My Marathon

Today is the day of the Indianapolis Mini Marathon.  Every year I regret that I didn't try.  Or even consider it.  Today a million people posted about their runs on my Facebook feed.  It's easier to get a little depressed about it.  To look at the lack of motivation and drive in my life.  To ignore the weight I've gained.  Then, today, I decided to give myself a little grace.

I've been running my owned damned marathon since 2012. 

It may not look the same as Under Armour and tennis shoes.  Instead, it looks like tears, anger, insurmountable stress.  Like boxes and dumpsters.  It looks like paperwork and attorney fees.  Hours and hours of meetings, of driving, of sorting, and packing.  It looks like two bank accounts, deadlines and old photographs.  It looks like spider webs, mouse skeletons and apple butter from 1982.  It look like grocery store trips, doctors' appointments and unwanted flu shots.  Bowling games, Wendy's and bird watching.  It looks like outdated spices, frozen pizzas and jalepenos.  It looks like nursing homes, stretched truths, and talking in circles.  It looks like the ugly diagnosis that nobody wants to hear.  Times two.  It looks like Alzheimer's.    

My marathon has been long and painful.  It has redeemed old hurts.  It has been about forgiveness and unconditional love.  It's been about holding hands and savoring moments.  It's about letting go and opening up.  It's been SO about transparency and asking for help.  It's been about bruises and splinters and a bad back.  It's been about selfies and funny faces and OUR VERY OWN hashtag #dayswithmomanddadbyjs.  It's been about denial, about not looking too far ahead, and then, suddenly, about planning the future to a tee.  

My marathon isn't even close to being over.  There will be closings, showings and for sale signs.  There will be closed chapters, goodbyes, and one last walk to the mailbox.  There will be visiting and laughing and cheek kisses and "I love you's."  There will be worrying, and calls from nurses.  There will be "Who are you's?"  There will be questions I cannot answer... and ones I do not want to.

My marathon will end someday.  It will break my heart and take so much of my identity with it.

My marathon hasn't been pretty. Or easy.  But it has been a most beautiful and precious gift.