An inspiration to us all...

Last night I met a 23 year breast cancer survivor. We had dinner with her family. This wasn't the first time I'd met her, though, her daughter and I have been friends since junior high school, and we'd kept in touch all these years. They had come to Florida on vacation, and she had come with them.

They had gotten to the restaurant before we did, so when we got there and the only table seated started waving at us, we headed over. I recognized my friend as an older woman got up for the table and started over towards us. Maybe it was the lighting, which was a little dim, but I'm embarrassed to say I didn't recognize her at first. I didn't remember that she was also coming. As she opened her arms to give me a hug. "How are you doing?" she said. I knew that voice. That's when it clicked. The last time I'd seen her was sometime not too long after we graduated from high school, now nearly 30 years ago, and many years before her own diagnosis... I don't remember if my friend had told me about it at the time. I don't think she did. But when I got my own diagnosis, she told me about her own mom, and that some 20 years later, she was fine and thriving.

All through the evening, while we talked, I remembered her laugh, the same after all these years. She looked wonderful. About halfway through the evening, she lowered her voice a little and asked how I was doing. It wasn't the same question as before. Nor was she being secretive, but instead, respectful. Her grandchildren were sitting at the other end of the table. We talked about being survivors. About how when she was diagnosed, you didn't talk about it. How the doctors sometimes treated her as if it was somehow her fault. That it was somehow shameful that she had cancer... and breast cancer, oh my, that was taboo even to the doctors. At the time she didn't tell anyone what happened to her either, until one day, a few years after her mastectomy she was training to be a home help care provider. The subject of breast cancer and mastectomies came up. One of the other women said, "Oh, I would rather die then loose my breast. My husband would leave me." That was it. That's when she spoke up and for the first time told her story. She told them what had happened to her... "So what if you loose a breast. You can live. And if you husband doesn't like that, well then good riddance to him. Who needs him anyway. There is life AFTER cancer." We talked more about the women who have made it possible for the rest of us to talk about it. Betty Ford, Susan Komen, and so many others. How now, every direction you turn, you see pink ribbons, and pink hats, and pink... everything. Breast cancer had final come out of the shadows and into the light. And we lamented the fact that 23 years after her diagnosis, women still get breast cancer and we still don't know why and we still don't have a cure.

As we parted ways in the parking lot, I told her how good it was to see her again. How I'd planned to follow in her footsteps. How I plan to be a long term survivor, too. Actually, I wasn't entirely truthful. I plan to beat her record, and I want her to make it hard to beat. She's still adding survivor years to her total... She's going to be adding them for some time to come... And I'll be following behind her, following the light that so many of us, too many of us, hold high to guide those following behind us. To light the way and prove there is life after breast cancer. We'll beat this and maybe one day, the line that follows us will dwindle to nothing. It's what we all hope for. And in the meantime we look to those who have gone before and see hope... Thank you, Beverly, for being an inspiration to us all....

Hope...

Hope. It is why we are here tonight. Hope for others, hope for ourselves, hope for the future. It is a group none of us want to be part of, and yet, with each new member, we open our hearts, our arms and our lives. Hope walks around around this track all night. You can hear it in our voices. Hawkers calling wares to raise money. Babbles and games... Cakes and coffee. All for a good cause, the cause that brings us together at this time, on this night, for this purpose. In many places, on this night, there are walkers. In each place dark skies hover over lit fields. The lights, like a barrier against fear, comfort our hearts, warm our spirits and accompany our steps. We are many people, we have one purpose: Victory. And on the way to that victory we share love and companionship, support and strength, joy and peace, and sorrow for those who can no longer walk, those in whose place we walk together... with Hope for a Cure.

Relay for Life

Last night I went to the Seminole Relay for Life, sponsored by the American Cancer Society. It was held at Osceola High School, and was one of 12 Relays in the area last night, 4 of which were in Pinellas County. It started at 6:00 pm and went all night, concluding around 9:00 am in the morning. Team members walked the track at the high school all night. Each team was supposed to have at least one team member on the track at all times. The moon was 3 days from being full, and the night was clear and cool. There were people everywhere, they'd been walking since the start of the event. At the center of the field, a man in a jesters cap hosted a hoola-hoop contest to see who could keep the ring going the longest. Tables along the inside of the track sold everything from cyalume necklaces and flashing pins to muffins and massages, all proceeds to go to ACS. The atmosphere was like a carnival.

At 9:00 pm the Luminaria Ceremony took place. All around the track people had placed white paper bags with tea lights in them. The field's lights were turned out and the luminarias lit. Each luminaria was dedicated to a survivor, or to the memory of one who did not survive. Participants were invited to light their own candles first, starting with survivors and those currently battling the disease. Then family members, then friends we're invited to light their candles. It quickly devolved into respectful chaos, with people lighting their own candles, then helping friends and strangers until all candles were lit.

It was then that I noticed that on the track behind me, everyone was walking, slowly, introspectively, respectfully around the track. People quietly talked about those they had known, some who had survived, other that had not, others only newly diagnosed. As we walked, we passed a large group standing along the track gathered in silent memory. "That's for Emily." Emily? She was the captain of the Chemo Crew. Emily had battled cancer three times since 2001. She'd been a participant in the Relay for the last 7 years. Chemo Crew was the largest group in the Relay. She attended Osceola High School. Emily died two weeks before this Relay. Her team raised over $17,000 before the event. It was a moving tribute.

The candle lighting was very moving. Eventually the lights came back on, and the events started again. At each team's camp site the selling nicknacks, snack or drinks returned, having been suspended for the Luminara Ceremony. The buzz of activity returned. The DJ organized a tug of war at the center of the field. Walkers passed by on their appointed laps. I'm glad I went, and while I got there late and didn't stay long, I will go to another one some day. I met up with friends who had formed a team, I cheered them on, and walked with them while I was there. We are our own support group. We all met on line, we often meet for lunch. Our group, sadly, will keep growing. New members are always welcomed with the wish that they, like us, didn't need one another so much, and all the while wishing that one day, our group will cease to expand and be needed no more. Until then, for ourselves, and those who no longer can, we will walk...