I met your mom when we were about your age; we were both in Mr. Campbell’s band class. In high school we did DECA together, with Ms. Czarapata (for some reason I will always remember how to spell that!); Kacy was in that class with us too. I don’t remember that we were for long the closest of friends, as young friendships tend to fluctuate, but I do recall one time when I was at her house; it was somewhere near Whitman school. That’s when she played Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back” for me, and that sounded like such a bad song at the time! I don’t remember your grandmother very well, as I think I only met her a time or two, and I was saddened when she passed away while we were in high school.
After graduation I joined the Army and left the Valley for bigger things (or least a more interesting life) until college. As that was before a lot of today’s common technology, people didn’t usually stay in touch unless they were especially close, and your mom and I lost contact. I’m not sure when it was that I saw your mom at the Hastings check-out counter, but we recognized each other and said hello and tried to catch up in those few moments; that’s the last time I saw her. We were more recently in contact through Facebook, the little bits of our lives that people share on there. I was scared for her when she announced her diagnosis after such a long period of being sick and having unanswered questions. When I saw her post with the number to her hospital room I just had to call, and her voice sounded exactly as I remembered. Her recovery was optimistic at the time and she planned to be in Seattle in the spring for more treatment and I would see her then, but told her not to worry about the details for that until later. Her best news was that she would be going home soon to spend Thanksgiving with her family: her husband and children, you. She proudly told me about each of you and your ages; I was in denial that we were really old enough to have children that big! I was so happy and sad for her, having such a family while battling her disease.
What a lot of people don’t know about me, and what I was able to share with your mom that day, is just how much I want to be a mom. The paths my life has taken have been incredible; some have been good and others sad, and all have led me to where I am today and shaped the person I am, but not yet as a mother. And while I don’t remember her exact words, your mom comforted me and I knew she understood my longing.
We didn’t talk again after that one call, and at the time I thought we would catch up closer to her trip to Seattle. I didn’t know that calling made her day so much brighter, and if I had known I would have called every single day. Sometimes we can make a big difference when we least realize it.
Finding a way to combine my passion for running with a cause to help fight cancer in your mom’s memory allowed me to know that I was making a difference, and even more incredible is not knowing how far that goodness will stretch as it continually renews itself through new people and kind actions.
In joining this cause I have met survivors, people undergoing treatment, and others whose loved ones lost the fight. Though I hadn’t yet met you, I thought of you often. I also thought of the children of Heather, a butterfly angel whose sister runs with me for some of the same reasons. I think of all of the mothers, sisters, friends, and children that are affected by these diseases. I don’t want there to be children without mothers because of cancer; I want to do what I can to help. With hard work and generous donations from family and friends, both new and old, as well as a significant gift from an anonymous donor, I was able to direct funding to the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and increase awareness of blood cancers to keep working towards a cure.
On October 16, 2011, I completed the Nike Women’s Marathon in San Francisco in memory of your mom. Her name was proudly displayed on my jersey, and her picture and name were included in the remembrance signs for our training chapter. There were 3,700 fundraising runners like me that raised a total of $11.7 million dollars for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society for that event, and the race itself has raised more than $118 million in the 8 years it has been offered. That’s a lot of hope for a brighter future without cancer.
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The finisher's symbol of my race was a necklace rather than a medal, and it was my honor and privilege to put it on Dawn's 10 year old daughter. I cannot imagine the pain of losing a parent, especially at such a young age, and I wanted to give her a reminder of this journey that I made in her mother's memory. I showed the family my jersey and talked about the other names that are on it and how I came to know of their stories.
There is still more work to be done and miles to run before a cure is found, and while the road is long and uncertain I will continue to do what I can to make a difference.
