The Whole Life

My sister and I recently spent a weekend together to travel up north for the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure Expo. It was a strange trip, to say the least, full of twists in the road, revelations unsought, new friends to embrace and old memories to stumble over. As a 3-Day event is prone to do, it left us breathless, wordless and exhausted. It was during this weekend, in the quiet hours before dawn, that my sister shared with me some of her saddest memories of our friend in the hours before she died from ovarian cancer. Memories I cannot imagine having to witness, memories I sometimes wish I still did not know. It brought back, in a huge, aching, gaping way the very large hole left in my life when Emily died. I hate that hole and try my best to fill it with family and friends and writing and laughter and all the things I think Em would want me to shove in there. But it is so bottomless, so deep, so eternal.

I’ve come a long way in the two years since my Em died. But it was less than a year after her leaving that I began my 3-Day journey. The first year, my sister formed a team of women to walk with, and I could not let her do the walk without being there to help, to protect, to cheer. I am the big sister. That is my job. I chose to be part of the volunteer crew because I’d already promised myself I’d raise money for a local ovarian cancer charity. In order to participate as a walker, you must fundraise a minimum of $2,300. My sister dropped me off at Crew day for my training and left to check us into our hotel and wait for the rest of the team of walkers. And then, I was alone.

The volunteer crew works tirelessly behind the scenes, making sure everything that can be done to help the walkers on their journey is done in the very best way. The crew is divided into teams with captains. But, on Crew day, the team I was assigned to had no captain yet. And the young man appointed the job about two hours into crew day, had quite literally gotten out of bed just that morning and been coerced by his girlfriend to come along with her. He had no real desire to be there other than to spend time with his girl. I get that. He was young. But, he was a very poor leader and left us often to our own devices. So, at crew day, I sat alone. I listened alone. I watched other teams come together – alone. I remember excusing myself to use the port-a-potty. Not that I had to or was ready to succumb to squatting over hole in 3-Day style, but because I needed to very quickly get to a private place where I could weep like a lost child. I cried and wept and felt so very, very lost. So very, very alone. And that was the first time, in nearly 10 months that I felt the absolute depth of that hole left in my soul where my friend used to be.

I’d like to say that my experience got better, that our crew team rallied and became the best of buddies, that I felt welcomed by other crew teams when we showed up to offer some extra help, that I felt wanted or needed or appreciated at all during the weekend by other crew members or staff. I wish I could say that. But I cannot. It was not until the closing ceremonies that I got a glimpse of what the 3-Day was supposed to feel like. What it was about. Why we were all here. I stood amongst the walkers who had come so far and done so much and felt so much love. They would take me just as I was. Broken and hopeless. And so, because of their faith, I came back.

If the walkers had not showed me that oneness of mind, that oneness of spirit, that oneness that makes hope grow from the most infertile of lands, then I never would have returned to crew again and even take the long walk myself. And when I think of all the joy and love and hope I’ve received from the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure since that time, I’m ever so thankful to the walkers. My life would be a much sadder thing if it weren’t for the 3-Day. I would be a very bitter woman, stunted and shying away from the beautiful life I live.

Aristotle says, “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.” My life after Em’s death felt like (still sometimes feels like) it is just parts - mismatched, scattered parts. But being a part of The Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure makes me feel it can be greater than that, greater than . . . parts. My life can be a whole. The kind of whole that reaches out to help fill the holes in the hearts of others too.