A strange day…

My father died of a massive heart attack on a Sunday.  He was 3 months and 2 days shy of his 43rd birthday.

Today is Sunday.  I am 3 months and 2 days shy of my 43rd birthday.

The thought of this day has been renting space in my head for a long time – especially since turning 42.  I’m not sure why that is.  I haven’t been fearful that there is some kind of curse or that I would die today.  That’s not it.

After all, even with my really bad lifestyle in the past, I did make some good choices that didn’t put me in as high of a risk category.  I have never smoked and I don’t drink.  And certainly now with my exercise and healthier eating choices, I imagine my heart is in pretty good shape.

I knew, of course, at the time that 42 was extremely young to die of a heart attack.  But I was 18 then.  Being the same age today – when most days now I feel like I have a hell of a lot of living left to do – to think that his life was over at this time….

It’s a weird feeling that I can’t exactly put into words.  It’s one of those melancholy “what might have been?”

A friend suggested to me that today is not for mourning my father but instead celebrating my life and health.  Because I was certainly digging myself into an early grave.  Maybe I wouldn’t have died today, but my recent choices have without a doubt extended both the quality and quantity of my life.  (Barring being smushed by a passing car later today!!! )

So I ran this morning.  13 miles.  And I hugged my dogs.  And I told Marc that I love him.  And I told myself that I have overcome what was a mental hurdle for me.  It is now March 1st.  A time to think about rebirth.

That’s what I’m going to try focusing on.