From the first moment
my wife discovered she had breast cancer, there was a deafening silence from
the men I know. Even ones whose wives, mothers or girlfriends had breast cancer
seemed to have received a gag order from some Central Cancer Command and did
little more than mumble about the experience. Not one to shut up for any known
reason, I started this blog…
The school district I work in hosted a Relay For Life event. This was the fifth annual event, and even though I “knew” people with cancer then, except for seeing the windows painted in purple and white with the event and year, the whole thing really didn’t affect me. Five years ago, I was riding either alone or with my son in the Tour de Cure for diabetes awareness and fund raising.
Three years ago, the Relay For Life came at a time when my wife had only just begun to recover from a bilateral mastectomy and chemotherapy was waiting just around the corner. I was in no mood, nor was a mentally prepared to join in the effort to “Celebrate. Remember."
Last year, I thought about joining the faculty team, but I simply couldn’t bring myself to do it. You’d think that with so many of the people I loved – my wife, my dad, my brother, my sister, my brother-in-law, my sister-in-law, a young adult friend – had been diagnosed with some form of cancer, I’d be ready and willing to jump in and walk for a cure as I’d been willing to bike for a cure.
You’d be thinking wrong. I wasn’t embarrassed – not exactly. I wasn’t afraid of the physical challenge – my son and I did the 45 mile Tour de Cure, and I’d done it once alone! I wasn’t afraid of fund raising – I’d done that for diabetes, the old March of Dimes, as well as helped with numerous other fund drives. So what was it? I didn’t figure it out until this year.
When it came time to form teams for Relay For Life 2014, I saw the kids in the hallway working to sign up teams and said I’d be willing to join the faculty one and who was the faculty team leader.
When she told me, I breathed a sigh of relief – it was one of the science teachers with whom I’d worked for years. Approaching her would be no trouble. As the date rolled around, I found myself getting more nervous. I’d convinced my wife to take a Survivor’s Lap that would take place after the Opening Ceremony, so she’d put up the courage to do so even though it involved walking a quarter of a mile around the school’s track.
When we got there and after checking in, we were talking and she said, “This is the first time I’ve publicly acknowledged that I had breast cancer.”
!BANG!
It was like a shot between the eyes for me. Of COURSE we’d told family and close friends when my wife was diagnosed – a half dozen of them sat with my daughter and I all day while my wife had the initial surgery. Of COURSE the people at school knew. I was, after all, a counselor and I told others.
People flocked to help me carry the burden.
But my wife had never “come out” in front of total strangers. Certainly she’d never been celebrated as a Breast Cancer Survivor with a shirt, a banner, and the thunderous applause of some 500 young (and not-so-young) adults and children. Certainly not in front of people who knew me as a counselor...
It was a big moment. A moment of admission; a moment of celebration.
It’s a moment I’ll never forget. Next time though, I want to tell you about how proud I am to be a part of a community, a school, and a district that worked together to bring up such fantastic teenagers.
Image: personal photograph
The school district I work in hosted a Relay For Life event. This was the fifth annual event, and even though I “knew” people with cancer then, except for seeing the windows painted in purple and white with the event and year, the whole thing really didn’t affect me. Five years ago, I was riding either alone or with my son in the Tour de Cure for diabetes awareness and fund raising.
Three years ago, the Relay For Life came at a time when my wife had only just begun to recover from a bilateral mastectomy and chemotherapy was waiting just around the corner. I was in no mood, nor was a mentally prepared to join in the effort to “Celebrate. Remember."
Last year, I thought about joining the faculty team, but I simply couldn’t bring myself to do it. You’d think that with so many of the people I loved – my wife, my dad, my brother, my sister, my brother-in-law, my sister-in-law, a young adult friend – had been diagnosed with some form of cancer, I’d be ready and willing to jump in and walk for a cure as I’d been willing to bike for a cure.
You’d be thinking wrong. I wasn’t embarrassed – not exactly. I wasn’t afraid of the physical challenge – my son and I did the 45 mile Tour de Cure, and I’d done it once alone! I wasn’t afraid of fund raising – I’d done that for diabetes, the old March of Dimes, as well as helped with numerous other fund drives. So what was it? I didn’t figure it out until this year.
When it came time to form teams for Relay For Life 2014, I saw the kids in the hallway working to sign up teams and said I’d be willing to join the faculty one and who was the faculty team leader.
When she told me, I breathed a sigh of relief – it was one of the science teachers with whom I’d worked for years. Approaching her would be no trouble. As the date rolled around, I found myself getting more nervous. I’d convinced my wife to take a Survivor’s Lap that would take place after the Opening Ceremony, so she’d put up the courage to do so even though it involved walking a quarter of a mile around the school’s track.
When we got there and after checking in, we were talking and she said, “This is the first time I’ve publicly acknowledged that I had breast cancer.”
!BANG!
It was like a shot between the eyes for me. Of COURSE we’d told family and close friends when my wife was diagnosed – a half dozen of them sat with my daughter and I all day while my wife had the initial surgery. Of COURSE the people at school knew. I was, after all, a counselor and I told others.
People flocked to help me carry the burden.
But my wife had never “come out” in front of total strangers. Certainly she’d never been celebrated as a Breast Cancer Survivor with a shirt, a banner, and the thunderous applause of some 500 young (and not-so-young) adults and children. Certainly not in front of people who knew me as a counselor...
It was a big moment. A moment of admission; a moment of celebration.
It’s a moment I’ll never forget. Next time though, I want to tell you about how proud I am to be a part of a community, a school, and a district that worked together to bring up such fantastic teenagers.
Image: personal photograph
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