Happy Birthday Daddy. I Ran For You.

It only seemed fitting to celebrate my father's 50th birthday with a run; the thing which gives me so much life.

Sweat and tears met like dance partners at the climax of their performance on my upper lip.

As my legs pumped, my mind took over.

For the last four years my family has wrestled with God.
There were so many days all I wanted to do was tap out.
Suffering can really mess up your idea of salvation.
I couldn't understand how my loving Heavenly Father could look upon my earthly daddy, barely able to walk to the mailbox and not bend down and save him.

A year ago I wasn't sure if my father would be celebrating another birthday.
That makes today something to celebrate; something to reflect on as my legs trudged past the weeds still damp with dawn's dew.

I ran for the pain he felt, the countless blood drawings, pokes and prodding's.
Remember that night you described in Hawaii, of you laying on the hotel room floor, body writhing with unbearable distress?
I ran for that night, too.
I ran for the patients you saw in spiritual turmoil, a human much like you.

I ran for the time I saw mom lay you gently into your chair, kissing your now bald head with such tenderness  and warmth.
I ran for the time you were really high on drugs before a biopsy, laying on a hospital bed.
You looked over at me hunched in a blue chair, a child confused of what her father was becoming.
You smiled through the drugs saying, "my daughter Britney. Isn't she so beautiful?"
I don't think you will ever remember this, but I will.
I ran for that moment.

I ran for all the times I looked across the room at my sister, both of us giving a half smile, filled with so much pain but so much hope; a smile of understanding one another in that exact moment.

I ran for all the times you felt helpless.
I ran for the times you longed to sweep my mother up in your arms and tell her it was all going to be just fine, but could only lay in bed with such a tiredness only cancer patients can know.

I ran for you, mother.
I ran for all the times you tried to act like life was normal for me and Kim.
Keeping busy and hugging me like it was all okay.
I ran for the times you just wanted to be taken care of when you were so busy taking care of your family.

I ran for the moment I saw my father hold his first grandson.
In that moment, my father looked like my father, not a tired or worn out man trying to hold it together.
A part of him was fixed that day.
I'll never know what part, but for the first time in years...I saw hope in my father's eyes.

I ran for all the doubt you've felt.
I ran for all the times you wanted to take mom all the places she wanted to go.
I ran for all the times you had to wear that blasted mask.

I ran for hope.
I ran for thankfulness.
I ran because God never let us tap out.
I ran because it was the only way my body could express what my heart was feeling.
I ran because you're here.
I ran because of your life and all the life you've given me because of it.

I ran because I love you, dad.

Happy birthday.