The Silent Mile

Saturday was a long run, 4 miles to be exact. This run was much different than my previous ones. About 12 of us gathered at Newport News Park at 7:30am listening to the stories and the thank you's from Patient Honorees, mentors, and family members who had experienced lost. As a group, we ran/walked/biked a mile in silence, reflecting on the reasons we are participating: the people who touched our hearts, those we lost and those we've never known, and our determinations to find a cure. As each foot hit the earth, I thought mostly of all of those lost. I thought of a new friend I met earlier this year, who had lost his wife in October, and handed out buttons to anyone. He merely asked for us to remember him and his wife's story. I thought of my grandfather, who died when I was only 10. To this day I'm not entirely sure what type of cancer he died from, not for lack of people willing to share that information, but because the type never mattered to me, only that he was gone, and I couldn't save him.

As I reached the half mile marker, I noticed a family grilling breakfast on the campground in the distance. Two young boys chased each other while their father, I assume, laughed and continued cooking. It made me think of a young boy I never met, but who left us too quickly. I thought of Tommy, a young boy the Communication Studies Department at my university knows well. I thought of Tommy, and I ran and I prayed, in silence, for all of those effected: family, friends, and patients.

Thank you to all of you who are helping and donating. I ran those four miles, and I will run those 13 in June, and I will continue running, until we find a cure.

God Bless