Run for My Mom 5K
Thanksgiving is usually a time of celebration, a day to reflect on gratitude, and for many runners like me, a chance to lace up for a festive running race. Since my last 5K a few weeks prior, I had been considering doing a Turkey Trot of similar distance, though I hadn’t decided where. Organized Thanksgiving runs are plentiful across the nation, so there was no shortage of options.
But those plans were erased when, two days before Thanksgiving, I got the call that is everyone’s worst nightmare. It was from my dad.
“Your mom had a stroke,” he said, his voice clipped with urgency. “It’s very serious.”
My dad, a retired radiation oncologist and former Medical Director of the Oncology department at St. Joseph’s Medical Center in Stockton, California, where my mom was initially admitted, was calling from the Intensive Care Unit. He mentioned the possibility of transferring her to another hospital in Sacramento because the one in Stockton didn’t have a neurosurgeon.
The call was surreal. Just two nights earlier, my mom and I had enjoyed a nice and long, fun phone conversation. She seemed even more chipper than usual during the call, and certainly sounded healthy. Indeed, on the morning of the stroke, my parents had gone to the gym, shared lunch, and watched a movie together. My mom then decided to tackle some paperwork, and she asked my dad to go pick some persimmons outside for Thanksgiving while she did so. When he returned, he found her unconscious, face-down on the floor only a few feet away from her desk. He immediately called 911 and tried to resuscitate her. Meanwhile, I booked the first available flight to northern California. Fortunately, I was still in Colorado, and not in Spain.
By the time I arrived at the ICU in Stockton after a sleepless night and a hastily booked flight, the prognosis was utterly grim. My mom was still alive thanks to a ventilator, but the CAT scans showed such extensive damage that no neurosurgical team in Northern California would take the case. The outlook was heartbreaking: there was almost no chance she would regain consciousness, much less her full faculties.
We spent every possible moment at her bedside, but ICU visiting hours meant we had to leave at night and could only return at 9 a.m. Thanksgiving morning. I woke up early that day, needing to process the whirlwind of emotions. Running has always been my outlet, and I decided I would dedicate this run to my mom.
The route came to me almost instantly—landmarks that held pieces of our shared history. After a warm-up jog, I started at race pace, fueled by adrenaline and the desire to honor her.
The first stretch took me to Hickory Avenue, where I reached the site of Hushabye Oaks Preschool. It’s now a private residence, but it constitutes the first memory of my mom that I can recall. It’s where my mom used to pick me up and push me on the swings, and smiled as I tried to soar higher each time. Those carefree moments felt like a lifetime ago–indeed, they were nearly five decades past–but the connection was still strong.
From there, I ran to Davis Elementary School, where she took me in to be tested for G.A.T.E. (Gifted and Talented Education) as a kindergartener. She believed in me even then, recognizing my potential before I ever realized it myself. Memories of Spelling Bee victories and math contests in 3rd grade came flooding back, along with the pride my mom always had in my accomplishments.
The effort was hard but steady as I approached Ashley Lane, where another vivid memory surfaced. Decades ago, when my parents moved houses, my dad drove his riding lawn mower down this road, unbeknownst to my mom. A neighbor called my mom, concerned. “Sylvia, I just saw your husband driving a lawn mower on Ashley Lane! Is that legal?” It was the kind of quirky moment that always made us laugh.
The final stretch took me past Morada Middle School. Though I hadn’t attended, my older brother had, and it reminded me of my mom’s dedication to our education. When I was in 7th grade, she drove me to a high school instead every morning for an advanced geometry class, as there was no school bus that could accommodate my schedule. She always supported me, quietly and unwaveringly.
As I approached the end of the run, my legs burned and my heart raced, but I pushed harder. “For you, Mom,” I thought, crossing the imaginary finish line in 21:16—my quickest time in five years and 28 seconds faster than my 5K three weeks prior.
Later that day, my mom’s condition worsened. Pulmonary edema compounded the massive brain hemorrhage, and she was transitioned to comfort care. She was moved to a pavilion that will soon bear her name, a tribute to her and my dad’s philanthropic contributions to the hospital. The next day, just hours after my aunt, uncle, and cousins had come to visit her, she took her last breath. My dad and I were by her side.
While losing her was devastating, the way she left was, in a sense, a reflection of her life: surrounded by love, having lived fully, and giving selflessly. I’ll carry that morning run with me forever—not just as a way to honor her, but as a reminder of the countless ways she shaped who I am today.
Run Data
Total time: 21:16 (6:50/mile or 4:15/km)
There are 2 comments.
My condolences, Felix. After learning about your parents, I understand better who you are as a person, even though we have known each other for 25 years! Parents have such a huge influence on our lives, both in life and in death. Stay strong for your father and relatives.
Thanks, Adam. Your note really means a lot to me, especially coming from someone who has known me for so long. You’re absolutely right—our parents shape so much of who we are, and their influence stays with us even after they’re gone. I’ll do my best to stay strong for my dad and family. I truly appreciate your support.