"Life is like riding a bicycle -- in order to keep your balance, you must keep moving."    ---Albert Einstein

In the summer of 1978, my dad along with three of his friends rode their bicycles across the country, starting in Boston, and ending in San Francisco. Thankfully, my dad kept his memories in two logs the entire time, and not until recently have I learned how precious these documented moments truly are.

My dad was diagnosed with stage four-colon cancer in May of 2007. Last May we were told my dad had at most six months to live, or as little as four weeks. Only time would tell.  My dad, the strongest man I knew, who had been living with, not dying from, cancer, gave us two and a half weeks before passing away.

I was--and still am-- angry, upset, confused, sad, and, at times, numb. It depends on the day. But in my frustration at watching my dad confront this disease, I took up a hobby and a new challenge. A pastime that my father loved: Cycling.

I pedaled my fears away, and in February, I, along with my two best friends and my father's sister Jane, decided we would train for the Dempsey Challenge, a demanding 100-mile bike ride through hilly Maine to raise money for the Patrick Dempsey Center for Cancer Hope and Healing. Our four-person team quickly grew to include his other sister, Joanie, his brother, Billy, and some of his closest family and friends.

We began small. I biked five miles here, ten miles there. I told my dad I made the commitment, and I knew he was proud. Two days before he passed away I completed my longest ride since I had started training: 30 miles to Scituate and back on Route 3A. When I returned from my ride, I ran into the house and told my dad I had finished the route. I still cherish the memory of the look of excitement in his eyes.

All summer I rode my bike. When I wasn't working, I was riding. It freed me, it calmed me, and it cleared my mind. Many times during these training rides, I would think about my dad crossing the country on his navy blue, Fuji bicycle, and the excitement he felt. Then, I would think about myself, riding down the hills in Cohasset, or biking up country roads in New Hampshire, happy and grateful to be alive, breathing in fresh air. This is something I would always share with my dad, even if in spirit.

In fact, I believe he made me a stronger cyclist. Before my dad became ill, he gave me the two logs he kept from his 1978 trip. It took me four hours to read them front to back one day when I was home sick from work. I remember finishing them, and crying, because my dad's experience was one I yearned to have some day. I like to think that the feeling my dad had when he finally caught glimpse of the Pacific Ocean was similar to the feeling I felt at mile 99 of the Dempsey Challenge, only on a much larger scale.

On the inside cover of his journal, before his first entry, my dad quotes William Allen White: "I am not afraid of tomorrow, for I have seen yesterday, and I love today." Living in the moment was something I learned to do in the last few weeks I had with my dad. Family and friends would come over, and we would laugh, and reminisce. My dad would tell us he was okay, and he knew we would be okay, too.

 And we are okay. Some days are better than others. It's all part of the grieving process. I take comfort in knowing my dad is all around me. Whenever I find myself missing my dad, I simply take out one of his journals and read for a while.  Then I hop on my bike and go.  

I completed the challenging century bike ride in Maine on October 4, just a few days short of the 3 month mark of my father's passing. I conquered the task set before me mile by mile. When my dad was cross-country he would bike 100 miles in a day for seven days straight. Perhaps one day I can say I did the same.

 As I rounded the corner onto an old, run-down bridge over a river in Lewiston, Maine, nearing the finish line, tears welled up in my eyes. I had succeeded. I had taken the trials of the past two years coping with my dad's illness, and used them as motivation to accomplish something I never would have dreamt of doing. And my dad was with me the entire time. I wouldn't have been able to complete the century if it weren't for the inspiration of my father. And, of course, my mother, who was cheering me along on the sidelines with my closest family and friends.

 As the holidays drew near, I missed my dad more than ever. While the conditions are not right for my father to physically be here, I know his spirit is with me each and every day. He will continue to be with me as I tackle new obstacles and test my own limits, because after this year, who knows what one is capable of in moments that truly test one's endurance: Physically, mentally, and emotionally. Perhaps he can help me take on the Hyannis Sprint triathlon next September.

As the British poster from World War II suggests, if nothing else in moments of uncertainty, we must "keep calm and carry on."

One stroke, one pedal, one sprint, one day at a time.

                                    The "Mike's Buzzahds" team after completing the Dempsey Challenge.

By Jamie Wilson

Jamie Wilson is a native of Braintree, Massachusetts, and a recent graduate of the S.I. Newhouse School of Public Communication at Syracuse University. She currently works as an assistant editor at a publishing house in Boston.

Comments(2):

1. Fantastic job

   This is an truly inspirational story. Well done.

   Sunday, January 10, 2010 Cindy

2. Well done Jamie! What a wonderful and touching tribute to your dad. His was a life well lived, although far too brief. We miss him dearly as our friend (and fishing buddy!). Anyone Mike ever came into contact with was blessed and better for having known him. You made him very proud and will continue to do so as you follow your dreams. His bright, loving spirit will remain close and a part of you forevermore. Seek strength in that. God bless you and be with you always.

   Sunday, January 24, 2010 kristine