Home Is Burning by Dan Marshall Read Free Book Online Page B

was ecstatic that my dad was still able to go skiing. And not just skiing, but some of the most intense, beautiful backcountry skiing in the world. It meant that he was still healthy. It meant that his body was still working. It meant that he was still able to do all the things he loved. Plus, he got to spend time in the mountains, his getaway from the hectic world.
    The year 2007 appeared to be off to a strong start.
    The skiing was the first of his bucket list items for the year. But there were others on the way. He had put his business up for sale, so he was busy with that, but he had enough free time to enjoy life while he was still healthy. Soon after the helicopter skiing, he and his best buddies went on a ski trip to Sun Valley, one of his favorite spots. They skied, drank, and sat in hot tubs—a dream vacation away from their wives. My dad was staying exceptionally active. He and my mom walked Berkeley and Mazie every night through our neighborhood. Jesus Christ, those two just won’t die, I bet the Mormon neighbors thought as they saw my energetic parents speed by. Then, of course, there was the Boston Marathon on the horizon. That was the big one.
    My mom started to frame my dad’s running of the marathon as the ultimate act of never giving up. He wasn’t just a man running a marathon, but a terminally ill hero who was beating the odds and not letting his disease get in the way of his dreams. My mom thought the story was so inspiring that she reached out to all the local TV stations and newspapers to pitch it to them.
    â€œMy husband has Lou Gehrig’s disease, but he’s still running the Boston Marathon,” she explained to them. “He’s never giving up.”
    She then expanded the story to include her own fight with cancer. “We always thought I’d die first,” my mom explained. “But now it might be him.”
    The story ran locally on a few TV stations, and then CBS Evening News with Katie Couric reached out and said they’d be doing a nationally televised report as well.
    The Boston thing became major. Friends and family rallied around my dad in support. Some would even get teary eyed. “Your dad—no, your whole family—is so brave and strong,” they’d cry.
    â€œReally? I think we’re a bunch of idiots,” I’d say back.
    My mom even made T-shirts that said HEAVEN CAN WAIT BECAUSE BOB’S RUNNING BOSTON , which I thought was pretty silly since we weren’t religious and didn’t believe in a heaven or hell. My mom loved all the attention. It provided a nice distraction so she and my dad could delay worrying about all the depressing things heading our way. In an e-mail to me, my dad wrote:
    I don’t know if running has anything to do with me getting ALS (I sincerely don’t believe that it has) but it has made a tremendous impact on my life after getting this goddamn disease. Training for the Boston Marathon has given me purpose and focus at a time it would have been so easy to sink into concern and depression.
    During this stretch, I was back in Los Angeles working and being a piece of shit. Abby and I were stronger than ever. Any chance I had to leave town, I’d head up to Berkeley to eat great food, cuddle, and fuck. Things weren’t serious enough with my dad for me to go home yet. I wouldn’t have had anything to do, except watch my parents prepare for the trip to Boston. I was hoping, praying, that things would stay like they were, that the disease wouldn’t move too fast. I did, however, provide my parents with a new nickname: Team Terminal.
    â€œHow’s Team Terminal doing today?” I’d ask over the phone.
    â€œGood, good. I went for a long run. Then we just walked the dogs. I’m going to BBQ up some steaks soon here, and we’re going to eat dinner out in the gazebo,” my dad would say as if nothing was wrong.
    â€œGreat. Well, I’m going to get back to