Post Run Post

Ahhh, the run. Well this year, the walk. I have been doing it for 7 years in a row, and each time is special, and precious. This year, because of walking instead of running I got to pay attention to different things. Instead of trying to catch my breath there was room to have my feelings. And to notice the other people and to connect and really experience the warmth and community of the run. Now was that ever special.

As it is every year, it has a carnival atmosphere, and as my mother pointed out, what a gift that is... to transition a thing that for some must be ladened with tragedy or fear or anger, into something that allows us to laugh, to see some lightness, to feel a part of, even in our grief or pain, and know there is something out the other side. There were groups with pink boas, with pink crowns, with pink belly dancing outfits. Some survivors, you could tell us by our pink t-shirts. A few gals in process, you could tell them by their pink heads, all freshly bald.

Naturally I cried. I cried with gratitude for my live, and the chance to live it. I cried for those women who didn't get to live the rest of theirs. I cried for my aunts, not lost to breast cancer, but cancer nonetheless. I cried for the lives of the people dearest to them, whose hearts broke, who are still suffering, while their loved ones mayhap look on, unable to comfort them, unable to hug them and hold them.

Yes, this event is always special. And this year the specialness was to do the run with my mother, and all her sisters, for this year they could be, and all were, with us, together, here in Victoria, in our hearts and minds, and swirling around us in spirit, celebrating for and with us. Ladies, you are not forgotten.