This October I have chosen to run 35 miles for the American Cancer Society. When asked to post my why I stated that I am running to honor family and friends who have passed on or survived cancer research. This morning when running I began to wonder how does running honor them? The money raised may honor them but really, how? When I got to the top of the hill, my sweet spot, the women who have inspired me stories started rolling through my mind, their impact on my life. For some reason this year it is important for me to recall them, what they meant/mean to me and honor them. In my dissertation chapter two establishes the research base, the why for what my work entails. As I read the works of Bakhtin, Rosenblatt, Frerie, Clay, those who have gone before me, the image of standing on their shoulders was vivid in my mind. Running today I felt that as these stories rolled through my mind. They are a part of me. I stand on the shoulders of some mighty women whose lives have impacted me. While I am one of many they impacted this is how I will honor them, their lives, bringing an awareness of their impact, and the impact of this deadly beast, breast cancer.
My first encounter with breast cancer was my Grandma Newstrand. She passed on when I turned sixteen. She is my namesake. I was born on her birthday so my middle name is hers, Fern. She was Fern Rosela Newstrand. Beautiful soul. I loved going to her house, staying weeks with her. Her cookie jar was always full of homemade cookies. She was a baker, decorated and baked wedding cakes. Grandpa Newstrand passed on the year before I entered the world. All of my life Grandma was a single woman. She owned her own house, worked hard and supported herself. She made all our undergarments. For birthdays, holidays she always arrived with wonderful sweet treats, homemade goodies, including a new supply of undergarments. While it was embarrasing to open up one of many homemade gifts, blushing opening our newest panties, we wore them knowing she loved us. She made each one especially for us, precious memories.
Grandma lived in St. Paul, Minnesota. During the summer mom and I would drive over and I would get to stay with Grandma for a couple weeks. Oh the laughter, joy and fun we would have. Grandma was a nanny by day, she would go to work and leave me home. I could watch television (treat as we didn’t have one) until she came home. Together we would watch soap operas when she returned, visit her friends for dinners, bake and eat laughing till our bellies hurt. When I divorced I was unafraid knowing if Grandma could live by herself, so could I. Her strength filled me and her cookie jar sits on my counter. A reminder, chipped now by my guys, a loving reminder of her legacy.
I remember Grandma’s last visit. She had to move from her home in St. Paul and was making the journey to her new home in Ohio close to my uncle and aunties. She never complained, never really discussed her cancer. During that visit I remember sittting in her room talking with her as she got ready for bed. She lifted her shirt and I saw the burns on her arms, where they couldn’t find the vein and the treatments had burned her arms. She stated it matter of factly, covered her scars and changed the conversation. Never a complaint, never a bad word. Strength, courage to face the day, never letting on how hard it must have been. Joy radiated from her, my grandma. Everyone who met her and knew her commented on her beauty. Beauty of spirit and physical beauty. I didn’t understand her scars. I asked mom about it later and she quickly explained it was from the chemotherapy or radiation for her cancer never discussing again. This hurt my heart, my Grandma had endured this pain yet I admired her strength and courage. I aspired to have her couragous, independent spirit.
Years later I found out Grandma had died from breast cancer. Her celebration of life occurred when I turned sixteen. I had gone to Olan Mills to pick up my sweet sixteen pictures and was hired to be their receptionist, my first job. I could not begin until after we went to St. Paul for grandma’s funeral. Her funeral was not a sad occasion, it truly was a celebration of her life, we knew she was joining grandpa and Jesus in heaven. Family and friends came from all around, we ate, laughed and celebrated in honor of her joyful existence. It wasn’t until I hit forty that I found out she had died of breast cancer. This detail was never discussed. I was shocked when my mom told me. Why hadn’t we discussed it, supported her? She was so brave and we were so uneducated. Breast cancer was a new disease, a beast we knew little about. She never complained, we never really discussed it. This morning running her memory filled me. It often does. Feeding my soul, enabling me to be the strong, independent woman I am. For years in my hallway a family Bible has sat opened to the 91st Psalm. In Grandma’s house she left it open in the windows when we slept on the counter when awake, always present. A Psalm of protection, I do the same. She was my first encounter with this beast of a disease. How I wish we hadn’t lost her, known more and had better care for her. I am thankful for the advances in our conversations surrounding this disease and our treatment of those who are battling this beast.
Here is the link to the 35 mile walk I am doing. https://www.facebook.com/donate/4042621132431443/ You can join me by walking/running with me or by donating or just remembering, honoring those you know who have survived or passed on. Making a difference one mile at a time! This is my way, as I run I will be remembering, honoring, writing about the family, friends who have passed on or survived this breast, cancer, and who have shaped me. Standing on their shoulders, hoping to honor them. Somehow this year it seems more important than ever…. Love to all!
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