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And this is the story of the Run picture.
Those of you who have read my words or have heard me speak, have heard me speak about August 2008. A magic month. A month of gifts. For you see, in July 2008 Finn was dying. We didn’t know it at the time. Didn’t recognize it. But it is very true.
By asking the right questions to the right people at the right time, we got an extra month to a month and a half. It cost us a trip to Spokane with Sam and Finn lying in the back of the van (because of the location of Finn’s primary tumour, Finn could not sit), but it was worth it. But August was not a pain free month for Finn. It was a month of magic, but by no means pain free.
This email is not about the magic of August, nor is it about the pain. But knowing both is important to understanding the significance of Run.
In August 2008 Sarah turned six and decided to have a princess party. We invited lots of Sarah’s friends including our regular Sunday Dinner group of course. Sunday dinner being what it is, Sarah’s friends are/were also Finn’s friends (and Baird’s for that matter). Finn loved his Sunday dinners and loved being with his friends.
When the party started, Finn was in a tremendous amount of pain. While we have no way of knowing this for sure, it is highly likely that one of Finn’s tumours was growing or shrinking in a way that caused him tremendous pain. You could see the pain in his face and in his body. Strained and pale with a bent in half gait. No tears of course. Like all kids, Finn cried, but not typically because of pain. Finn’s reaction to pain was generally to try and walk right through it. Pick it up, embrace it and move forward.
I saw the pain immediately when Finn came down stairs and I went immediately for the methadone to give Finn a break through of pain medication. For context, Finn was going through a litre of methadone a week at that time and was also on two other high dose pain medications. As I was going for something to try and help Finn, I also saw the look on the faces of others not as familiar with what Finn endured in those last five to six months of his life. A look that is hard to capture. Distress? Horror?
Those looks have stayed with me as a bookmark of what Finn endured and how he endured it. You see Finn wanted to be with his friends, because friends are important. So pain or no pain he was coming downstairs.
But my story doesn’t end there, because we don’t have a picture yet.
So we give the breakthrough of methadone and the party continues. Finn continues to be in pain but now is with his friends. He makes a crown for his beloved Pink Bear and shows off his courage award from the hospital.
And an hour to an hour and a half later, maybe even two hours, Finn comes into the kitchen. Except he is not hunched over any more. In fact he came into our kitchen running. And like a virus, it caught. And not before very long all the kids still left at Sarah’s party joined in. Finn felt good enough to run, so he did. I can’t say his pain was all gone and I am willing to say it clearly wasn’t. But he ran and ran and ran.
So in light of what I had to say in my introduction to these mantra emails, I invite you to take Finn’s measure. And when you are taking that measure look at the picture again. Look at Finn’s shirt. Lightning McQueen. A Finn favourite and the origin of “Speed, I am Speed” on the Team Finn bike shorts. Look at Finn’s pallor. That is not his natural colour. Look at his smile and know that Finn gave smiles sparingly. Look at his pee bag. I figure we might as well look because he didn’t care. You certainly can’t tell that Finn has a colostomy or a tumour that is preventing him from sitting, or a hole in his back where I would drain tumour fluid while Finn was lying down, or tumours in his spine, liver and lungs. Hopefully you see what I see. A boy. A boy running. A boy running and loving it. Finn did it when it was hard and that should be his measure. Finn died, but he did not lose his battle, because well and truly battles are about how you live and Finn lived well.
So what do we take from this? What does Run mean to a bunch of Riders?
Run means this. While riding can be physically hard. It is also hard to raise funds and change systems. Hard to break through barriers that promise change even when you know that change is important and will make a difference.
And frankly that is o.k. It’s supposed to be hard. It’s supposed to hurt. Because then you get your measure. Then we get to know if you can still smile, still laugh.
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