Not a bad run

When my aunt’s lung cancer came back, she wasn’t young. Even in her eighties, though, she was a force. She was tall, smart as hell, and willing to travel from Florida to northern Michigan to spend her last summer with family.

I was sitting on the porch up north when she and my uncle walked up the steps to say goodbye. Up north is my happy place, a place full of family, full of the smells of summer. It smells like Lake Michigan and English muffin toast, and fresh donuts.

Earlier, during our family picnic she got knocked by her daughter’s excited dog and tore the skin on her arm. She was so strong but so fragile. She looked scared, and I wasn’t used to that.

That side of our family was never big on expressions of emotion. On the steps I told her, “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too,” she answered, but we both understood that we were saying goodbye for the last time.

Our family has developed a tendency to shrink. Her kids all died prematurely of nasty tumors. Family picnics became a bit anemic and melancholy.

Detroit was, for a long time, a place to flee from. My sisters, cousins, childhood friends — many left, few returned. Being able to get some of them up north isn’t easy, but they manage, flying and driving from Boston, Chicago, Guatemala. They may have scattered away, but they come back to see my folks and my little family. It’s a gift, really, as travel is difficult for us these days where we are in our careers.

But most of the kids are grown now. Mine is the last to be born, and she’s a delight. For her, I’ll do anything. She still likes someone to lie with her when she goes to sleep. Her voice changes from snarky pre-teen to a sleepy, “Daddy, I’m cold, will you cuddle me?”

For her, I run. The freakishly warm fall has left the trail wet and grey, making the pounding of feet a bit more gentle. By now, it’s usually frozen and hard as concrete. The deer, ducks, muskrats are still wandering around, browsing, diving, probably wondering what happened to winter.

You know those dreams, the ones where you’re running? Not running from something, just running, nearly flying, effortlessly leaping into each stride? Today’s run was like that.

So as I sit here, taking a break to write, I wonder why. I’m working on patient charts for Blue Cross, entering data. Apparently a decade of medical training prepares one to sift through charts for insurance companies. I’m heading toward fifty. My family is shrinking. I enjoy nearly every moment I spend with my patients.

Why? What is it all for?

So I’m running, eating healthy, making sure I’m ready for the family to start growing again. My nieces and nephews will eventually get married and have kids. The same thing will happen to my little girl, but not before a Bat Mitzvah, high school graduation, college.

My parents are still very much in love, after sixty years. They’ve dealt with a family that grew, shrunk, and will grow again. They have lost friends to age.

So I call my friends. I cuddle my kid, even though she’s a bit old for it. I hope that I will be as happy as my parents are when I hit my eighties. Maybe some day I’ll be the grandparent Up North, waiting for the kids to come up and toast the English muffing bread, shuck the corn, shake sand from their towels.