I can’t tell you what it’s like to hear someone you love has cancer. You’ve either heard those words or you haven’t.
I can’t tell you what it’s like to have someone you love die while you hold them. You’ve either had that experience or you haven’t.
I can’t tell you what it’s like to plan a funeral for someone you’d planned to spend your life with. You’ve either experienced that or you haven’t.
And I can’t tell you how empty the house feels—how empty your whole life feels—when that person is gone, and you know she is never coming back.
It’s not like a divorce. It’s not like a girlfriend or boyfriend breaking up with you. It’s infinitely worse.
I don’t want anyone to experience any of that until—and unless--they have to.
And that’s why I take this Walk every year—because I’ve experienced all those things. And the thought of anyone else having to face those things fills me with a kind of horror not even the most vivid description of Hell can hold for me.
It’s why I do things I hate doing every year—like asking people for money and running fundraising events.
For me, killing cancer starts with killing NET cancer—the cancer that took my wife from me just six months before we were supposed to retire together. But it’s just the first cancer on my list.
I’m one not wealthy man. Still, the longest journey begins with a single step.
Please help the best you can.
