The enormity of the Ride to Conquer Cancer

Last weekend (June 13/14) was the Ride to Conquer Cancer. Because of my personal situation with my dad, I wasn't able to fund raise as hard as last year or even train. I did raise around $2000 ($500 less than what you need to ride) and it me proud to know that I have such great supporters. So, my daughter and I decided to be Crew members - our jobs - to drive the Sweep Vehicle and pick up any riders who were hurt or for some reason couldn't go on.

Well, to say it was gratifying would be an understatement. Last year when we rode, I was overwhelmed with the enormity of the Ride - the number of people participating (2700), the funds raised in total ($14 million), the route of the Ride (through the hills of the Niagara escarpment), and the length of the Ride (200 km in two days). And the fact that I made it (well, almost...I had to be picked up a couple of times)!! All this, to honour my mom and to do something to fit cancer, from which she died.

This year, there were more riders (3400), more money raised ($14.5 million) and a more difficult ride. We were there, as one rider called me, as "guardian angels". Wow! And that's how we felt. We picked up riders that were hurt, that were sick and couldn't go on, we provided water on the terrible hills, we played motivational music - much to the chargrin of the locals, it was fantastic. I also think, in helping in this way, I honoured my mother even more. I supported the Riders, the event, and was part of a relatively small group (300 - as compared to 3400 riders) that ensured the event ran smoothly and safely.

It was beyond terrific...it was enormous in too many ways to write about. My heart felt like that of the Grinch's (only, my heart is already big)...it seemed to grow many sizes over in the course of those two days.

A poem for my mother

Our Mothers
By Christina Rossetti

Our Mothers, lovely women pitiful;
Our Sisters, gracious in their life and death;
To us each unforgotten memory saith:
"Learn as we learned in life's sufficient school,
Work as we worked in patience of our rule,
Walk as we walked, much less by sight than faith,
Hope as we hoped, despite our slips and scathe,
Fearful in joy and confident in dule."
I know not if they see us or can see;
But if they see us in our painful day,
How looking back to earth from Paradise
Do tears not gather in those loving eyes?—
Ah, happy eyes! whose tears are wiped away
Whether or not you bear to look on me.


My mother didn't like me to worry, but I'm worried all the time. I'm worried about my father. I'm worried about my kids. I'm worried about my husband. I'm worried about work. I'm worried about myself. I feel badly that she may be looking down at me and that she may feel sad for me. I miss her so much. A day doesn't go by without thinking about her.

what's tough about being an only child?

You're the only one. The only one to take care of your mother when she is dying. The only one to take care of your father with whom you have never really had a good relationship. The only one to make a decision on elder care for a father who has always been strong and is in both physical pain from a terrible infection on his diabetes ravaged body and is mentally in pain because he can't be the strong father figure his only daughter has always know.

What's so tough about being an only child? There is no one else to share stories from when you were a child. There's no one else to share in the pain when you lost your mother and are watching your father grow weaker as he grows older.

What's so tough? There are only the memories you have...alone. The stories you try to share with your family who really don't understand or, maybe, don't care because they have their own memories they are building.

It's tough being an only child...even when you're 50.

January 5, 2008

Today is my mother's birthday. She would have been 78 years old today. She died March 14, 2002 and I still miss her terribly.