Relay For Life
For a few moments, I walked alone.
I hate being alone, but I liked this. The rush of the crowd and the echoing thrill of laughter were eons away, replaced by the throaty rumble of silence.
My path was lined by hundreds of glowing bags, illuminated memorials to those who lost their fight to cancer. They shone bright in the night, pushing back the enveloping darkness even in death. They stretched before me, so many candles symbolizing so many lives, and I was almost overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of it all. There were hundreds of lost lives represented here, and yet only the smallest fraction of those who die every year. The loss of one life is such a tragedy, how could I even begin to comprehend numbers like that?
In short, I couldn’t. The hair on my arms stood up, following the chill wave that flowed over my skin. A torrent of grief flowed through me, from the sight in front of me, to my heart, and then back to my eyes, manifesting itself as a lingering glisten. I wished I could cry, I wish I could’ve.
I stepped in and out of pools of light, flickering in the looming cold. A generator hummed as I passed a group of tents, an ambient noise that wasn’t alive, yet was strangely organic. Shadows danced over the dewy grass as my mind darted through a hundred memories I’d never had, of I’d never met, trying to imagine all that been lost, to try and grasp and personify that grief that had taken so many to tightly in its grip. The wave of sorrow came back, but to no avail, I couldn’t cry. I felt ashamed, embarrassed at the fact that I couldn’t cry, when, for Christ’s sake, I was faced with such a monumental tragedy.
I reached the far end of the circuit, entirely escaping the pale yellow luminescence of electricity. My mind raced desperately, blocking out the voices that drifted across the field, blocking out the slow murmur of footsteps behind me. I was searching for some personal connection, something that would throw me over the edge that I hated teetering on. I stopped at the chain link fence, staring out to the faded tree line. My breath fogged in front of me, the sharp top of the fence digging through my sweatshirt and into my arms. I ignored it.
I thought of all the friends that I’d lost, that we’d all lost, of Katie, Kevin, Chris P, Chris B, Spencer, and so many more. I thought of Juju, who I’d decided was my responsibility to take care of, when he was two and I was nine, when we were both neck deep in chemo, and I thought of how many hours I spent with him, doing nothing important, but the most important thing in the world. I thought about how I never got to say goodbye. I thought about everything that he never got to do, and I almost lost it, the dark blue silhouettes of the night blurring with incipient tears.
I blinked, and they were gone.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t cry.
I was sad, I’m sad as I write this, but I can’t cry. I can’t cry because there are so many people, so many kids, left to save. I can’t cry because there’s still a battle left to be fought. I can’t cry because this is a fight we can win. I can’t cry because no matter how bad things get, we will prevail.
No matter how dark the shadows get, they can’t hold back the light.
Remember that.
I hate being alone, but I liked this. The rush of the crowd and the echoing thrill of laughter were eons away, replaced by the throaty rumble of silence.
My path was lined by hundreds of glowing bags, illuminated memorials to those who lost their fight to cancer. They shone bright in the night, pushing back the enveloping darkness even in death. They stretched before me, so many candles symbolizing so many lives, and I was almost overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of it all. There were hundreds of lost lives represented here, and yet only the smallest fraction of those who die every year. The loss of one life is such a tragedy, how could I even begin to comprehend numbers like that?
In short, I couldn’t. The hair on my arms stood up, following the chill wave that flowed over my skin. A torrent of grief flowed through me, from the sight in front of me, to my heart, and then back to my eyes, manifesting itself as a lingering glisten. I wished I could cry, I wish I could’ve.
I stepped in and out of pools of light, flickering in the looming cold. A generator hummed as I passed a group of tents, an ambient noise that wasn’t alive, yet was strangely organic. Shadows danced over the dewy grass as my mind darted through a hundred memories I’d never had, of I’d never met, trying to imagine all that been lost, to try and grasp and personify that grief that had taken so many to tightly in its grip. The wave of sorrow came back, but to no avail, I couldn’t cry. I felt ashamed, embarrassed at the fact that I couldn’t cry, when, for Christ’s sake, I was faced with such a monumental tragedy.
I reached the far end of the circuit, entirely escaping the pale yellow luminescence of electricity. My mind raced desperately, blocking out the voices that drifted across the field, blocking out the slow murmur of footsteps behind me. I was searching for some personal connection, something that would throw me over the edge that I hated teetering on. I stopped at the chain link fence, staring out to the faded tree line. My breath fogged in front of me, the sharp top of the fence digging through my sweatshirt and into my arms. I ignored it.
I thought of all the friends that I’d lost, that we’d all lost, of Katie, Kevin, Chris P, Chris B, Spencer, and so many more. I thought of Juju, who I’d decided was my responsibility to take care of, when he was two and I was nine, when we were both neck deep in chemo, and I thought of how many hours I spent with him, doing nothing important, but the most important thing in the world. I thought about how I never got to say goodbye. I thought about everything that he never got to do, and I almost lost it, the dark blue silhouettes of the night blurring with incipient tears.
I blinked, and they were gone.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t cry.
I was sad, I’m sad as I write this, but I can’t cry. I can’t cry because there are so many people, so many kids, left to save. I can’t cry because there’s still a battle left to be fought. I can’t cry because this is a fight we can win. I can’t cry because no matter how bad things get, we will prevail.
No matter how dark the shadows get, they can’t hold back the light.
Remember that.