I love this photo. Four friends who have just changed out of heavy boots and into flip flops at the end of a long day of hiking. We would sleep fitfully in our bunk beds that night in Greenleaf Hut, high in the White Mountains, under scratchy woolen blankets. We would smush soft pink plugs into our ears to drown out the roof-rattling snores from the mens’ dorm. And in the morning we would laugh our way down the mountain in the rain.
We would not talk about cancer or clinical trials or miracles. We would not mention what we all knew to be true: that this would be the last time we’d ever climb a mountain together. For twenty-four hours, we simply savored the moments at hand: the glorious views from the top, the soggy sandwiches in our backpacks, the slick trail under foot, silly jokes, wet socks, togetherness.
Just over a year later, in October 2010, my dear friend Diane died of ovarian cancer. (That’s her in the black fleece, looking radiant despite the fact she’d spent the early morning in the hospital getting an experimental treatment.)
As I type these words, I carry another close friend in my heart as she nears the end of her own journey with cancer. And I am reminded, with equal parts of gratitude and sadness, of the lessons Diane taught me during her illness.
Loss attunes us to what is meaningful. And although a cure may not be possible, healing always is. Diane never once asked, “Why me?” Instead, she said, “Why not me? It could have been any one of us who got sick.”
And with that, Diane made two decisions: to respond to her disease with aggressive treatment and to fully embrace the simple pleasures of her everyday life. Under the cutting-edge care of the Dana Farber Cancer Institute, she was able to do both for nearly four years.
Diane couldn’t change the outcome of her disease. But her commitment to hope and healing never wavered. From the time she was first diagnosed until the final weeks of her life, she worked tirelessly to support ovarian cancer research.
Each year, over 25,000 women are diagnosed with ovarian cancer. It was Diane’s wish that earlier detection and more effective treatments would improve the odds for every other woman who might follow in her footsteps.
Her courage and commitment are my inspiration.
Later this fall, I will be having two consecutive hip replacements. My own walks these days are short. My steps are small. My pace is slow. But I’m determined to keep moving. And on September 27, I will once again lace up my sneakers and join Team Diane for the Boston Marathon Jimmy Fund Walk. Although I can’t commit to the full 26. 2 miles this year, I’ll do what I can. I’m more aware than ever that this cause is so much bigger than any one of us.
Walking together over the last four years, our small group has raised over $150,000 – money that goes directly to Diane’s oncologist, Dr. Ursula Matulonis, and her cutting-edge research team at Dana Farber.
Over the summer, I worked with my gifted young friend Lauren (an iMovie whiz and a new Team Diane member) on a video to tell the story of our group – of a death that arrived too soon and of the extraordinary goodness that can arise from grief.
I hope you’ll take a few minutes to watch. (For full screen on YouTube: click here.)
Meet Diane and catch a glimpse of her indomitable spirit. See the powerful legacy she left behind. Share the link with your friends. And join with Team Diane to carry this urgently needed work forward.
In the words of Alice Walker, “Activism is the rent I pay for living on the planet.” As many of you know, this cause is close to my heart. And once a year I am honored to share it with you here. I’m humbled, always, by your generosity. Thank you for donating — in any amount — to this effort that means so much to me and to so many others. I am deeply grateful for your support.
To learn more and to donate to my walk, click here.
Blessings and thanks, from my full heart to yours,
Katrina
p.s. Want to send a check? Easy: make it out to Jimmy Fund Marathon Walk. In the memo line, write “Diane’s Fund.” Mail it to me: Katrina Kenison, 101 Middle Hancock Rd, Peterborough, NH 03458. T
Hi, Katrina ~ I am a long-time reader of your books and blog, but not one who comments. I’m finally writing to say that you’re doing the right thing (IMO) in having THR. I am 70, and 4 months ago had both of mine done at the same time (I recommend!). It’s amazing, and a blessing, what skilled medical people are able to do in this regard. Our grandparents would no doubt have been house-bound or bed-ridden. Good luck to you, follow the ‘rules, ‘ and do your exercises! I’m just back to (modified) yoga.
Thank you for this tribute to your friend, and for the other lovely essays you’ve written about friends who are dying. Your words have helped me in similar journeys with close friends.
Thank you, Katrina. I am touched by your words once again. I admire Diane, so vibrant & positive about life. She was very beautiful. You must all miss her so very much. Thank you for all you are doing with Team Diane. My grandmother died of ovarian cancer.
I am sorry to hear you have to have hip surgery. A good friend of mine had both hips replaced over a year ago.
Now she walks in marathons again! Amazing. I wish you well with your surgery & recovery.
I appreciate your words about loss & grief.
As we get older, we experience more losses on many levels.
It helps to have authors like you to help us see we are not alone in our grief and healing process.
Best wishes,
Linda Marten
Los Angeles, CA
Sending blessings for your surgery–may your surgeons’ hands be skillful and your recuperation easy. Thank you for your words about friends and cancer. I lost a good friend 20 years ago (much too soon–she was 44) from cervical cancer. As a survivor myself, I know how difficult it is to “be of good cheer” while going through treatments. Your description of your friends’ lives has been inspirational. Being a friend to one who is suffering from any illness is truly a gift. They may be gifts to you but you are also a blessing to them. . We all can appreciate each other more when we have writers like you to show us the way.
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Thank you for your words Katrina. I came across your book by chance or maybe I was destined to find comfort in your words; comfort, wisdom, love and acceptance.
All the best for the surgery. You will be in my thoughts and prayers.
Love
Arti
Dear Katrina,
As usual I needed to read your inspiring words so badly this morning! I have had intestinal surgery recently, and now have a temporary ileostomy, and have been battling a bit of anxiety and depression during my recovery. Your wonderful post about your friend’s courage and strength was the perfect medicine for me this morning.
Am sending you a check by mail.
Thank you for all that you do.
Wylie
Katrina….What a wonderful friend you are! Please know that myself and so many others will be sending you light and love. Speedy recovery and please keep us posted.
I am always thrilled when you post something, and as usual, this beautiful essay on friendship, courage, and equinimity brought me joy and a more open heart. I will be thinking of you as you navigate the challenges to come. You are such a warrior in every sense.
Katrina, I am so happy to read you are having surgery to replace both your hips. You are far too young with too much still to do & enjoy in this life to let anything you can correct not be corrected.
Good luck, I know you will do extremely well as you always do with all that life hands you.
Love to you & Mom
Polly
I just made a donation – it is so important to me that I share in this cause. I will be sending you lots of positive thoughts on September 27th.