On our last long run 3 weeks ago, I was running with a teammate who I am lucky enough to now call a friend. She had shared the story of her sister's diagnosis earlier that week, and asked as we were running that day about Molly, Mary and John because while she knew their diagnoses and of course, the outcome, she didn't know the full story. The details, that's not really something we talk about that much, and as we ran, I realized it's because those details are the hard ones. The real ones. It's gotten easier to talk about the "big picture" over the years as I've been a part of this team but the day-to-day, the personal moments, those are still so raw. There is a lot of the 10 years from John's diagnosis to when Mary died that I can't remember or the days or moments run together, but there are moments that are clear as day. I can remember the 3 phone calls with the news of each diagnosis. I can see us in Molly's hospital room singing "I've Been Working on the Railroad" because while she was not able to verbally communicate well at that point, she could still remember music. I know where we were all sitting in my living room when we had to decide to accept an open bed at the hospice house for John. Or where I was standing in Sears with my mom when Mary called to say the melanoma had spread to her hip bone. So as we were running stride for stride up Heartbreak Hill in the last couple of miles of our last big training run, I was fighting to hold back a swell of tears that have built up and trying to catch my breath so I could keep moving. But in that moment, I was so thankful for the opportunity to talk about some of the most painful and heartbreaking days of my life. I was again reminded of how important running for Dana-Farber has been for me as I have grieved such loss throughout the last 10 years and what a gift it has been. I've had the chance to channel my sadness into a greater purpose. I've found meaning in each mile, and have been able to carry Molly, Mary and John with me over thousands of miles as we've come together to find a cure.
The most rewarding part of the last 10 years is the people I've come to know and the kindness that we've been witness to as a result. Through moments like the run up Heartbreak Hill with my teammates and the DFMC volunteers just a few weeks ago or a text message of encouragement or the daffodils on my doorstep each February 7 or a meal dropped by the house or an insightful, meaningful note or sitting with a teammate at the funeral of another teammates family member or a hug when there aren't words or sharing a story of a friend that has been diagnosed or a community rallying behind a young girl recently diagnosed or a quick phone call to check in or coworkers uniting in support or hundreds of thousands of dollars raised for cancer research. The last 10 years has been filled with moments of hope and generosity and selflessness, and that is what I take away from this experience. There have been uphills and downhills and there has also been continued heartbreak, but more importantly, there has been and continues to be hope.
I am filled with a sea of emotions as I look to tomorrow and taking a step back from the DFMC after 10 years. The weather forecast itself is enough to induce waves of panic, but trying to focus on what can be controlled! What is foremost in my mind is gratitude and it is fully focused on you. I would not have been able to continue without the support of hundreds upon hundreds of people year after year. I don't know that I will every be able to fully articulate what this decade of support has meant, and what an impact you have made on finding a cure for cancer. I will run tomorrow in honor and in memory of over 400 people. It's just too many but I have hope that our efforts together will mean fewer names in the years to come. Thank you for sharing your stories that have carried me across the finish line 9 times. Thank you for letting me share my stories of Molly, Mary and John a million times over. Thank you for helping me get up and over Heartbreak Hill, both literally and figuratively, because I have not done this alone. Thank you for giving me hope because without hope, we can't move forward.
With the deepest gratitude, I thank you.
Jennie
be good. be strong.
www.runDFMC.org/2018/jennies
I am filled with a sea of emotions as I look to tomorrow and taking a step back from the DFMC after 10 years. The weather forecast itself is enough to induce waves of panic, but trying to focus on what can be controlled! What is foremost in my mind is gratitude and it is fully focused on you. I would not have been able to continue without the support of hundreds upon hundreds of people year after year. I don't know that I will every be able to fully articulate what this decade of support has meant, and what an impact you have made on finding a cure for cancer. I will run tomorrow in honor and in memory of over 400 people. It's just too many but I have hope that our efforts together will mean fewer names in the years to come. Thank you for sharing your stories that have carried me across the finish line 9 times. Thank you for letting me share my stories of Molly, Mary and John a million times over. Thank you for helping me get up and over Heartbreak Hill, both literally and figuratively, because I have not done this alone. Thank you for giving me hope because without hope, we can't move forward.With the deepest gratitude, I thank you.
Jennie
be good. be strong.
www.runDFMC.org/2018/jennies
