It’s been a busy race season so far, with some good finishes, and even a first-place age group win. But that first place came after a bad day.
Miss Junie died.
She was a lovely lady, a proper grande dame, and she was my “running buddy,” not in the sense that she literally followed me step for step but that she followed my racing vicariously. When I met her, she always asked about the next race, the last race, the distance, how I did, what kind of terrain, the location, and, most importantly to her, the reason for the race (if it was a fund-raiser for a good cause).
She was 88 years old when she passed away in February, after a period of protracted illnesses and surgeries. She was in pain at the end, and for much of the time I knew her. Her life’s end revolved around doctors, hospital visits, medicine, and assistance with daily life. But she never lost her spark, her interest in life, and her enjoyment in what everyone else was doing. She had strong opinions and could let loose a string of cussin’ that would impress a stevedore. She dressed to the proverbial nines, with hair, nails, makeup, and outfits all perfectly styled. She was well-traveled, read extensively, knew good food, and raised two successful sons. She was elegant, and dignified, and would never accept “no” for an answer. She started and nurtured several service organizations, and raised the seed money to start one of our local universities.
I have a race this weekend, and as the priest at her funeral service suggested, I will ask for her intercession before the start. He reminded the mourners to ask those who have left this world to intercede for us with the saints. I can use all the help I can get, here on Earth and anywhere else. You will always be with me, Miss Junie, at the start and the end of every race, and every “I hate myself for doing this” early morning practice.
Old Is Serious...Aging Is Hilarious 