Post written by Katie @ Why Bother
It was a cold day in March of 2009. Voices of many mingled in the air as the clouds hung low around us. People lingered here and there, too many to count. Booths of white canopies poked through the sea of heads and music swayed in the trees.
I made a mental note to myself that I was glad for my light running cover-up found at the bottom of my son’s jogging stroller. It would have been a long, chilly walk without it. In the jogger that sat next to me my son was strapped in and sucking a small pink lollipop as I pinned my boyfriends Race For The Cure participant number into his shirt back.
We were one in thousands, a sea of people pulled together for a similar cause: to find a cure for breast cancer.
Among us were the similarly numbered people ready to walk, jog or roll along for the cure of the killer disease that affects so many. But mixed in between the plainly numbered folk were bright signs and pink banners. These I stopped to read.
Some were worn in celebration of those walking with them, the survivors and the fighting.
Some were worn to honor the future women and men yet to battle for their lives.
And some, a few too many in my opinion, were worn in memory of a fighter who didn’t win.
The sea of pink and numbers blurred as I teared up from the overwhelming flood of emotions. I was about to walk with people who were battling for their lives, battling for a cure, and some where battling for their breasts. Fighting for themselves, for those who have gone before them and for our future generations.
I wiped at my tears and took a deep breath. This was going to be a glorious day as I took a step forward to raise money for a cure with thousands beside me. I may not be a survivor or a fighter, but I’m the future and I was walking for myself.
As my hand returned to my side, I felt my boyfriend reach down and squeeze it lovingly. I smiled at him and realized that he, too, was walking for me. Then the jogging stroller shook and my son’s sandy brown head peeked out and asked if it was time to go. I realized he, too, was walking for me.
We were all walking. Walking to honor the fallen. Walking to celebrate with the living. Walking to fight for the future.
Walking for the cure.
Please don't forget to donate by clicking here for Keep a Breast or here for Susan G Komen.
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