I ran on the day that I died

I ran on the day that I died. My legs were strong, my lungs clear. I ran fast, like Mattie and Allie. They would be proud of how fast I ran on the day that I died.
And while I ran, my head was clear, my mind sharp and smart, like Erin. She amazes me with her accomplishments. I ran and I thought of beautiful things to write and about beautiful things I have read. I thought about simple movies that made me cry. And I thought about my girls, how much I love them, and I remembered the ice cream we got one hot Sunday afternoon and how we let it run down our hands and arms and how much we loved each other that day on the bench, in the sun, eating ice cream.

I ran on the day that I died and nothing hurt, not my legs, not my lungs, not even my heart. It’s not broken, my heart. I am running with pure joy in soft grass and with bare feet and I carry an open heart. I think about everyone I love and those who have loved me back. I replay in my mind and on my lips the tender kisses I have shared. I run and sweat drips and tears flow. Tears for the joy of running and loving and being loved, flow. I ran on the day that I died.

Today I ran, to remind myself that i am alive, that i have a fight to win. I have children to raise and hearts to love, and more kisses to share. And I shall do all of those things. And it will be okay. We will all be just fine.