The Race of Life

Have you ever been in a race? Many friends and relatives prepare daily for half marathons, or a bicycle race through the mountains. The only race I remember being in was just a physical education requirement for 6th grade. I don’t know what the actual yardage was, but I remember when I finally came into the classroom, Spelling had already started. My nickname in elementary school was Turtle. I was usually the last one to be chosen for any team sport in school, and would become very studious about whatever was on the ground around me as I waited for the team captain that ended up with me to finally say “Harris”, with a sigh that a child gives when they are told they have to eat a plate of turnips. Not good memories. But as life happens, and we age, we become much more aware of a race that really defines who we are.
It is the race of life. There is no competition with anyone else, but we do have a companion running this race with us. He is always there, even though sometimes we don’t pay attention to His guidance. Part of our race may take us through unavoidable storms, and some of it may be full of thorns due to our bad judgement. And we grow weary during the race, and that is what I want to dwell on for a few minutes. Since the beginning of mankind, the cycle of life has run like the perfect clock. Parents have children, children grow up, parents age, the children become the parents, and the parents pass away with the next generation taking the baton for their leg of the journey. Unfortunately, this cycle may be interrupted with the untimely death of a child or a parent, and this is an unavoidable storm to journey through. Nine years ago, an unexpected storm set me on a race through curves, hills, valleys and peaks I almost could not climb. In 2006, the sudden passing of my mother shook my world. I had always assumed my father would pass away first, and then I would have several years to enjoy mom and daughter experiences. I loved my dad, but had a closer bond of love with my mom. Almost immediately, it became apparent that my dad needed me to assist him with the rest of his journey. He moved into our home, and for seven years our relationship evolved into the child becoming the parent. Then following a major shift in my race involving a car accident, the name of Turtle became my physical reality and I could no longer give my father the care he required. His physical needs and dementia were increasing and I was unable to keep him here with us. The difficult decision was made to move him into a care facility. Two more years passed, and on August 6th, 2015 at 9:30 pm my father kissed this world goodbye.

For three days before his passing, I sat at his bedside, holding his hand, stroking his head, singing hymns he liked, telling him memories of things we did, and dripping tears of love on him. His eyes were shut almost the whole time, but sometimes he would rustle around a bit and I knew he could hear me. I had gone home Thursday evening to rest and take a bath when my daughter Vera called me. “Grandpa just passed away” she tearfully told me. I dressed and my husband and I hurried to the nursing home, about ten minutes away. Even though I had known for months my dad’s journey was close to the end, I sobbed as I held his arms and hands, feeling the warmth gradually fading away. His 93 year old journey in this world had ended, but how I hated to let go of him. As the days have passed, my race has seemed to move out of darkness into the light of a day at dawn. The whispers of my race companion have been heard, and I have a new understanding and peace in the sovereignty of God. Nine years ago with the shock of my mother passing, my thoughts of having wanted more time with her were my own. I did not need more time to love my mom. But these extra years of time with my dad developed a compassion, mercy , grace and unconditional love for my dad that I would not have had before.

I am the crybaby of the family, but it seems to be during these times I hear the whispers. With tears welling in my eyes as I looked at the still body of my dad, I could feel my heartbeat, and realized that the well of tears in my eyes was slightly bouncing with each of my heartbeats. The hearts of my father and mother still are beating in me, and I feel their strength and encouragement to finish my race well.

I love you Dad! See you later!