Grace of the day.
Today, I took a walk with my daughter, the long loop up the hill to the cemetery, along the railroad tracks to Main Street, then down to the post office and home again. It was just the two of us and the dog. My son was already off at school, the first week of his freshman year of high school. How grateful I am that she was happy to join me when I suggested it, and that she didn’t mind slowing her pace, her cross country league champion pace. Even though we weren’t running today, she naturally would have walked faster than me, especially because my knee has been bothering me. I haven’t known quite what to think about my knee. It’s been swollen and stiff and painful, something I’ve never experienced before. When I Google, “swollen, stiff, painful knee” one of the first things that pops up is arthritis. Could it be arthritis? Am I getting to the age when chronic conditions suddenly materialize? When something that never bothered me before becomes painful overnight and from this day on forever?
It also could be Runner’s Knee. I have been jogging for more than a year now with few problems. It’s possible that something finally went wrong there.
If I had to choose, I’d choose Runner’s Knee, because it seems like that usually gets better, according to Dr. Google, while arthritis is just something you have to learn to live with.
By day’s end, my knee hurt a little less, maybe? I didn’t think about it every step I took, anyway, so that was progress. And there is a gift from this unfortunate knee problem: A newfound empathy for people with chronic knee pain. I understand in a real way now how this kind of pain could be so debilitating. I see how scary it could be.
It was a beautiful summer day, a beautiful slow walk. The dog rolled in the dirt and tinted his cream colored fur red. He found a stick and carried it all the way home. We stopped and picked blackberries. We got enough to make a berry cobbler.
As hard as I try, I can’t forget that these ordinary walks with my daughter are numbered. She leaves for college next month. Sure, she’ll come home and we’ll walk this path together again. I know, though, that it won’t be the same.
I treasure these late summer days. Every walk. Every step. This now. Before I have to let her go.
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