The Companion to Grief

Seven and a half years after Jim died, I am walking today for the Cholangiocarcinoma Foundation.

My sisters are walking with me miles away from each other, yet together in our hearts. I am walking alone, with my parents, with our youngest son and my sister’s dog, Shiloh (the peaceful one—seems appropriate).

I am walking for Jim and the hope of all the others that research may progress and save their loved one’s lives.

I want to be honest about something, because I think it matters to say.

I am not in grief today. I am in love.

I carry Jim with me. He is here. He is in my chest, at my side, in the eyes of my son. I do not walk for him out of sorrow. I walk for him because he was loved, and is loved, and because other families deserve more time with the people they love than we got. Cholangiocarcinoma is rare. It is aggressive. It is usually caught late. It takes people quickly, and it takes them young. We are walking so that one day, that is no longer the story.

But this piece is not about the cancer.

This piece is about the people who walk with you.