A Cancer Run Through Grief, Love and Hope

Today was Rotary Cancer run and somehow the timing made it mean even more.
Today is 30th August, National Grief Day. A day that gives us permission to pause, remember and acknowledge the people we have lost and the spaces they left behind.

I ran for cancer, alongside my friend Melissa, who shared this meaningful morning with me. Sometimes, having someone beside you as you walk through an emotional moment makes the experience even more special. We ran together, talked, laughed and carried the weight of the day in our own ways.

At the cancer run, there was a board where people could leave messages. I stood there and wrote a note for Mum.
It was such a simple thing but it carried so much emotion because grief is strange. You can be going about your day, laughing, working, talking to people and then suddenly, something reminds you that the person you would have loved to tell about that moment isn’t here anymore.

Today, I thought, I wish Mum could see me but then I caught myself because somehow I think she does.
Even when Mum was alive there was something about her presence that made me feel watched over. Sometimes I would imagine her looking at me from somewhere, almost like a satellite above me, seeing me, knowing what I was doing, quietly keeping an eye on me.
And that now that she is gone, I find myself doing the same thing.
Sometimes, when I am doing something I know she would approve of, I look up and say,
“You see, Mum? I’m doing just like you taught us.”
And somehow, that thought comforts me.

Maybe that is one of the ways we continue to carry the people we love after they leave us. We begin to hear their voices in our own decisions. We recognise their lessons in the way we live. We find pieces of them in ourselves. So perhaps I don’t have to wish that Mum could see me. Maybe, in the ways that matter, she already does.

And then today, I met someone whose story reminded me just how deeply grief can connect us.
I came across a man at the run who had written that he had lost his son at just three months old. I didn’t know him. I only knew his pain because I had read the words he had written. I hugged him.
There are some moments when words simply aren’t enough.

Later after I shared my own story with him, he hugged me too. And there we were just two strangers, carrying different stories of loss, finding a moment of understanding in each other’s arms.
It was emotional. And honestly, it was a wow moment.

Sometimes if not most times you realise that you are not grieving alone. There are so many people walking around with stories we know nothing about. People carrying losses, fighting battles, holding onto memories and somehow still finding the strength to show up.
Today, we showed up. We ran. We remembered. We hugged. We cried. And we kept going.

I ran for the cancer patients still fighting cancer.
I ran for the families sitting beside hospital beds as care givers.
I ran for the mothers, fathers, sons and daughters whose lives have been changed by cancer.
I ran for those who are grieving quietly.
And I ran for Mum.

There is something powerful about turning pain into purpose. I cannot change what happened to my Mother. I cannot rewrite her story or take away what she went through but I can choose what I do with the story she left behind.

Today reminded me that grief and hope can exist in the same place.
I can miss Mum terribly and still smile.
I can cry and still keep moving.
I can grieve her absence while being grateful for the life she gave me.
And I can carry her with me not only in memories, but in the things I choose to do because she mattered.

Today, I ran with her in my heart.
And when I stopped at that board to write my message, I realised that sometimes the words we write are not really for the person who has gone but for us.
A way of saying; I remember you. I haven’t forgotten you. Your life mattered. Your story matters and your love is still with me.

We keep fighting. We keep the hope. We stand together with those fighting, with those caring for them and with those who are grieving.
For you, Mum. Always.

TUHAME ❤️