A Parent’s Legacy

On Saturday I ran a half marathon. It was my fifth one, but each race is different. It had been a year and a half since my last half marathon and up until 11 weeks ago I had no plans to run another race of that distance. But than I heard about this race and what it was all about. Before I tell you the name of the race, I want to share with you the cause; because the catchy race name is not what drew me in. This inaugural race was founded by the daughter of a man who committed suicide two years ago. All money raised would go to a local organization/charity by the name of “Joe Was Just Joe,” named for another family’s son, who also committed suicide. http://joewasjustjoe.com/index.html The organization spends its money and time toward educating teenagers and young adults about suicide prevention. We’ve all had bad days, but imagine, and maybe you don’t even have to, if that day was so bad, or one of many so bad days that you believed the only thing that could make you happy again was if you were dead. 

People ask why I run and the answer is always the same. Because I can. Because, I have legs, because I am healthy, because I want to be healthier, because I feel great when it’s done, because I want to be a positive role model for my kids, and all kids, because I’m alive. Honestly, I run because I can. Because my body and mind are able to. So, on those training days I didn’t feel like running, because there are always days like that I thought about the cause of the race I was training for and I thought about how depression makes the simple task of getting out bed feel like you have a ton of bricks sitting on your chest making it impossible to get out bed. I ran because I could.

After spending two weeks on the injured list and not running, due to bruised ribs, and feeling a cold coming on the night before the race, I woke up early and went to run for all those whose lives were lost to suicide. I thought about the people who fought through depression by lacing up running shoes, or those who were running their first race or first half marathon that day and I showed up at the starting line.

I could tell you about how my knee started hurting at mile 8, or how I almost forget to pin my race number on, but instead I want to tell you about the woman I ran beside for just a short while whom I will always associate with this race. The back of her shirt said she was running in memory of her father, who likely had committed suicide. She motioned that she wanted to pass me and I said, “Go ahead you have more inner strength than I do.” She replied, “I’m not sure about that.” I smiled and said, “Your shirt tells me you do.” and she smiled back. I caught up to her just a few steps later and asked her if she minded if I asked her a question about her dad, she nodded. I asked her is she thought her dad would be proud of her or think she was crazy for running a half marathon. Now, this may sound like a rude question to you, but many people who do not run think runners are crazy, especially long distance runners. She smiled and said “he would be proud, definitely proud” of her. She then went on to share with me that he lived in La Crosse and was a runner who had run on this very same trail many times. I said, “Yes, he would be very proud then.” She said many of his nieces were running as well. My comment was, “It’s his legacy.” She smiled and her eyes lit up, I think she liked the sound of it. We went our separate ways, but she left me thinking about my own mother and how I consider her writing to be her legacy and I thought about how I hadn’t posted to this blog in a long time and for the next mile or so I thought about how I wanted to get back to writing more; for my mom. After the race was over I saw several people wearing a shirt that matched hers and they piled into a van (or SUV) with a Minnesota license plate…..they honored her dad by driving to run a race near where he lived to run on the same ground on the same trail he had run years before.

Oh and the name of the race? Mini Donut Half Marathon, named for Oly who according to his family (the organizers of the race) was at his happiest when he was making and selling mini donuts.

My Head is All Blogged Up

I haven’t posted a blog in quite awhile, not from a lack of ideas though. My mind has a continual blog running through my mind. How it doesn’t all get typed up is beyond me.

I went to a Volunteer Appreciation breakfast this morning. I love volunteering and I love being appreciated, I also happen to love The Parenting Place (enough to bake for their silent auction two years running now), so I was excited to attend. They had a great inspirational and to me, motivating speaker, which is probably what is leading me to writing tonight. She calls herself a personal historian, you can hire her to interview you, and she’ll write your story, memoir, or family history for you. I love the idea of this, but I’d miss out on the writing portion of the project. It’s true I haven’t written in awhile, and I have missed it.

I think about the power of the written word, especially in its handwritten state and that is the one thing my blog is lacking, but when I began the blog I told myself that I would still try to journal and take notes on my kids’ great words using pen and paper.

Beside the dishes I use every day and the photographs hanging, my favorite inheritances from my mom are the thoughts and words she put to paper using a pen, most often a fountain pen, and later in life the fountain pen she bought during our trip to Australia.

The speaker this morning gave us questions to get “in the mood” for talking about our family history. I didn’t verbally share too much, but I sure enjoyed the thoughts that were triggered in my mind.

Think of a relative who has died who you would love to learn more about. Why do you want to know more from or about this person? What questions would you ask this person if you could and why? A sense of relief washed over me when I thought about the poems, diaries, and journals I have of my mother’s. What a relief that I can read her deepest thoughts and feelings. I guarantee you that before I go to bed tonight I will read some of them. She always liked to ask questions like, what have you learned from me? What do you remember from when you were younger? As I get older I find myself asking those very same questions.

Shortly after her diagnosis of lung cancer I took these questions to heart and collected many stories about her from friends, family and her colleagues and what I came up with was a wonderful book to give her for Hanukkah that year. I treasure this book, especially for the stories from people I have never met, the stories that I shake my head reading and think to myself, yep that was my mom. I am so thankful to not only have these stories for my children, but also to have been able to have given them to her. That book was right up there with in the top 5 best gifts I’ve ever given her; I’m pretty sure her two grandchildren would be numbers one and two.