My Running Journey: Part 1

My running journey starts during COVID, but my journey to Boston started in 2002 with the loss of my mother. Words can never adequately ever describe the loss of your mother. Devastation? Trauma? Broken hearted? Grief stricken? Sadness? Depression? Suicidal? Check, check and check. You name it, I was feeling it. She was my best friend, but what really created an unbreakable bond was the birth of my first son.  I had my first son at the age of 17 and while I lived on my own and was not dependent on my parents, I was very emotionally dependent on my mom. When you have a son while you are in high school, you are no longer a teenager. By age, yes, but not by life experience. You go from hanging out with your friends, to being thrust into the role of being responsible for another human life. 

My mom knew I was pregnant before I told her. I walked through the door one day and she looked at me and said “you are, aren’t you?” I couldn’t play it off. Right there and then I told her that I was expecting. She never told me she was disappointed in me. Her immediate response was to make sure that I would not become a teenage pregnancy statistic. She was a pro at making me keep my promises. That day, I promised that I would not drop out of school and I would make something of myself. I am proud to say that despite having a son in high school, I did stay in school, graduated with my class, joined the army and graduated from college twice, but more about all of that later. At my most recent high school reunion, I learned that  several of my classmates didn’t realize I was pregnant. I went to school every single day, gave birth and a few weeks later, went back to school like nothing happened. Not being afraid to go to school was also because of my mother. She didn’t want me to hide. She often told me “Jessy, don’t you dare be ashamed. You are not the first teenager and you will not be the last.” She supported my decision to keep my son and had my back one hundred percent of the way. In high school, my friends were all finding their way, partying, and going on college tours. Meanwhile,  I was learning how to breastfeed and change diapers. I lost a lot of friends because our lives were going in completely different directions. Eventually, my mom became my only friend, and I was okay with that. We made meals together, we watched movies together, we made our favorite snacks, we had sleepovers, and we went everywhere together. Not only was my mom my best friend, she was my only friend. I didn’t need anyone else. 

In April of 2002, she began experiencing headaches and extreme fatigue, which brought her to the doctor. After a CT Scan and a neurological exam, she was diagnosed with brain cancer. I still had hope that it was something that chemo and radiation could cure, but I lost total hope when, on April 30th,  after a removal surgery,  they told us it was grade IV Glialblostama Multiforme, a primary brain cancer. In 2002, they didn’t have the treatment options that they do now. Treatments were limited, to non- existent. Any treatments would more than likely prolong suffering. In the end, knowing her prognosis, my mom decided against any treatments and she was given 6 weeks to 6 months to live. I now more than ever cherished all the time we had together. Much of that revolved around making her comfortable and sitting with her while she rested and praying for a miracle that would never come. Within this time, we had a lot of conversations about my future. On one particular day, she held my hand and made me make another final promise. She said “I want you to promise me that when I am gone, you will go on living. You have to take care of Mikey. I also want you to promise me that you will always go out and do good things in the world.” This was the last time I heard her voice. I consider those words her final gift. She knew by saying that to me, I would never break my promise. (Remember earlier that I said she was a pro at making me keep my promises?) 6 weeks after she told us she was going to pass away, I sat there holding her hand as she took her final breath in this world. It was, at that moment on May 30th 2002, that my entire world came to a sudden halt. It has taken me a very long time to process losing my mom, but it is through her words, her  final gift that truly shaped who I have become as an adult. Every time I volunteer and help others, I always do it with my mom in the back of my mind because it is what she wanted for me. She wanted me to be a good person, have empathy, show others kindness and help where and when it is needed. The values she instilled and her final wishes for me brought me to the Boston Marathon. As a runner, I learned that you don’t always have to qualify to run it. You can raise money for a charity to gain entry into the race. This became a way for me to honor my mom’s wishes in a BIG way. The first charity I ran for was the Boston Museum of Science. I chose BMOS because they have a travel science program that benefits thousands of students in the northeast. My mom and I would go on trips to BMOS or she would chaperone our  field trips to BMOS.  These were my favorite elementary school memories. I knew that she would have loved for me to raise money for them so that other students will have the opportunities that I was so fortunate to have with her at the museum.  Running with BMOS was amazing, but the most rewarding charity I have run for  and continue to run for is Dana Farber Cancer institute. This is a charity I hold dear to my heart because it is always pushing the limits of medical science and discovering groundbreaking medical treatments for cancer. The money I raise for Dana Farber not only benefits the patients, but it also goes towards supporting their family members and caregivers.  I have come back to Dana Farber Cancer Institute year after year because I want to try to stop mothers from needing to say goodbye to their daughters or daughters, like me being forced to say goodbye to their mothers. The best way to do that is by honoring my mom, and raising money to fund medical research and caregiver support services. If you would like to support me in honoring my mom, click here. All donations will be matched one to one.