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Thursday, February 12, 2009

Two Years Later.

Two years ago today I got the phone call that I knew was coming.  It was from my father telling me that my Auntie Nancy had passed.  Prior to this phone call, two days before, both Lindsey and I went to see Auntie Nancy for what was our last time.  Although some family members were hesitant about us doing this, we knew in our hearts how important this was.  Nobody can prepare you for the moment you have to say goodbye to someone for the very last time.  For me, this was the most difficult experience of my life, but when looking back, I realize how important it was in getting me to the point I am at today.  

Today, I have the courage, determination, and strength I need to get me through each day, and I thank Auntie Nancy for this.  By all means, I am not saying that there is no struggle involved, because there is.  It still hurts to go through milestones and experiences without her there.  Sometimes I want to pick up the phone to tell her exciting news or to have one of our ridiculous conversations, but then reality sets in. Although I still struggle at times facing this reality, one thing remains certain.  The courage, determination, and strength she provided me with has allowed me to work towards one very important goal.

The goal is to run 26.2 miles in honor of the extraordinary person that Auntie Nancy was and the incredible legacy she left.  I have gone into the marathon training experience with an open mind, knowing that I will have my good runs and my bad runs, but at the end of the day, I know where my motivation comes from.  It comes from my role model, my second mom, and my friend.  It comes from my Auntie Nancy, with whom has provided me with everything I need to reach the ultimate finish line: A World Without Cancer.

I am missing you today, and everyday, but I know you are always watching over me.  I love you.  

1 comment:

  1. Ashley; this is a brave and beautiful post.

    When I was going through treatment for cancer, two other friends of mine were as well. They were much older (I was 31, Byrd was in her 50s, Peter in his 60s), and both had much more insidious forms of the disease. I lost Byrd and Peter; I'm the last of we three.

    I can't tell you how much I am sure it meant to your Aunt to have that last visit with you. My friends also desperately wanted (and received) the opportunity to say goodbye - for now - to their loved ones. Peter and I talked a lot about what that meant and how important it was.

    I think your post is really brave; I have been hesitant to talk much about it on my blog but you have done so in an incredibly graceful and meaningful way.

    Take care and I look forward to seeing you at the race.

    Warmly, Helen/H1202.