, I’m not sure, but I stood in the batting cage for half an hour straight, swing after swing, hitting baseball after baseball. I didn’t think about anything else, except that small white thing flying at me and how good it felt to smack it away. But good isn’t the right word…it was euphoric. The rage normally trapped between my ribs, pinballing between my bones, didn’t have a place to go. It’s been seething inside me, my temper rising every day, until now. I was able to release, drive it from me, wind it up, and force it out with every swing. Until tonight, I never knew what it was like to hold a metal bat, have it reverberate in my hands off a hit. That vibration spread through my veins like a gong in a Buddhist temple. It was both violent and calming.

In bed tonight, I’m too tired to remember how sad and angry I am. And after these last few weeks, I’m glad for the reprieve, even if it means I worked up a sweat. At least I’m not fighting my tears tonight. Besides, there’s no crying in baseball, right?

#Grief #RaymondStGeorge #TheTurf #SmashedIt #ALeagueOfTheirOwn