I have an eight-year old. I have an eight-year old and a 10-year old and we always stand at the finish line well before it’s time.
Their Dad runs. And we stand there with signs and smiles and we watch with anticipation searching the sea of runners waiting for him to cross the finish line.
We’ve played this scenario out over and over again at that finish line. Sometimes right at the line. Sometimes a block before. Sometimes just after the runners cross. But we are always there.
Just like all those families were there. Just like eight-year old Martin Richard and his six-year old sister, his other sibling and their Mom. We stand there. Just like they did. We have done it so many times…because no matter how sweaty our loving runners are, we are so proud and we want that hug so bad.
As the stories pour in about so many families and so many runners and so much hurt and pain all I can do is promise that when my husband’s body is ready again we will stand there at that finish line again.
We will stand there with our signs and our smiles.
We will stand there because we are proud of our runner, but also because we will remember.
Every time we ever stand there ever again, we will always remember.