Posted on Jun 3, 2015

As Father’s Day approaches, my heart has a void. I miss my dad. I miss his cheering voice on the other end of the phone. I miss his funny texts during the day. I miss the occasional cards coming in the mail with his all capital letters hand-writing. I miss seeing his smile as his grandkids giggled at his duck sneeze. I miss him more and more every day. It’s only been a couple months since the last time I held his hand, and the reality of him being gone becomes more and more tangible. However, the times where I find the most peace is doing the things he loved. I find him in the early mornings as I sit out on my porch in Colorado and hear the birds in the trees chirping. He loved bird watching. It makes me smile. The most precious time for me is when I get out and run. I feel his heart. I feel his stride. I feel his encouragement. Each step is cathartic and a time to just be in the moment of grief yet peace. He taught me the value of running and all it can teach. We are all in our own individual race. How we run the race is everything. We can choose to run or walk. It doesn’t matter as long as we continue with our heads held high, focused on the next step. I could run a marathon but if my attitude is crummy and everything is negative, what’s the point? I might as well just sit out the race. But that would be boring in my opinion, and I know his, too. So I choose, like my dad always taught, to stay in the race, to fight with my attitude and perseverance, to endure what life throws my way. And along the way, as we see the others who are also running their own race, we encourage each other and make each other laugh. We relate to each other. Uplift each other with our own experiences. Nobody is a stranger. Each runner, walker, side-line cheerleader is valuable in this marathon of life. My dad finished his marathon with dignity and honor. I miss you, Pops. You are in my heart always. Love you lots and lots.