I wish I could remember her exact words… But they went something like this: “You cannot imagine the feeling you get when you look at one of those glowing bags and it has your name on it.”
We were walking slowly, hearing the bagpipes sing both a sad lament for those who lost, and a determined celebration for those who survived, their battles with cancer.
This was the real moment of clarity at the Relay For Life in Invermere this year… at least it was for me.
My walking partner, Heather McLaughlin, who battled breast cancer, and I had just walked past the first bag to bear her name as a survivor. We walked close, arms around each other for a while. We both cried, and we slowed just a little, taking the time to read each name, remembering so many of faces that inspired them.
This, THIS was what it was all about.
Held at the David Thompson Secondary School field tonight, June 15, it was the smallest turnout the relay has seen since its inception.
But even in those small numbers, a giant wave of strength and hope rang true. Little (and grown up) girls cut of their hair, little (and not so little!) boys shaved their heads and even faces.
There was dancing, music, food and celebration. All the makings of a community coming together, organized by the irrepressible Sheila Tutty, who has won her own years long battle with cancer, and yet still stands amidst its chaos, only a few short months out of her most recent surgery.
Over the years, from the first relay to now, I have walked that track I don’t know how many times. I have put together teams, raised money, shaved my head to the skin, read the keynote speech with my old friend Sam Fiddler.
I wrote countless stories as a journalist (because in truth, is there any better reason than a community event like this to commit journalism?) to promote it and tell personal stories of survival and fight, and though I missed a few years when I moved away, I still felt welcomed, as a journalist, as a participant, and as a friend. I have cried, laughed, coerced and joked.
I have listened to stories that wrenched my heart, and others that left me awed. And still, I cannot come close to truly understanding the struggle cancer causes in individuals and families.
It has nodded to me in people I love, but never tapped my own shoulder. Not yet. And I hope it never does.
This was Sheila’s last year as organizer.
She is stepping down, making room for new blood to come in and take over, and taking back her time, something I don’t think she will mind me saying, she does not take for granted any more.
As none of us should.
She is leaving some big shoes to fill, but I know someone will step up to try them on.
I was so proud of her and of all the people there tonight. I saw so many faces I have known and loved for years, some who have fought and won; some reflected only in the faces of their families who grieve them and the luminary bags that bear their names, still glowing in the dark as I sit quiet at my computer.
They will glow until morning, keeping the walkers company, lighting their way, reminding them of why they are there.
I think I will not sleep yet.
I still have so many memories to look through, that internal photo album we revisit from time to time.
After all, cancer doesn’t sleep… and tonight, neither shall I.
A cup of tea, a prayer of thanks, and a nod to the journalist inside of me, who has been silent now for far too long.
Dedicated with Love to my dear friend Denice Jones, who lost her battle just shortly before this event.
