My mother is gone. She died last Sunday. On Mother’s Day, of all days. It is hard to write about running right now. It feels inconsequential. It is like focusing on the place settings at a wedding. My mind is not there. It is not that I am not running. Far from it. After much soul searching and discussions with friends, I ran the marathon that I was scheduled to run yesterday. I am not sure that I did the right thing. Either way, my mind is somewhere else.
I will not be writing a race report. Usually I give a recap of each mile with a mixture of humor (or at the very least attempted humor) and poignancy. I don’t have it in me. I suspect my feelings about my mom will be there in my writing for a while, consciously at the beginning and subconsciously afterwards.
I don’t know if she was “with me” while I ran. There are different views in Judaism about what the dead are aware of. I don’t know what to believe. Either way, she was on my mind for much of the race. When I struggled during the last six miles, I thought of her fighting spirit, and kept moving my feet.
Whenever I would call her after running a race, she would tell how proud she was. She didn’t really get the whole racing thing and would have been proud if I would have run a 5k in five hours. Still, she got the mom thing and was encouraging in all that I did.
I miss her.