I see you in your children. In your daughter, the way she laughs and has your strong determination to carry her through things. She laughs with sudden bursts when her brother says something. You laughed at him the way same way. I see you in your son, the way he protects his family and himself. The way he is with his children, firm but gentle, always making someone laugh. I sometimes find myself walk by my front door secretly begging you would loudly enter. Just so my kids could meet you and to see you one last time. I remember at your funeral I told myself I had to pretend I was sad. Of course, I felt sad at times, but I just had my first baby, a baby girl no less. ARD, just like your ARD. I am sorry my grief looked differently than others. It was delayed but hit me hard when it finally showed up. I think about you every day and will always make sure my kids know you, the way I remember you. Fierce, funny, loud, gentle and having an unbreakable love for your children (even when they pissed you off).
I run for you. I run for Allie. I run for my family members. I run for people who are not here anymore, for people going through treatment and for people who feel overcome with grief. I run so that maybe others won't have to feel a missing piece or that begging feeling for one last conversation. I love you and I miss you,
Elizabeth
Anything helps make this possible.
