This morning, I will go for a gentle three-mile run. And I will think of my dad.
I began my running career with my dad when I was thirteen years old. It’s been over four decades since then, and I still run. Not as far and not as fast, but I am filled with gratitude that I am still able to lace up my shoes and go.
I fondly remember how my dad and I would go run after dark, when the Eastern Nebraska heat and humidity of summer had cooled just a bit. I remember running around the Lincoln Country Club and on the charming nearby streets. I remember running on the MoPac trail after we moved, following my mom’s death. I would run ahead a bit, then turn around and run back to my dad. Now it is my kids who sometimes run ahead, turn around, and run back to me.
I remember that my dad really didn’t like running. I knew he had to run during his many years in the Marine Corps; I suspect he kept running because it helped him stay in shape.
I remember the time we each signed up for the Diet Pepsi 10 K. We started together, then after I finished, I began looking for my dad. I found him several minutes later…in the first aid tent. He had gotten overheated, and I remember feeling afraid for him. He was okay, thank goodness.
When he began developing the symptoms of dementia a few years ago, I remember feeling resolute. It was his mom’s final years with dementia that inspired my desire to do dementia differently. Thanks to what the DAWN Method taught me, we got it right in my dad’s journey.
I will miss my dad tomorrow, and I will remember him as I run.
