An oldie but a goodie

So, why am I doing this again?  Many of you know I like to run.  Yes, I'm crazy, but that's a whole 'nother post for another day.  Like I said earlier, this journey is more than just running.  It is about making a difference in my little corner of the world.  It is about doing something to honor my dad's memory and to make life better for those of us living with IBD.  So, in that vein, I pulled up a post I wrote a few years back on the 10th anniversary of my dad's death:

Today is the day I have been dreading for a full decade. Today is the tenth anniversary of my father's death. In some respects, it feels like a lifetime worth of memories have passed without my dad being a part of them. At the same time, sometimes it feels like yesterday that he was laying in the living room, in a hospital bed, barely holding on. I don't think I will ever forget the sound of the machine that gave his ailing lungs oxygen, even though it was the same machine that obscured the sound of his last breath. I still feel guilty that I don't know the exact moment that he passed on. I was in the same room, but was too busy yelling at my brother that I really didn't care about watching Jerry Springer and listening to the oxygen machine.

Despite my fear, today hasn't been too bad. I went to mass yesterday (I knew I couldn't handle it today), so I got to sleep in. Then I had a nice workout and then the mister and I were off to our favorite little dive bar here in town. I guess it is just a day like any other. But that's what ticks me off a bit--it is a day like any other without my dad. Not having him at major life events has become routine and "normal", whatever normal means. I just get angry sometimes when I think of how much has happened that he missed. And it really scares me to think that someday, his fate could be my own. (Did I mention that this week also marks the sixth anniversary of my diagnosis of the same disease that killed my dad?) Why my family? Why is that if the mister and I ever have children, they will never know my father? Why is it that every morning when I take my meds do I have to remember that I could end up just like my dad?

People have told me I have a good attitude about my illness. I don't tell people I'm sick and I try to live my life like I'm not sick. Really, it is just denial. I don't want to think of what could happen to me. I'm lucky in that my disease is in remission. I know that. And I've got friends dealing with things harder than I can ever imagine. Rationally, I know that I'm lucky. It is just that emotionally, I don't feel so lucky today--instead, I miss my dad. I'm angry that I'm sick. And I'm scared for the future.

"Well dad, whaddya say we take on the world and try to cure this disease?"