Picture, if you can, 1,500 walkers, 300+ crew members, sponsor reps, photographers and news crew... all gathered together for the Opening Ceremony. Various speakers take the stage, thanking us for our fundraising and for being willing to take this journey. There was much cheering. The adrenaline is flowing freely. Teams and individuals, first timers and veterans, all excited and ready to go.
One by one the Honor Guards take the stage, each proudly carrying a sign to represent the women in their lives who have been affected by breast cancer. By the time they had all passed, there was not a dry eye in the place. Every person in the group was thinking of their own personal reasons for walking, the women in their lives who were also represented by the banners. Like the others gathered here, my mind was filled with memories and my eyes overflowed with tears.
My Aunt
I have many fond memories of family gatherings at Aunt Brenda’s house, a warm and inviting home filled with love and laughter. I’ve always had a special affinity with Aunt Brenda because we share the ‘black sheep of the family’ stigma of multiple divorces. I’ve been watching her fight breast cancer most of my adult life. She is one of the most courageous people I have ever met.
My Grandmother
Holiday memories always included dinner at Grandma’s house. Memories of Christmases impatiently waiting until all the dishes are done and every piece of the good silver is counted and put away so we could FINALLY open presents, of flannel nightgowns and ballerina birthday cakes and trying to snitch a handful of the homemade noodles that were drying on newspapers in the front room.
My Mother
Childhood memories of sponge rollers and pincurls and really tight home perm, of how she dressed Bonnie and I like twins, the pictures from her wedding day when the wind caught her dress and blew it up and of her and dad through the back window of the car as they drove away on their honeymoon.
And Dorie, my former mother in law, and her picture perfect table settings and her penchant for family tree research. I remember how frail she was, due to a double radical mastectomy when she was a young woman, a procedure that cured her breast cancer but left her permanently disfigured and disabled.
My Sister
As little girls, we’d lay in bed and talk and giggle way past our bedtime, from the time she could talk I would hear ‘I’m as old as you are’ for those few weeks each year between her birthday and mine. I remembered her diagnosis last summer and how helpless I felt in California while she was going through surgery and treatment in Ohio.
My Friend
I thought of Tricia and Bev and Paula and Robin and watching each of them deal with their diagnosis and surgeries and treatments and fears.
My Neighbor
I thought of the many women I’ve met since I started fundraising, the women in your lives, especially the younger ones, and how breast cancer is striking women at who are younger and younger and how they should be learning who they are and want they want, that they should be building their lives, not fighting for them.
My Daughter
I thought of Danielle and Larissa and the first picture of the two of them together, looking at each other just moments after Larissa’s birth. I remembered how Danielle has wanted to have a baby of her own since she was old enough to hold a baby doll... and how I don’t want her to miss a moment of the joy that motherhood will bring.
And the tears continued as the breast cancer survivors walked on stage and formed a circle, holding hands. Then they took up their banners and lead the way as the walk began.
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