The Race

October 28, 2017

In July I was running a 10K. Hold up. This isn't a Nance/fitness moment. The point is, I made it through the 5K and seriously reevaluated my choice to 10K-it. At one point I thought, hey, I could run straight to my car and go home and no one would ever know.

But I would know.

I've thought about that gut-check moment a lot lately. Do you keep running or do you sneak off to the car? The question of toughness has arisen in the wake of my sweet aunt's recent stroke. This lady is the classiest of classy and the toughest of tough. She is the rock of our family. Seeing her vulnerable and weakened and suffering has shaken us all.

It has shaken her. And that's a first.

Among other maladies, the stroke made her cry involuntarily. In my 43 years, I'd seen her cry maybe five times. Those first days in the hospital she couldn't stop for a bit. She was as disarmed as we were. I slugged off to teach after I first saw her and, in the midst of all this, burst into tears in front of an unsuspecting composition class that was subsequently silent and seemingly terrified. In all those years of teaching public school, I'd not cried like this in front of a class. This, however, was more than I could apparently contain. I gathered my wits, though. I thought of what healthy Aunt Di would do, and I taught. Without tears.

Aunt Di would never sneak off to the car. As I've watched her work to rehabilitate and stay positive and retrain herself to do things that were once easy, I've watched her keep running. I know she will keep on. That's who she is. 

I struggle with the struggles of my family as age and bodies betray us all. It's hard. I'm not ready for the finish line for any of these folks. But their strength as they race on gives me strength. 

This, I know.