Running for the people we love

On cancer and what matters most

Hi friends,

In a few days, Ally and I will lace up and run the New York City Half Marathon, beginning in Brooklyn, ending in Central Park. Together, we’re running for fun, and the joy of exercise in the open air, a chance to jog through the city on a quiet Sunday morning. But we’re also running for the people we love, namely those impacted by cancer. My eyes well up thinking about crossing the finish line, holding on tightly to their spirits.

Over the last couple of weeks, friends and family helped us raise $1,000 for the American Cancer Society (thank you!). In the grand scheme, it’s a drop in the bucket. But a donation, nonetheless. Every dollar adds up and helps researchers in their quest to find cures. They’ve made incredible progress in the last few decades. Just imagine where medical advancements could be in 20 or 30 years. A thousand bucks here, a thousand there — it adds up.

Cancer seems to impact just about everyone in some way. Ally and I are no different. My maternal grandmother died young because of breast cancer and my maternal grandfather died of prostate cancer, and the disease could have taken my mother's life in her late 30s if not for medical advancements. Thirty years ago, my uncle Mitchell lost both his wife and father to cancer — in the same year.

Most recently, around Christmas, Ally lost her uncle, Tommy, who was 54 with three young children. The cause was cancer. “The angels took Uncle Tommy,” Ally said that day, and that triggered the feeling that emerges when you hear of a loved one’s death, how it feels like your heart dropped 10 feet through the ground, and time doesn’t move. A beautiful thing happened that week, though, because Ally’s family was in Florida on vacation, and the universe did that thing where it sometimes magically aligns paths in wonderful ways. Ally’s family was close enough to rent a car and drive over to be with Tommy and his family in his final days.

“It’s as if the angels made it so that you guys were able to drive right over to be there together,” I texted Ally.

“It’s unbelievable the stars that have aligned,” Ally texted back.

What I admired most about Tommy was his unwavering belief that he’d beat the thing. When we had lunch last May in Florida, he mentioned that he’d altered his diet to be supremely healthy, and how he was biking many miles along the South Florida coast to maintain his strength.

The other thing that struck me was how welcoming he’d been to me in the summer of 2017, when I arrived at the beach home of Ally’s family for the first time. The main living space was packed with one big, beautiful Italian family chatting away, and I was a little out of sorts to be meeting so many people at once. But then Tommy, perhaps sensing my anxiety, introduced himself to me. Then he introduced me to a few other family members and put his arm around my shoulder, explaining who was whom, the history of the home, and the geography of eastern Long Island, where we stood. His reassurance helped relax me and ease me into the family.

As I write these sentences, glancing out of an airplane window, my eyes again well with tears. The sun is setting in the distance on another precious day on this magical Earth. Tommy was so young and driven, gone too soon. He is survived by his wife, Joelle, and their three children, Isabella, Thomas and Tyler, all of whom we’ll see this week at Walt Disney World. That his family will never see him again tugs at my heart. I wasn’t close to Tommy, and I hung out with him only a handful of times, but I find peace in that he left me with those two memories.

His passing is also a reminder of the role randomness and luck play in life. Through human history, good breaks and bad breaks hit people daily, no matter how kind, healthy or prudent we are. Nobody is immune to the preciousness and randomness of everything. When Tommy was living with cancer, I reflected on how that could have been me, or Ally, or one of my parents when I was a young boy, all losses that would’ve shattered my world.

Again, let all of this be a reminder to love one another a little harder, hug one another a little tighter, and smile a little wider at life’s little pleasures, understanding that everything we love will one day be gone. Let that notion drive us to live with a heart full of love and cherish our precious moments together.

In the words of artist Dennis Lloyd, in “GFY” —

“And whether your relationship is awful, good, or great
We don't like endings
We don't like to lose things
And especially, we don't like to lose things that are important to us
And make no mistake
Relationships are the single most important thing to you and your life
It's the source of all of your best memories
It's the source of all of your worst memories
When you think back on your life
And you're 95, a hundred years old
And you look back over the course of your lifetime
You're not gonna think
I wish I owned a better phone
I wish I spent more time on the internet
I wish I spent more time at work or sleeping
It's not gonna be any of those kinds of things
It's gonna be I wish I spent more time with the people I love”

So, on Sunday morning in New York, Ally and I will push forward. We’ll give the race our very best — in honor of Tommy, my mom, my grandparents — and all those impacted by the disease.

Love,

Matthew

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