Yesterday was a great race day and a great Father’s Day. I got to hang out with my Dad, who is a wonderful guy. But it was kind of a sad Father’s Day, too…for my Mom, who lost her father 20 years ago today, on June 19, 1986.
Last night I was laying down trying to relax after a long and fun day, when I started to cry. I’m not sure why I cried, but I have a few theories…
Because my Grandpa was only 58 years old when he died.
Because my Mom lost her father when she was only 35. That’s not much older than me.
Because that day was one of the few times in my life I’ve seen my Dad cry.
Because he didn’t get to come to my wedding.
Because I tried really, really hard, but I can’t really remember him that much, and that makes me sad.
I cried because I do remember this day before he got sick, and I remember how fun it was to chase him, and I remember the sound of him laughing as he ran away from us.
I’d like to think he’ll be there at the finish line in September. I know it might sound naïve, but it’s my dream and I’m sticking to it.