This used to feel natural. I can feel rust binding up the gears as I attempt to put words on paper. I hope I can knock the rust off. I haven’t really written anything since my mom’s funeral a year ago.
I was a good writer. If you gave me an hour I could put together my thoughts on just about anything. My college professors and friends would all be shocked to learn that the loss of my mom took away my voice and my ability to write.
I have tried to write but my mind couldn’t handle it. The depression made it too hard. A good friend, Sally Jo Sorensen, asked me to write something for her. She tried to help me out of my funk. She pushed me to write. It took weeks to put out a decent piece. I would turn in some half-hearted manuscript and she would return it and ask for more. She expected better and knew it was in me.
Writing became hard because it was my outlet when my mom died. Every time I sat to write, it brought back the feelings of losing my mom so I stopped doing it.
I spent the past year feeling guilty. I hid behind the depression and found ways to push away the people closest to me. I even managed to push away Heather. She recently told me that she left because she didn’t know what else to do to snap me out of the depression.
In time, the depression faded and became a memory – at least until the holidays arrived.
I was not a person you wanted to be around during the holidays. When I saw a calendar I was reminded that the anniversary of mom’s death was approaching. I became unbearable. I started pushing people away again.
Close friends and my girlfriend didn’t let it happen this time. They made me talk and open up about things. Along the way something strange happened.
The world did not end on January 1.
I was a good writer. If you gave me an hour I could put together my thoughts on just about anything. My college professors and friends would all be shocked to learn that the loss of my mom took away my voice and my ability to write.
I have tried to write but my mind couldn’t handle it. The depression made it too hard. A good friend, Sally Jo Sorensen, asked me to write something for her. She tried to help me out of my funk. She pushed me to write. It took weeks to put out a decent piece. I would turn in some half-hearted manuscript and she would return it and ask for more. She expected better and knew it was in me.
Writing became hard because it was my outlet when my mom died. Every time I sat to write, it brought back the feelings of losing my mom so I stopped doing it.
I spent the past year feeling guilty. I hid behind the depression and found ways to push away the people closest to me. I even managed to push away Heather. She recently told me that she left because she didn’t know what else to do to snap me out of the depression.
In time, the depression faded and became a memory – at least until the holidays arrived.
I was not a person you wanted to be around during the holidays. When I saw a calendar I was reminded that the anniversary of mom’s death was approaching. I became unbearable. I started pushing people away again.
Close friends and my girlfriend didn’t let it happen this time. They made me talk and open up about things. Along the way something strange happened.
The world did not end on January 1.
I woke up on January 1st and I felt good. I missed my mom and mourned her passing but I felt good.
A few short days later something happened to wake me up and help focus my energy. A random moment that educated me on something I thought I knew about.
An NBC News special week-long report on women’s health issues happened to be on while I was playing with my daughter. The subject of the report that evening was ovarian cancer. I stopped what I was doing and watched the report. It was then that I learned there is no early detection test for ovarian cancer.
I had always been under the assumption that there was some test my mom could have undergone to save her life. I thought it was somehow missed or that she had never had the test. I urged the women in my life to see their gynecologists and to be tested to make sure they didn’t suffer the same fate my mom did. I was wrong.
At that moment, I found a new purpose in life. Until a test exists that can provide early detection for ovarian cancer I will not stop. If detected early ovarian cancer has a more than 90 percent survival rate. The problem is only 19 percent of ovarian cancer is detected early.
This must change.
With your help, perhaps it can.
For our girlfriends, wives, moms, aunts, sisters, nieces and daughters – for every woman I know I dedicate this fight.
I will not lose another person to this disease. This I swear.
For our girlfriends, wives, moms, aunts, sisters, nieces and daughters – for every woman I know I dedicate this fight.
I will not lose another person to this disease. This I swear.
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