No Words

I've been composing a post in my head all day. I'm in the Twin Cities for the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure--one of my clients. The post was going to be titled "love what you do" and focus on how much I enjoy and value the opportunity to work with this event. I wanted to talk about how, although it's hard, long work--although we work weekends away from friends and family and it's long hours--been up since 3:25 am in fact (and that's sleeping in)--I wouldn't change my job for another job in the world. How I feel like every minute I spend working on this account is making a difference. How I want everyone to be so fulfilled in their profession. I planned to share the moving story about Steven and Gilbert--two male participants I met at the Opening Ceremony this morning. I'll still share Steven and Gilbert's story, but the post overall has taken a turn.

As part of the event's media relations' team, I have the privilege of hearing all sorts of compelling stories. Today I stumbled upon two men with bright pink beards. After simply asking one of the men, "may I ask why you are walking?" my life has been changed forever.

I posed the question to Steven, the taller one. Steven lost his wife Ruth to breast cancer three years ago. Ruth was an oncology nurse.

The irony.

Steven has been walking in the 3-Day ever since. I asked if the two gentlemen were friends. They actually met while walking in Dallas a few years ago. Steven was walking in honor of his late wife. Gilbert was walking because his wife didn't have breast cancer--and he hopes she never does.

Fast forward to this weekend, when these two grown men decide to fly from their hometowns in Dallas to the Twin Cities for a different 3-Day for the Cure experience. When these men spray paint their beards pink and walk 60 miles in the fight against breast cancer. Every time I saw Steven and Gilbert today, I smiled. Their tale warms the heart. It is sad--there was an unnecessary loss to breast cancer--but the action these two gentlemen take is incredible.

My heart is still warmed by Steven and Gilbert.
And I still love my job.
But now I am pissed, now I am upset and this is why the blog post I've been thinking about all day has been derailed.

I may be jumping to conclusions--I am waiting for verification--but I am very troubled by something I saw on Facebook. A dear friend of mine, Lizzie, was tagged in a Facebook album. The album was titled "a tribute to Kelln Zimmer." My heart sank.

I admit I don't know Kelln well. She and Lizzie were Kappa traveling consultants together and that's really the extent of our relationship. But I heard SO much about Kelln from Lizzie's traveling tales and I know we met once or twice over the years.

I also know Kelln had breast cancer.

I don't know what happened to Kelln--but I have a bad feeling that breast cancer took her life. And even if it didn't--her life was still cut too, too short and breast cancer should have NEVER been a part of it. It shouldn't be a part of anyone's life. And it still is.

It's frustrating on so many levels. It's frustrating that given all the time, energy and money put into the disease, people are still getting diagnosed. Survival rates are increasing--and that's good--but that's not enough. No one should EVER have to hear the words, "you have breast cancer."

It's frustrating personally. It's frustrating I lost my aunt to (basically) arthritis one month ago, that my grandpa had a heart attack one week ago and that my grandma has Alzheimer's. THESE are the causes I feel compelled to support since they are my reality now, yet I feel like I must support breast cancer out of the fear I or a friend or family member will be diagnosed with breast cancer. And statistics show one of us will.

In fact, I found out just yesterday that my friend's grandma has breast cancer. It's a fresh diagnosis. She sees her oncologist for the first time Monday.

It's sad.
It's maddening.
It's distracting.
It just plain sucks.

We shouldn't lose people in their 20s to breast cancer.
We shouldn't lose anyone to breast cancer.

I'll do everything I can to support this fight. I'll do everything I can to support the diseases impacting my family currently. And I hope you'll do the same.