Sunday was Purple Stride in my area. Sunday we walked for
all those who fought and lost, who are fighting and those who will be fighting
pancreatic cancer. Saturday I didn’t want to go. There are only three other
times in my life, so far, where I felt with my whole self, like I didn’t
belong. Kind of this isn’t my life sort of thing. The first time was our
first appointment at the oncology office. We walked in and it was almost
standing room only. So many people in various stages of their fight. So many
people at the beginning and end of their journey. We didn’t belong there. That
is silly because no one is immune to cancer. I knew that, but on that day I
told my mom that this couldn’t be our life. The second was the visitation that
was set up the night before my mom’s final gala. I felt so strongly that I didn’t
belong that I never went in the building. I stood outside with the best friends
a girl could ever have. That wasn’t my life, couldn’t be. The third time was at
her gala. I don’t know if I have ever really written about that day specifically
but on that day, I wanted to run. That wasn’t my life and I didn’t belong
there.
Saturday I felt the same way. I just didn’t want to go on
Sunday. I went last year, we all did. My mom was still alive and we were
walking for hope. This year, we were not going to have that hope. I know what
the big picture is, but this is about me and what is running through my head.
We woke up early on Sunday. The weather was not predicted to
be dry so we had a lot of accessories to pack for the two of us and our two
babies. Not to mention that we promised them that we would stop by the donut
store on the way. We were out of the house by 7:30am and the sky opened up on
us. Dark clouds and rain. Fitting weather for a fitting day. At least that is
what I thought. As we drove, I prayed that God would make the rain stop until
after the race was over. You see, even though I didn’t want to go, even though
I didn’t feel like this was my life, I was going. I was going to make every
step of that walk.
We drove on and just like that the rain stopped. It wasn’t
even wet. The clouds were still dark, but there was no rain. We arrived and to
our surprise, there was a bigger sea of purple than we though there would be.
Purple hair, purple pants, shoes, socks, shirts and even make-up. It was a
purplepalooza. Suddenly, I felt I belonged. I wish I didn’t belong but then I bet
not one person there did. Here we were all knowing the same thing about this
disease, all in the same place, all fighting the same fight. WOW!
So many people, dogs, wagons and information were there. It
was small in comparison to other walks, but bigger than last year and oh so
mighty. Yep, I belonged.
Time ticked by and we made our way to the starting line. We
had a wagon with close to 100 pounds of pure love and an ovarian cancer
survivor with us. There were more but these are pivotal to the story. I have to
say, the race sort of started late and my kids were getting grumpy. They are 4
what can you expect. We decided early that we were only going to walk the mile.
I thought my kids could only handle that and my friend’s mom, my hero didn’t
need to push herself for three miles. She is cancer free, but this time last
year she was fighting her fight.
We walked, my kids rode. I pulled. I was mostly quiet, which
is unusual. I was thinking of my mom and trying not to get in the way with my
wagon. My son rearranged the orange cones as he rode and he even wore one. It
became our third child. Also important to the story.
We walked a long time and then someone said, “Where do we
turn around for the mile?” There wasn’t a marker so we kept walking, I pulled
while my daughter, son and our new pointed child rode. We saw the mile marker
then the two mile marker. It became clear that we were walking the whole 5K.
Normally that wouldn’t have been a problem. I have walked and even run a 5K,
never pulling a wagon and never worrying about a specific participant. I was
hot, my feet hurt, I was thirsty and I was pulling a wagon. I was walking for
my mom. Each step, each pain, each hard to breathe breath was for my mom. I ran
into my foot a few times and even ran over my son’s hand (he is “all better”
now). I looked for my friend’s mom, she never looked tired, she kept walking. We
were nearing the finish line. The end. My kids got out of the wagon and ran
with my husband. They said they were running for Emmy. My friends gathered
around but as we got closer, I found myself off to the side pulling an empty
wagon and hating that finish line. What was going to happen when I crossed?
What was it going to mean? The end for sure, but the end of what? I didn’t want
to cross because I didn’t want to know what was on the other side. The tears
started and I couldn’t stop them. I walked up to the line and hesitated, but I
crossed. More tears and then arms surrounded me. I survived and nothing
happened but still, it was over. My mom was still gone and it was over.
A day later, looking back I realized that on one side of the
finish line was me with my grief and my terrible sadness. When I reached the
finish line, I looked over and saw my family. My wonderful husband, my
beautiful daughter, my loving son and our new pointed child. They were
clapping, waving and jumping. They were cheering me across the finish line. They
were welcoming me home. It was the end of the race, it was the beginning of my
life with my family. Does that make sense to you? Well it does to me and right
now that is all that matters. More tears.
My friend’s mom walked the whole way and never complained.
She said she was proud to walk for my mom. She wore a hat with a pink ribbon
for her mom. She is my hero, she is surviving cancer.
The crowd thinned and my kids played on. They were at the “best
playground ever.” I sat off to the side with my pointed child and thought of
what I just experienced. It was a good day, my mom would have been proud.
The race was over and the tables and tents were being taken
down. It was time to go and I knew it. We realized as we were making our way to
the car that all of the orange safety cones were gone and ours was still riding
in the wagon. My husband and I looked at each other and simply said, we have to
take it home. I am sure there was some sort of law or ordinance that was broken, but we didn’t have a place
to drop it off and it had made the journey, it had come so far that we couldn’t
just leave it. We made the decision to adopt Pointy and return it next year. I
would like to take this moment to apologize to the city, organizers and all
Purple Stride folks for stealing the orange safety cone. I am choosing to
believe that we are just holding it until it is needed again next year. I am
not a thief, just an emotional girl.
Back to my story. The race was over and we were leaving. As
we approached the parking garage, the wind turned cold and the leaves began to
blow. The cold front had arrived. No sooner had we settled into our car when
the rain began. God answered my prayer, but then he always does.
I am tired now, my feet hurt and my kids said it was the
best purple parade ever because it had a great playground. Pointy is in the
garage. I think I will bring him in. He has been through a lot with me.
I needed this walk whether I knew it or not. This walk was
as much for me as it was for my mom. She isn’t here and that is still unfair
and I hate it. I however am still here. My kids and my husband are cheering me
on. I have the best family. They love me.
Well that was my second experience at Purple Stride. I
wonder what next year’s walk will bring. One thing for sure, I will be there, I
have to bring Pointy back.
On a side note, my kids think they won the race. These were their words. Don’t tell them
otherwise. They aren’t ready for that.
No comments:
Post a Comment