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Wednesday, January 4, 2017

Start the Day with Kenny Rogers and Finish it with a Fine Cab



                It’s January 4th and another birthday. Just like Father’s Day and September 10th each year, I play Kenny Rogers (sometimes Willie Nelson) while I drive in my car for the day. Most drives home, whether from work or from a long run, come with a few, or many tears. At night, I pick out a fine bottle of wine, usually a Cabernet Sauvignon. Sometimes I mix it up and will try a Bordeaux blend that I think he might enjoy.  I pour two glasses, one for me, one for my father.  We toast. I will drink each glass: one sip from mine, one from his, until they are gone.

I think in the early years, it was just sorrow, just this overwhelming sense of loss, of something I wanted to retrieve, but couldn’t. It shifted to gratitude along the way: a toast to my father, to his memory, to the times we had together, to the ways in which he enriched and molded my life.  I still cry on his birthday, on Father’s Day, on the day he died. I still cry on other random days when something sparks his memory. But I try to be more reflective and more grateful. I’m not sure there’s much else to do. I can’t bring him back. And ultimately, sitting in sorrow would not be enough.

Over the past year, aside from the usual days and the typical memories that flood me from time to time, my father has been more present with me. It’s not something you think should happen five years after he has passed away. The memories should fade, the grief should resolve, life should tick on. And it does move on, but he remains. I’ve grown to know some aspects of my father I never knew as I connected with a platoon member of his from Vietnam. New photos came in, new tales of his life before I was born, a glimpse into the everyday life in the most horrific of circumstances. It’s something my dad rarely talked about during his life, though I’m sure it defined much of his life.

And then, there’s this running thing. Yes, I am admittedly defined by myself as a runner. Boston has been a special race in my heart. Returning to New England, being with my family there, that is all part of the race for me, but it also evokes so many memories of my father. And it didn’t seem that I was going to return to Boston for 2017. Well, that’s where my father comes back. I was graciously offered the opportunity to run for Project Purple. I would not know about pancreatic cancer, save for the abysmal stats you learn as a medical student. I would not know about pancreatic cancer, save for my father. Five years ago, my father passed away after a short and painful battle with pancreatic cancer. It lived up to its reputation as the worst cancer to have, the one with the lowest survival odds. And I saw it firsthand.

So, my father will bring me back to Boston this April. In his honor, I will run. In his honor, I will continue to raise funds to fight pancreatic cancer through Project Purple.  In his honor, I hope someone else can have another birthday with her father when pancreatic cancer no longer spells a death sentence. But for now, I’ll listen to Lucille, have memories of riding in the silver Corvette as daddy’s girl, and drink a fine glass of cab with my father. Happy 71st birthday!
 
 
 

 

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