My Why
Chicago Marathon round two comes with the same motivation, but a heavier heart this year. This will be my second time running the Chicago Marathon for ALZ Stars and my fifth Marathon. This will be my first marathon since losing my Dad to this horrible disease.
It’s no secret that Alzheimer’s has had a significant impact on my family over these last 8 years. My husband, who is also running with me this year, looks back on our first date and remembers that I basically introduced myself saying: “hi, my name is Kaela and my Dad has early onset Alzheimer’s.” While I, and my family, never let this disease define us, or my Dad, I felt that it was important he knew what he was signing up for. I wanted him to understand the bond that my family had in supporting my dad through this, and understand that errors or lapses in memories were not for a lack of trying or caring. Blake didn’t just understand it, he supported it, spending evenings with my family, sitting with my dad teaching him about golf, taking him for boat rides, getting his favorite snacks, and sitting by his bedside with all of us through his last days
When I think about my Dad, I feel warm sun and smell salt air, I feel his oversized sweatshirt that even in my 20s I would borrow from him. I picture him at the helm of his boat with oversized aviators and his BYC or Swissridge baseball hat. The ocean was my Dad’s happy place, and it’s something that he passed down to me, and that we bonded over. Many a summer mornings were spent running out to Stellwagen Bank, or off Newcomb’s Ledge fishing for anything that would bite. I enjoyed fishing, but I loved spending uninterrupted time with my dad out of cell phone range on the ocean. The ocean connected my dad and I - I didn’t enjoy working in the family business, but I happily served as my dad’s First-Mate for any services on the water. I was nervous to drive a car when that time came, but had no fear operating a boat in the middle of the ocean without land in site, surrounded by whales navigating by radar. I’m fairly certain I could tie a cleat perfectly well before I could tie my shoes.
My dad placed his family first above all else. As a kid, I struggled at times with the demands of his job - but today, as an adult, I am so proud of the work that he did, the way he served his community, the relationships that he built and the compassion, care and pure kindness he showed so many families coping through these terribly hard times of losing a loved one. However, I look back too, and recognize that all the road trip phone calls he took, were so that he could be 100% present from tip off of my basketball games to the final buzzer. He learned basketball inside and out and was committed to always keeping our score book, and was devastated if he couldn’t. He debriefed on every game, he never tore me down after a tough game, but encouraged me in how to learn from those games and always made sure we properly refueled with the best snacks.
My dad was the biggest kid at heart. I have so many fond memories of our Disney trips over the years. He was willing to do every ride/roller coaster and made every penny of Disney’s Photo Pass worth it. He stood in line for us to take pictures with every character, and made sure we never lost our inner kid.
As I look back on so many pictures, I know that my Dad had a happy life, and that his family brought him so much joy. In many pictures, my dad isn’t looking at the camera, but instead looking at all of us, smiling in being surrounded by his family. He always wanted to take a picture of you, and be able to look back on fun times, and it’s been such a gift to see some of the last years through his lens. My dad took every moment he could to talk about his family, never in a bragging way, but in a way that beamed with pride. I remember graduating from PT school, being embarrassed every time he told someone I had just graduated with my DPT. Though today, I know he did this out of pride, and I’m so thankful for all of his hard work that allowed me to be able to pursue my dream. I remember the exact moment he saw my first business card sitting in my car, and how important it was to him that he had one to carry in his wallet. When I ran the Boston Marathon, I remember how excited he was to tell everyone, but I was suffering from imposter syndrome being a charity runner, and not a Boson Qualified runner, but there was my dad, swooping in to make sure I felt that pride. For anyone that knew my dad, you know that if Frank felt pride in you, that pride was contagious.
There wasn't anything my Dad wouldn’t do for the people that he loved. He worked hard to provide, he was present in our family vacations and made sure we enjoyed every minute. He was adventurous and wanted to share that with others. He dreamed big and he was excited to share his dreams, and as his disease progressed, this was something I struggled with. I struggled with knowing all the things that he would miss. I struggled in knowing that my Dad, who had provided so much for so many, wouldn’t get the glory days of retirement. He wouldn’t get to visit all the places he had dreamed about, he talked about safari rides, and island trips, chartering boats, cruising to Bermuda, and scuba diving in tropical destinations. As the disease progressed more, it saddened me to accept all the things you take for granted and think are guaranteed that he wouldn’t experience; he would never walk his daughters down the aisle, or experience a Father-Daughter-Dance. He wouldn’t attend his grandkids soccer games, he wouldn’t spend the summer’s of retirement sitting on his boat in Marblehead Harbor.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel any anger or sadness, or feel like this is completely unfair, because I feel all of that. Despite these feelings, I also feel peace, in knowing that while my Dad’s life was short, it was impactful to so many and he left this world better than he found it, and people felt more fulfilled in knowing him, even if just for a brief moment. I feel pride in him being my Dad, and knowing nothing will change that.
I know that as my family and I continue to heal into our new “normal” these feelings will ebb and flow, and there will be good days and bad days. However, I know that we have each other, and the best guardian angel watching over us navigating us to our center of effort for smooth sailing no matter how rough or calm the seas of life become.
Please consider sharing our team page, donating, providing words of encouragement, and even more importantly, comment or message me with your favorite story or memory of my Dad. I would love to have at least 26 different memories/stories to reflect on over the marathon miles, and will welcome even more to reflect on during all the training miles.
Kaela Thomas
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