A Space for Grief

coming to terms with change and loss

Dear Friends,

The newsletter took a back seat this past month. My mind went to other places, and I took a breather from my self-imposed movie of the week project. So far in 2026 I’ve seen 20 new releases in the theater, all directed by women. I do think I’ll get around to a recap post on those films very soon.

There are two film projects that have been absorbing my energy of late. One is In The Long Run, a running feature I’m creating with two marathoners, Erica and Susan. We did some filming last week and I’ll share a sneak peek of that with you soon. The other is a slice-of-life in 1993 NYC feature I’ve written called A Lovely Romance. I am beginning to share it and bring people in to get it made.

Something else came up at the end of May: the third anniversary of being hit and nearly killed by a speeding motorbike. At 7:31pm on May 27, 2023, as I was coming to the end of a vigorous 18-mile run, I was struck by a speeding electric moped as I was crossing the bicycle lanes into Prospect Park. The collision was fierce and the motorbike flipped me over. I saw the sky and hit the ground very hard. There was no walking away from the incident. The rider kept the moped upright and fled the scene.

Within moments I felt overall I was OK. The shock reduced the pain, and I never blacked out or felt dizzy. I had the wherewithal to have someone call Susan and gave them her number. I looked a mess: there was a lot of blood on my head and a group of concerned bystanders. Quickly the cops arrived and an ambulance came. The paramedics put me on a stretcher with my neck in a brace, and drove me to the local hospital. I had a nasty gash above my eyebrow, a fractured wrist, a chipped tooth, a sprained ankle, and a lot of road rash, but none of this required an overnight stay. Within three weeks I was running again, and then I spent the next two and half years trying to get back to where I was prior to being hit.

A month before the collision I had raced my fastest marathon. I felt terrific. Because of my running practice, I have very measurable benchmarks of fitness as I typically race a dozen times a year at all kinds of distances. At first, my race times were somewhat comparable. The problem, though, was after any really hard training or race-day efforts, I was wiped out and took a significantly longer time to recover than I had previously. Yet, I never adjusted my approach and kept trying to train the way I was used to doing with so much success.

I persisted in the same pattern for a long time until finally, this past March, I struggled to race a half marathon on a course I’d had great success with before and knew well. The day after, I finally came to accept that I was not the same runner as I was before and would have to change my approach to running.

As May 2026 came to a close, and I reached the third anniversary of the collision, I felt dislocated and depressed. It was Susan’s insight, really, not even my own, that helped me recognize I was still coming to terms with this event and its aftermath. It had taken me almost three years to accept that I would never be the same, physically or mentally. I was grieving for the version of myself lost on that day.

I wrote this for myself to understand better what I was experiencing, and I share it with you because grief is worth acknowledging. Change is inevitable. Loss is inevitable. Grief is inevitable. Sharing it with each other honors what it means to be human.

With love,

Josh

In the hospital that night.

At home the day after.

At the Queens 10K three weeks later.