Dreamers, Fighters, Fundraisers, & Family

My pink tutu is now hanging neatly in the closet. The flag I have carried since 2010 to honor my Aunt Glenda, and now so many others, is carefully placed in a safe corner displayed in our home office. I woke up Monday morning and realized I didn't have to get up and put on my sneakers. No more walking, no more cheers, no more high fives, no more hand painted signs, no more stories or endless laughs with strangers that understand.

Fourteen years ago I said yes to a very long walk and to raising a pretty good chunk of money. I had no idea what I was actually saying yes to. I started this journey to honor my aunt, to show support, and once she was gone, to keep telling her story. Eleven or twelve walks and 2 years with the American Cancer Society later, I still have all the passion and hope I had that very first walk in 2008. Okay, maybe my passion has wavered at times, but hope, never.

Year after year, I add more names to the flag I carry during the 3-day walk. Year after year, more and more people are diagnosed with cancer. During opening ceremonies this year the emcee asked all the survivors to come forward. I watched as about a third of the crowd went to the front of the large event room we were in. The pit of my stomach ached. My eyes filled with tears, as I said to my best friend, "Wow. That's a lot of people."

We can quote facts and figures, we can write names on a flag, a t-shirt, or on the side of a pink car, but seeing the survivors, those that are "cancer-free" and those that are living with metastatic cancer, was heartbreaking and soul numbing. It's a moment I truly understood 1 in 8. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime. One in 3 women will be diagnosed with some type of cancer in their lifetime. One in two men will be diagnosed with some type of cancer in their lifetime. When your brain and your heart connect that all of those statistics represent real people with real names and real stories, the task ahead seems a little daunting. But, the task ahead becomes a mission. The task ahead seems like we really can't ever give up. There's too much at stake.

Being on the route with those that had just finished chemo, or that were still living with cancer because they will live with cancer until they are no longer with us, was humbling. It always is. So many men and women, not all of them feeling brave and strong, but some just wanting to feel like cancer won't win. Some of them wanting to feel loved and supported. Cancer may take many things, including our lives or the lives of those we love, but it will never, ever take the hope we have that one day, we can win and we can create a world where cancer is something that can be overcome without a second thought.

That same hope has created this "pink bubble" of dreamers, fighters, fundraisers, and family. We walk across cities to draw attention to this cause. We want people to remember to do their monthly self checks, their mammograms, and to remember that cancer affects everyone. We walk to honor those we have already lost. We walk to honor those that are currently fighting through chemo and radiation, and all the after effects of those treatments. We walk for the people who have just heard the words, "You have cancer" and are trying to come to terms with what that means and the journey they will have ahead.

My body is tired. My feet hurt way too much. But I wouldn't trade this event or this "pink family" for anything in the world. Cancer isn't just pink, and we all know that, probably too well. As I walked and the bottoms of my feet burned and my back ached, I thought of the pain of my loved ones after surgery, after chemo, even after radiation. I thought of how they had no choice but to go forward, even if they wanted to give up. They had to endure for their families, their friends, and themselves. That endurance is what keeps us walkers around for 14 years or 20 years or 30 years. We keep going because there really isn't any other choice for us. We want people to live. We want people to see their kids grow up. We want people to have as much time as they can.

Three beautiful days. So many beautifully, broken people coming together to fight an invisible monster, to dream an impossible dream, to fundraise as much as it takes, for a family we never expected.

It's simple. We will never give up. Ever.