I was home alone when the call came. My junior year of nursing school was in full swing and I was prepping for work that evening at the Children’s Home.
“It’s cancer.” she said, her voice breaking on the last word, and I felt my heart drop. The budding nurse in me kicked in and I started asking about treatment and staging. I’m a planner and I wanted to know the plan. What this would mean for her future, for all of our future. Would the children I dreamed of ever know their Grandmother?
It has been 10 years since that diagnosis, and we have been so blessed. The cancer was small-caught early. The treatment was radiation and surgery-no chemo needed. She would grow tired. Her skin would become raw and her hands would ache from the medication she took to stave off the return of these monster cells. But she did not give up-and she still wont. Now she walks.
She has pink sticks that match her pink hair and she adds names to shirt she wears for the 60 mile journey to help end breast cancer. Each year more names accumulate. Each day she rises and walks. Six miles. Ten miles. Twenty miles. She will walk through the soles of her shoes for the souls who are fighting.. She will walk through prayers and audio books and stop for coffee and new friends. She will walk. For those who can’t. She will walk. For those who wait. She will walk, because she is brave.