Boy, it’s strange when the rollercoaster comes to that sudden stop at the end of the ride. You know the feeling: you’ve built up to the climb, there’s the whoosh and excitement and then…with a force that makes your head jerk, it stops. And you’re left trying to focus. Out of breath. I didn’t realize I’d been holding it until it was too late. And then I was in trouble.
 
If you follow me on Twitter (first of all, thank you) you know there was a bit of a grief moment yesterday. I tweeted this, then was told my esthetician was ready. (This screen grab is from about six hours later.)
 

 
I followed a lovely young woman into a small dimly lit room. Then just as the door was closing I heard a guitar lick. I asked if I could stop for a sec and listen. Sure enough, there it was: Let it Be. A message from our Beatles-obsessed daughter to her equally obsessed mother? Perhaps, I thought. Perhaps.
 
Well, that was enough to open the flood gates. The lady who would be with me for the next 90 minutes for a facial and massage could not have understood, but I sat up on her table as the soft spa music drowned out the sound of Paul McCartney’s voice and I buried my face in a small towel and started to sob – something that’s never happened in a spa or anywhere else that wasn’t a “safe” space before.
 
Startled, she said, “What happened? Are you okay?” 
 
I tried to explain to her that I had been holding myself together for a very long time but all of a sudden things hit me. Our daughter had died. We were trying hard to stay happy but we were with our grandson and…and…and….
 
How do you sum up three years of highs and lows to a perfect stranger who’s seven months pregnant, just doing her job and sees this woman break down in her peaceful little room? 
 
Part of this, I know, was the sudden stop. I know the ride starts up again very soon (off to the Markham Stouffville Hospital Celebration of Hope on Sunday and then Halifax for another event Tuesday) but I’ve been finding since leaving the constant, high wire act of live radio, when I turn it ON for several hours, I come down hugely.
 
The void that leaving radio has left in me just seems to get bigger and more extreme. I miss it more than I am willing to admit sometimes, so when it’s over, it just seems abrupt. Weird, I know. But at least I know what it is when it hits and why…and that helps!
 
Tomorrow – something was missing in Toronto this week. But it’s not too late to make it better; there are a still a few days left.