This is Why I Run

7. I Wish

I am sitting here, in Utah, in the kitchen of the house where I grew up. The walls are still as pink as they have been since I was twelve. The floor is solid tile only a few years old.

Once again, it is late and I am the only one awake.

I know I should go to bed. In my mind I can hear the voice of my dad saying, "Uh, Diana, don't you think you should be in bed??" Right now, though, he's softly sleeping next to my mom in the other room.

Tonight at dinner we made plans for the week. I want to go fishing with Dad one day. I want to take my mother to lunch another. I want to shop with my sister, Anne, and cuddle her kids. I want to run and stay up late talking with Yvette.

There are so many things I want, but I feel the time slipping away already.

Just one week.

Dad said he wants to go fishing on Friday, during the day. Yvette wants to take Friday off. I can't be in two places at once and I hate having to choose.

I know it's late, and I should go to bed. I'm holding out for Aaron, who will get off work in 10 minutes and whom I can call. The later I stay up talking to him, though, the later I will be awake tomorrow. Plus, the fatigue is making me sentimental and gooey. And, I don't want to be too tired in the morning because I really need a proper run to clear my head.

Tonight I stayed up talking with family about things - life, the universe, everything. We talked about the internal locus of control. The idea that a person perceives that control over their life comes from within - whether that is really the case or not.

I've been thinking a lot about Joseph in Egypt, about how he survived his terrible situations because he had an internal locus of control. No matter what came to him - good or bad - he was able to deal with it because he always saw the power within himself to make positive changes in his life.

Sometimes, when it's late or I am waxing poetic, I think about this. I think about this internal locus of control, and I wish I could give it to people.

I am afraid of many things, but mostly of being alone. Mostly of being left behind. Mostly of the loneliness that comes after all those whom you love have moved on, away, or forward. I am sure that the time will come when I will be the last one left of my family. Born nine years after the youngest sibling, and six years after my husband, I know that I will probably be the last surviving member of my generation, in my family.

Sometimes, I wish this weren't so. I wish, when I think about it, that I could make my family exercise so they could live longer. I wish I could make them happier so they could live longer. I wish that I could give them some of my years, so they could live longer and be there, with me, to the end.

It's a silly thing, but it's a big thing to me. Sometimes, I think this is why I run - in an effort to keep up with their passing years, to reach them, grasp onto them and hold them tightly to me.

Silly, sentimental Diana.

Silly me.

The time will pass quickly by in this visit - it's only a week - and in life: it is, after all, very brief.