Dad's Swing and Hashawha Hills 50k
We
have this old wooden swing at my parent’s house. Dad bought it as a Mother’s Day gift. It is perfectly placed facing
Monponsett Pond and provides the ideal vantage point for a spectacular sunset
view. Dad’s handiwork is
still evident, with his brick work (so you don’t kill the grass) and homemade
arm shelves to hold your snack, or if you are any member of the Kaloshis family
except me, your beer.
It
is not incredibly comfortable, but once you sit down, you are hard-pressed to
find a reason to rise. I’ve rocked
both my babies on that swing, laughed with friends and family and simply let
myself become mesmerized by the water.
I
also had my last REAL conversation with my dad on that swing. He had been diagnosed with cancer and
knew he was going to die. We would
talk after that conversation, but those talks weren’t really with my dad—just
his body and the few scattered memories the cancer let him keep.
He
sat me down in his usual manner, “hey kid, come here”, and he told me his life
story in vivid detail. Loves,
losses, victories, challenges—he held nothing back. I listened with
rapt attention, as I recognized the importance of this conversation. I held on to his words, and often find
myself returning to that memory, wishing I could recall more.
One
story stood out. He was telling me
how as a toddler, I had fallen into the lake and it was several minutes before
any one noticed. (nice). Dad said he picked me up by my
ankle and plopped me on the dock “like a wet rat, like a very blue wet rat”. He talked about how calm he was. He knew I was going to be okay, because
I was his “strong one”. He told me
to keep that strength, because he wasn’t going to be around to pull me out of
trouble anymore.
This
weekend would have been my dad’s birthday, and I ran the Hashawha Hills 50k in
his honor. This trail race
provided ice, misty-drizzling rain, fog, tons of rolling hills, MUD, eight
stream crossings (two knee-deep, in wicked cold water), and three brutal climbs
called the ‘Three Evil Sisters’. It
was my running paradise!
During
the race, I let myself get lost in my music and just enjoy the day. My legs were fluid although I ran
conservatively, as this was a training run. I knew my dad was
with me, when I heard the song that Mark beautifully sang at my Dad’s
funeral. It brought me back to
sweet six-year old Noah, with tears welling in his eyes, walking over while Mark was singing, and gently placing his small hand on Mark’s arm--just wordlessly being there for him. It was something my dad would have done.
I
find it unfathomable that we lost my dad ten years ago. But, his inspiration still empowers me.
Dad, I will use the courage you
instilled in me to move forward with the following areas of my life that have
been a conundrum for me:
*I will climb Mount Kilimanjaro
*I will shut my door and teach. I really do love it.
It is time to put the focus of my job back where it should be—with
kids. But, I have not ruled out the new path I have been researching
*I will find time to just sit, relax and connect. Some of the best moments in life happen
when you least expect them.
Happy Birthday Dad.
I just know there is a swing in heaven, and I bet it looks a lot like
this--
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