In memory of my dad and in support of his oncology team at Dana-Farber, I’m running across Rwanda.
For me, the story starts three years ago with an email sent on the eve of Valentine’s Day. The subject line: Thursday. It was from my dad. “I have some unexpected news,” he wrote, “that I don’t want you to overreact to. After all the results to the medical tests I had, the diagnosis is in. There are cancer cells in the biopsy they took from the lesion on my liver.” The rest of his email was short and to the point. More appointments. A handful of treatment options. Letting God guide the way. We’ll all get through this. At the time, I was a junior in college studying abroad in Cameroon.
After reading his email, I was torn. My body was in Central Africa. My heart was at home in New Hampshire. My mind was somewhere in between, bobbing up and down in the North Atlantic. It was my parents who encouraged me to stay and finish the semester. “Don’t worry about your mom and me,” Dad later said over Skype, “you are exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
We all know what happened a month later, the global pandemic. I flew back to the States in April.
Once home, I felt life fall into a familiar rhythm. Aside from having more doctors’ appointments and less energy than before, Dad didn’t seem all that different. This was, in large part, due to the extraordinary care he received at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston.
Shortly after his diagnosis in February, Dad began treatment at Dana-Farber under the care of Dr. Nadine McCleary. For the next three years, he fought the good fight at one of the leading cancer treatment and research institutions in the world. For this, our family felt lucky and grateful. For the time he had, Dad lived every moment to its fullest thanks to the expertise and compassion of Dr. McCleary and her team.
In those three years, our lives marched on. Mom continued substitute teaching at a local elementary school in Concord. Dad continued writing and producing films. I graduated college, joined the Peace Corps, and moved to Rwanda.
The day I left for the Peace Corps, June 6, 2022, is one I’ll never forget. Dad took me to the airport. We said goodbye in the parking lot and again at the entrance to airport security—but, as you know, all good things happen in 3s. For close to an hour, Dad and I stood on either side of the security glass, chatting on the phone. “Brink,” he said, gesturing through the glass, “things were different when I was your age, but if they hadn’t been, I’d have wanted to do something just like this. Do it for the both of us, okay?” When my boarding group was announced, we said one last goodbye and ended the call. Weeks later, Dad let slip that he’d hung around the airport long after my plane took off. He wanted to make sure I was well on my way before heading back home.
Fast forward to May 2023. Every year, our city holds a 5k road race to raise money for the Concord Payson Cancer Center at Concord Hospital. For as long as I can remember, my parents and I have participated. From Dad’s shoulders, to walking hand in hand, to outrunning him when I hit high school, this race was our tradition. Unlike past years, Mom and I weren’t able to participate this time around. Also, Dad opted to walk instead of run—“It’s more my speed these days,” he admitted. So, mom cheered from home and I in spirit, while Dad took to the road with thousands of other Concord runners and walkers. Dad had nearly made it to Green Street, less than a quarter mile from the finish, when he fell on the curb. He suffered a traumatic brain injury.
I flew home shortly after Dad’s fall. For the next couple of weeks, it was rest, recovery, and doctors’ appointments. For a time, Dad looked to be getting better. Sleep, medicine, chocolate milk, almond croissants, classical music, short walks, and family were doing him a lot of good. By late May, Dad had me driving him across town to attend meetings and catch up on work at his office.
Two weeks at home went by in a flash. When the day of my return flight came, my parents drove me to the bus station in Concord. “You’re going where you’re supposed to be,” Dad said as we hugged goodbye, “you’re there for the both of us, remember?” I flew back to Rwanda in early June.
Two weeks later, my parents called. The hemorrhage Dad sustained after his fall hadn’t healed. And his fall? Not from tripping on the curb. It was a seizure. Dad’s cancer had spread to his brain.
The next day, Dad underwent emergency brain surgery for the hemorrhage. A week later, he underwent another. A few days after that, another. Three surgeries in total. When June turned to July, it became clear that things had taken a turn.
In early July, I flew home. From the airport in Boston, I went straight to Dad’s room at Brigham and Women’s Hospital. He spent his final days there surrounded by family, love, music, and stories. Late in the afternoon on July 7, 2023, Dad passed away peacefully.
Just as my story began in Central Africa, here it continues. Next year in 2024, my 27-month Peace Corps service in Rwanda comes to an end. To close out my service, I’m running across the country from Tanzania to Congo (Nyamyumba). I’m running for my dad, for his doctors, and for Dana-Farber.
If you’re able, join me on this trek with a donation to Dr. McCleary and her team at Dana-Farber. Together, let’s join the movement to prevent, treat, and defy cancer.
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Who? I'm not alone in this adventure! It's me, a couple friends, and anyone else crazy enough to join us for a few miles.
What? Some running, some walking, some hiking, some jogging…whatever will get us to the finish (on foot, of course!). We’re planning on a marathon (or more) a day. Should run the distance in under a week!
Where? From Tanzania to Congo (Nyamyumba). 134 miles. Map linked here.
When? At the end of this 2023-2024 academic year (I’m a teacher!), likely late July. TBD on weather.
How? Commitment to the cause, a whole lot of training, and support from friends along the way.
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Huge shoutout to Runner’s Alley, my hometown running store, for supporting the cause. When I mentioned this project to Jeanine Sylvester (friend, founder of Runner’s Alley, and former boss), she jumped on board, generously offering gear, nutrition, and a new pair of kicks. Thank you, Jeanine and the rest of the Runner’s Alley community, for supporting me every step of the way!
