June Miles: For Our Dad
[Before we get to our June blog post, we wanted to give everyone an update about our plans for the marathon. Since the 2020 race was cancelled due to COVID-19, we’ve decided to defer our entry and run in 2021 instead. We are so grateful that all of the funds you’ve already helped us raise will count toward the race next year. More importantly, every donation will still go directly to Dr. Vahdat’s research, with any donations from 2020 being allocated to her research fund at the end of the year. On the bright side, we see this as an opportunity to be a part of the Fred’s Team family even longer, and as a chance to make an even bigger impact on the life-changing research being conducted at Memorial Sloan Kettering (with your help!).
When asked if we’re still going to continue training even though the race has been postponed – the answer is yes! We both feel that running has motivated us to be a part of something bigger, especially as we run for those we honor in our Why We Run blog.]
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In this month’s blog series and in honor of Father’s Day, we decided to dedicate our June miles to our dad, Larry. Born in Jamaica, Queens to an Italian immigrant family, our dad went on to marry our mom in 1988, and boy was he in for the ride of his life! Cookie had a way of making even our dad–a total homebody–appreciate the journey, and constantly kept him on his toes with her adventurous spirit. This became even more true after our dad retired, at which point our parents began spending every waking moment together: from daily walks with our dog, Chance, to frequent trips to Vermont. Intent on doing everything she could to make those around her happy, our mom especially loved going on the boat with our dad as he fished, which gives the following metaphor of grief even greater meaning:
I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze,
and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength,
and I stand and watch her until she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says: “There! She’s gone!”
Gone where? Gone from my sight – that is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side,
and just as able to bear her load of living freight
to the place of her destination.
Her diminished size is in me, and not in her.
And just at the moment
when someone at my side says: “There! She’s gone!”
there are other eyes that are watching for her coming;
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:
“There she comes!”
With our dad in mind, we run for all of those standing on the shore helplessly watching as their loved one’s ship heads towards the horizon. As a spiritual person, our dad takes comfort in the idea that as Cookie’s ship grew smaller from our perspective, those in another place were lining the shores as she approached, preparing for a long awaited reunion.
The depth of pain our dad feels is a direct reflection of the depth of love he felt for, and shared with, our mom. But while Cookie may not be here, but she will never be gone; she lives in everything we do, and is engrained in everything we are. And so with each mile we ran this month, we took time to appreciate the resiliency with which our dad has continued to honor our mom’s beauty and strength, and his ability to continue to cherish the journey while simultaneously finding comfort in the destination.
“Gone from my sight – that is all.”