For My Children

Dear Jessica, Brendan, Ashton and Christian,

Two years after I first had this wild notion, I finally did it. I took the plunge and registered for my first marathon. Yikes!!!

My goal since I finished the Couch to 5k program has been to do a full by the time I'm 55.  In  running Disney this January, I'll eke under that by just two days.

I want you to be there with me. Dad, all four of you, with your spouses, kids -- the whole happy, tumbling, chaotic mob of you. I want to share this milestone in my life with the people I love most. I want you to see me cross that finish line.

After all, you've been with me through so many events and occurrences in my life -- the good, the bad and, yes, the ugly. The most amazing  and happiest: the days you were born, although of course none of you remember that. You've been there through the years that I was learning to be a mom...how to hold you, bathe you, feed you, protect you, teach you, love you. 

You were my world. 

You have seen me at my lowest -- the times I was tired, short with you, yelled at you, tuned you out when I should have been listening. The times we argued. Wounded each other. But through that, loved. Now I would like for you to be there to witness something powerful.

All the good that I have tried to do in my life, I have done for you. I've tried to show you what love, faith, honesty, responsibility, empathy and dedication mean. Now I'd like to show you one more thing.

By the time I run this marathon, I will have put in well over 4 months of training. I will have run hundreds of miles. I'll have sweated buckets, thrown up, cried, fallen, gotten back up and run some more. It's going to be grueling, I already know that. I am not fast, athletic or confident.

But here is what I want you to know. 

I want you to know it's never too late to chase your dreams. No matter what life hands you, you always have a choice. You can follow any path you want, write your own chapter, make your own movie, sing your own song. Age doesn't crush your dreams and desires. Age doesn't mean you have to surrender, let go of what you want to do in life. It's all there for the taking. Reach out and work hard for your dreams.

You can do whatever you set your mind to do. Fear is a liar and whispers relentlessly in your head. Refuse to listen to it, and boot it right out of there. Yes, I am terrified about undertaking this race. But I am going to spit in fear's face, look deep into its eyes, and see for myself that it is a fraud. Do I know I can run a marathon? No. Most days I am petrified I will fail. But I know I am going to give it everything I've got to finish, no matter what. Even if I have to crawl.

I want you to know what you're made of. You come from a long line of strong men and women, and I don't mean physical prowess. We have guts. We do what has to be done. We endure; we prevail. And that's in your very marrow.

I want you to see the value of commitment. That by working hard, sticking to something even when you don't feel like it, doing the same tough things day in and day out, you will succeed. Whether it's in a race, a job, your marriage, or life, perseverance and passion will see you through. 

I want you to understand the significance of faith. Having faith in something bigger than yourself gives life meaning. It forces you to think outside your own self, nurtures compassion, expands love. Have faith in yourself, your family, and God. Not necessarily in that order.

I want you, most of all,  to know and remember my love for you. You are all grown now, with your own lives, and the busyness that all our separateness entails. We don't get to talk to each other every day. Some of us don't see each other as often as we'd like. I want you to know that I carry each of you in my heart, every single day, and I will be taking you along with me during every step of this race.

While I run, I'll be praying for the special people in my life. I will be dedicating a mile to each of you. You all have meant everything to me, and your lives have made me who I am. I will thank God for the gift of your life, for the privilege of being your mother, and for the joy of seeing who you have become.

You are my world.

I wish I could give it to you. But instead, I'll try to give you the best of me. I love you.

Always,  Mom

Guzzle, Slurp, Chug!!!

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Drink the wild air.

That's what I want us all to do.

Last night I got the sad news that a very dear former neighbor is in critical condition and not expected to make it to Easter. She is in her 90s and lived a good life. But still...

But still...

My heart is heavy.

I am not good at letting go of people. My father died when I was a sophomore in college and he was a mere 49. Now that I am 53, it is hard to carry the knowledge that I outlived him -- to imagine not having these past 4 years, not seeing my last child graduate from high school, not being at my children's weddings, not welcoming precious new members into our family, not celebrating milestones with my husband. I have been so blessed to have had this time with Vic and our kids, and I pray that we all delight in many more years of joy and laughter together. But still...you just never know.

I have had several of these good-byes in my life. My father first, a life-changing blow to a daddy's girl. (The hardest farewell to him was on my wedding day 2 years later, when I slow-stepped down that endless center aisle in the church by myself; it was his place to give me away and I didn't want anyone else to make that walk with me.) Then, later, I had 6 miscarriages, each loss a shiv to my heart. My grandfather passed away on a Valentine's Day shortly after I had our first daughter. My grandmother, who regaled me with stories of Jesus, lived an entire century. (Can you imagine her life and what she saw??) My father-in-law, who was Dad to me during all my long fatherless years, passed away 6 years ago. And most recently, my sister-in-law, the sister I never had, died unexpectedly and awfully, also only 49.

With each one, I had to figuratively pry my fingers open to let them go.  I do not want to say good-bye to the ones I love. (Who does?) I do not want to go through what's left of my existence longing to see their faces, yearning to hear their voices, wishing to say "I love you" one more time. I want to hang on, keep a piece of them with me, feel them close by my side.

And I have learned, with each death, something new all over again. They do not leave. They are tucked safely inside, living yet in the mansion of my heart, an infinite and enduring presence that can never die. Death, the great divider, cannot separate us after all. They are with me in all the choices I make, the words I speak, the life I live and the love I give.

This is why I urge you constantly to live life with arms wide open: I have learned how fragile, how tenuous the bond to life can be. In the tiniest, most diminutive fraction of a second, your life can explode with cataclysmic change. You will never be the same person you were. Life can still be absolutely amazing, filled with the hopeful possibility of happiness to come, but it will be altered. You will learn to live in a new world. There are no guarantees, no assurances that life now  will be there later. We are fireflies, winking out in a great darkness, and waking to shine brightly on the other side.
                                                                   

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So drink deeply of that wild air and get deliriously drunk  on it. Guzzle, slurp, chug it all down. Love with every fiber of your being. Tell people you adore them every chance you get -- no, go out and MAKE those chances happen; do not wait. Shout it from the rooftops. Spread cheer. Laugh from your belly. Give bear hugs. Dance. Be kind. Embrace everything. Don't just follow your bliss -- live it with all the fiery passion that is in your soul. Seize every opportunity to fill your life and the ones of those around you with remarkable experiences and joyful memories. Remember your incredible, bountiful blessings every day. Forget about old hurts, past grudges, the anger of  bygone moments -- there simply isn't TIME for that anymore. Each second is counting down in our hourglass of life, and when that last grain of sand flows at lightning speed through the neck of the bottle, there's no turning it over and starting again.                                                                         

                                                                                     

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LIVE YOUR LIFE. Start right now. Already precious seconds have flitted by.