For those that personally know me, I hate good-byes. Given the story of my life, that isn’t all that surprising.  Reed’s Run has come to an end.  It was a wonderful four years, and the success of those four runs continues to inspire myself (and hopefully others).  There is much more to the story than the countdown blogs that occurred before the run, and I feel now is the appropriate time to share them.  But somehow, I just can’t just the word good-bye when describing a labor of love for the last five years.

It all started two days before the actual run.  My parents, sister, brother-in-law, and nephew had arrived, and we were all in final countdown mode.  I received a somewhat intriguing call from one of my “besties”.  Her call was that she was leaving work now, and she needed me to meet her at the street because she had something really important for me.  I knew that she was struggling with some health issues; so, I was nonplussed at the request for the espionage style hand-off.  In my mind, I thought she had a donation from her employer whom we had asked for a sponsorship for the run.

When we met for the transfer next to the mailbox, I knew immediately it wasn’t a donation.  She doesn’t have much of a poker face.  Her grin from ear to ear said it was something much more significant.  She told me that she had a story to tell before she gave me the surprise.

It started with a reminder that a gal with whom she works was having a garage sale today.  Okay, no big deal.  Then it transpired into details that another gal (also in on the sale) brought a big tub of toys for the sale.  Earlier they decided that the best approach for all those toys would be to dump them en masse on a big table and to offer a certain price for each item.  As the garage sale gals were sorting and arranging, one item jumped out at them.  The co-worker stood speechless.  She proceeded to grab the item, jump in her car, and head to work.

She pulled aside my bestie and asked, “Could it really be?”  To which my friend said, “It has to be because no one else in this town has this name and after all, that’s Kandy’s handwriting.”  Standing barefoot in the driveway, my hands received a gift straight from heaven.   With tears streaming down my face, I lovingly held Reed’s t-ball mitt, emblazoned with “R. Stevens” in my penmanship on the side.

At that point I knew that Reed’s Run was going to be a huge success because we were given a love token straight from Reed that day.  It was the boost we needed to finish out all of those last minute details.

It wasn’t Reed, but it was a piece of his story.  The memories we had with that glove, which was faithfully used for a few years until he outgrew it, came flooding back .  Eventually, we gave it to friends who must have given it to someone else until it landed in that garage sale.

The mitt’s history didn’t matter at that moment because the best part of the story was on a sunny September day, it slid right on home.

Reed’s t-ball glove on his bed.