Unfinished Business

One of the many random thoughts that have come to me since my Dad passed away on Thursday, is how grateful I am that there was no “unfinished business” between us. No unresolved anger. No hurt feelings that still smart. No long period of silence that was never breached. We had celebrated my son’s birthday together just last week, and he sent me that heartfelt poem the very morning that he died. So, I can grieve his loss and mourn his passing without guilt or major regrets.

Still, as I go through these raw days, I am finding some loose ends that tug at me:

  • the baseball cap I got for him when my son wrestled in a tournament at his alma mater a few weeks ago, that I was saving for Father’s Day.
  • the baseball cap we just ordered for him for my son’s spring lacrosse season.
  • the stories that I wish I’d heard him tell, or listened to him tell again.
  • the many, many more times I wish I’d said, “I love you, Dad.”
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Pounding It Out

Running Through Grief

I needed a change of scenery today. I also was up for a challenge. Ever since the Wilson Bridge Half Marathon was inaugurated last year, I have been intimidated by the thought of running across the bridge. From my usual vantage point at the park where I start my long runs and finish with stretching, the bridge looks long, with a long, steep incline.

(Sorry, my iPhone doesn’t do very well with scenery in the distance.)

From my experience driving across the bridge, I know that the pedestrian path has steep switchbacks over the highway.

(source)

But, I was up for a challenge. The weather was awesome–upper 50’s–and I was able to leave my jacket at home for the first time since winter began. As I started my run I noticed the wind, and wondered if maybe that was a good reason not to run across the bridge today, but I decided not to be deterred.

As I neared the bridge, I was hoping for some signage to make sure I got on the right path, since I knew that there were paths to scenic lookouts on this side of the river. Luckily, there was this guidance on the path:

For part of the path, it is separated from the highway by the sound barrier walls:

(source)

You can see through the barriers, and I really hoped that they were strong in case a car came careening off the road! Most of the path is separated from the highway by only a guard rail:

(source)

Yikes!

National Harbor is on the other side of the bridge–a fake “town” anchored by a Gaylord Hotel.  I ran along the waterfront and out to the ends of two of the piers to hit four miles before heading back.

On the run back, the wind was against me, and from the side. I ran close to the guard rail and laughed at its strength–it really was pushing me sideways.

It was a perfect run. At the first hill, I found myself sobbing, but I just pushed forward and caught my breath as the path flattened out. When the wind came along, I figured it would dry my tears. The view from the bridge was lovely–it was just after sunrise and the sky was still pink. Running over the water, along the water and out to the ends of the piers was just what I needed–water is so therapeutic. I found myself crying a few more times, but it was all good.

When I got back over the bridge, I saw my husband approaching on his bike. I stopped for a quick hug and finished my run as he finished his ride. I felt like I had more energy to run farther, but I knew it was my emotions that were driving me, not necessarily my legs, so I stuck to my planned 8 miles.

Garmin Data
Distance: 8.01 miles
Time: 1:15:37
Split Times: 9:45; 9:14; 9:06; 9:37: 10:04; 9:31; 9:07: 9:07

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Prayer For Our Daughters

My Dad is a big Garrison Keillor fan. He listens to the Writer’s Almanac almost every day, and when a poem touches him in a father-daughter sort of way, he sends it to me. It doesn’t happen very often–maybe every few months–but I always appreciate it.

This morning I saw this email in my in-box:

Subject: Dad has sent you an entry from The Writer’s Almanac

Dad also sent this message:
Heard this early this morning and thought of you. Then I thought of K—- [my daughter].
Love, Dad

The poem was “Prayer for Our Daughters,” by Mark Jarman. I’m not going to reproduce it here, but please read it. The first verse felt like a hug across cyberspace.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

I don’t know how to end this post.

That poem was the last hug I got from my father.

An hour or so later he had a heart attack, or an aneurysm, or a stroke–something sudden that took him in his sleep, after he had lain down to rest because he didn’t feel well.

I have more to write about how loved I feel today. About how God put me in the right place at the right time, so I could be there for my dad’s wife, meet her at the house, drive her to the hospital, hold her while the doctor told us the horrible news. But for now, I want to focus on my dad, and how much he loved me, and showed me, by sending me this hug today.

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Hydration

As a runner, my understanding of the word “hydration” is that it is a fancy word for drinking water. In the summer, I may talk about “staying hydrated” on my long runs or to encourage my son to take an extra bottle of Gatorade to a lacrosse game. Today, I learned a different meaning of the word.

This morning when I checked my Twitterfeed before starting my workout, I saw this tweet from the Dalai Lama:

 @DalaiLama Dalai Lama
It is necessary to help others, not only in our prayers, but in our daily lives.

The message struck me as powerful, but I had no idea how much it would affect my day.

Today is the first Wednesday in Lent, and I had been thinking about going to a Bible study class at the church near my house that I visited on Sunday. (Earlier in the week I even rescheduled my manicure to tomorrow to keep my schedule open for the evening.) I took a look at the information in the church bulletin, and saw that you were supposed to get a book at a bookstore or on-line. That was not going to work for a last-minute person like me.

During the announcements at church someone also had mentioned a “hydration” project that needed volunteers tonight. The bulletin also had information on that:

Oral Re-Hydration Therapy: This project involves the assembly of packets of dry ingredients (sugars and salts that, when added to boiled water, are the equivalent of Gatorade). Given to the severely dehydrated they truly can make a life  death difference. . . . We are engaged in this joint venture with Temple Beth El again this year. Please participate! We need about 25 volunteers to put the ingredients list & formulation recipe in the packets.  This takes place Wednesday evening from 6:30 to 8:00 pm.

Hmmm. This sounded like a simple project that would not require advance preparation, and, knowing how crazy things are on week nights, I was pretty sure they could use my help.

When I got to work, I looked up more information on the project.  I found this information on a Reform Judaism newsletter site:

To help fight worldwide dehydration/diarrhea—one of the top five causes of children’s death in developing countries, killing 1.5 million youngsters annually—Beth El Hebrew Congregation in Alexandria, Virginia sponsors an all-day community-building project in which volunteers from the temple, local synagogues and churches, high schools, univer­sities, a senior center, a local Rotary Club, and other organizations assemble Oral Rehydration Therapy (ORT) packets—small bags comprised of salt, sugar, baking soda, and potassium to be distributed to children in refugee camps worldwide. At each table, 6–8 people bag the measured ingredients in an assembly-line fashion. In the six years that Beth El has held the event, 87,000 packets have been assembled—20,000+ this year alone. For every one million ORT packets distributed, an estimated 14,000 lives are saved.

I was sold.

A crisis at work almost interfered, but I got everything wrapped up in the nick of time, and traffic cooperated so that it was only a few minutes after 6:30 when I got to the Temple. When I walked in, it was easy to spot the volunteers at work, and the coordinator greeted me and put me right to work.  

Everyone there was from the church except for me, but they seemed glad to have my help. People were talking as they folded the directions and stuffed them in the packets, and it was a very relaxed atmosphere. As one person put it, the task was “pleasantly mind-numbing” after a long day at the office. Our assembly line system was efficient, and we had all of our allotted packets stuffed by a few minutes before 8:00.

I am making plans to go back for “the big day” on March 27, and already have roped in at least one friend to join me. (If you live near me you may be hearing from me about this!) The goal is to prepare 20,000 packets again this year, and I know we are all hoping that our efforts will somehow help the people in Japan.

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Wordless Wednesday–The Mail Order Catalog Edition

 

I know how I got on the Godiva mailing list, but who ratted me out to Spanx?

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