I've run in rainstorms, in hailstorms, through snowstorms, in the middle of the night, in the predawn winter beauty, with torn knee ligaments, a broken foot, way too soon after major surgeries, through illness, in the middle of chaos, on my days off, on my vacations. Regardless of life's caution tape - I've run - always, daily - meditations and ruminations of physicality. Until this July, when first overwhelming stress and then grief knocked me a one two punch I didn't know capable of withstanding. I'm nowhere near the day by day credo, still managing simply moment to moment. But last week I ran, for the first time in almost 6 weeks. I ran twice. It was difficult. It was painful. It felt as if I were returning home after a long, exhaustive, much delayed journey. I have to start somewhere. Let the new method of life: one full of conscientious listening, mindful understanding & quiet daily running begin. For you mother, I vow to keep my body as clean and free and full of life and movement as I can. My 50 mile training starts today - and I will carry you with me through each step.
RIP Sweet Brenda Ann Rice Jorgensen - 2/20/47-7/27/11
Nana's Eulogy:
My mother was the blueprint of a woman etched in full form. Her relentless passion for her family and faith guided her every breath. She took the job of motherhood with a tremendous degree of seriousness and gave us, all three children, more than enough love to share with our own family. And when we grew up, got married and had families of our own - they simply became extensions of her own immediate family. And the love she had to give, somehow found in her reserves, was just as relentless and just as passionate for Conrad, Jody & Alli as if they were her own blood. Forget about the grandkids - Those boys made my mom's heart melt every time they walked into the room. She understood her role as grandmother in the most essential of ways and cherished her rowdy crew with a heart full of pure love.
Her strength in living each day was fierce and profound. The core of her being, the fibers that made up her soul seemed somehow stronger than the rest of us. A woman who could not be rattled, whether through birthing all three of her children on her own, in strange cities without family and friends around, to carting surly pre-teens around all through springtime sans Pops, as he was providing for our family, to her illness - which she never let define her, not even in her death. Once my mother found out and processed this Ovarian Cancer thing, she took it not as a sentence but as a gift of renewed life and began training for a half marathon. Her strength in living going hand in hand with her passion in loving.
But the thing I will remember most, and miss most, about my mom was her selfless nature. This was a woman who always, always, always put others first - no matter the cost. Even in dying she took my hand, when I was crying for her, and said to me, "I know dear. I lost my mother too early as well. It's going to be hard, and you are going to miss me, but you will get through this. I wish you didn't have to go through this, but you will be ok."
As I learn how to construct my world without this essential person in it, I will willingly carry this sadness with me, taking her spirit and her teachings and her guidance with me in every moment. It is my deepest wish that her relentless passion and strength in living and selflessness become larger parts of the woman that I am. But for now, my sweet mama, I breathe sanctity in this family and you my peace. Thank you for me.
