THAT DAY

One year ago, everything changed. My dad had a heart attack. My dad, who has come to almost all my sporting events and cheers me on, who takes me to see all the politicians that come talk, who introduced me to the Tour de France, who loves to play Scrabble. Who was the subject of my greatest thanks that year, because my dad was okay.

It was to be the first day back from Thanksgiving break. Early that morning, the phone rang. It kept ringing and ringing. My driver's ed teacher told us about two weeks later that early morning phone calls are hardly ever good, because good news can always wait until morning. He was partly true.

I can still remember the phone ringing over and over again. The answering machine clicking on, and my mom's voice telling one of us girls to pick up the phone. I answered it half asleep. And then my mom told me that she had taken my dad to the hospital. He was having chest pains but he didn't want to wake me up because he thought it wasn't that big of deal. But my mom told me the sweetest words I could hear after she told me where they were at. He was okay. He was going to be okay.

I stayed up after that, waiting for the phone to ring again, and for my sisters to wake up. I remember the look on my youngest sister's face when I told her that dad was in the hospital, that he was okay, but we didn't have to go to school. That was one of that hardest things I have had to do. To tell her words that I didn't even want to hear. But he was okay. And that's what mattered.

We were allowed to visit him later on, and I don't think I have ever been so glad to see my dad. He looked weak and sick and okay. He had watched what he ate, he exercised- went on bike rides and went running with me, he did what his doctor had told him. He did so much right, and what scares me is what went wrong. There are so many fat, unhealthy, junk food eating guys out there and they weren't the ones who this happened to. They are the ones who it is supposed to happen to. But my dad has done even more since that day. He goes walking all the time and lifts weights. And he's still there at all my meets.

On that day, a year ago, I went for about a six mile run. I had been running at most like four until that day. But then I needed to run. I needed to get out of the house, and run long and deal with everything. My grandparents had arrived so I didn't need to act like the grownup anymore. I could act like the kid that I felt like through the whole experience. So I ran. I ran because it was my therapy, I could get out my adrenaline, my fear. I could be myself and didn't have to pretend when I ran. Running that day, that week, became something I wanted to do, something I had to do.

I'm not sure how my mom dealt with everything, because I was so terrified myself, and I knew from the beginning that he was okay. The way she acted has made her an even stronger woman in my opinion. One of the really hard things that week was actually going to school and sitting in class and listening to everyone's conversations. I couldn't make it matter to me, what really mattered was my family. And a year from that scary day, the same thing matters. My family matters.