As we walked the path, raising money for the local cancer support center, I noticed the names of other teams: "ILMO my hero, Dr. Stone;" "In Support of my friend Randy;" and "ILMO Momy" was scrawled in crayon on the back of a four year old boy.
The crowd was small, only about 300 or so. Yet, it seemed a vast ocean of representatives for those who could not represent themselves. Often, they carried more than one name of the fallen but not forgotten.
These losses cut deep into our hearts. As the left behind, we understand our role as banner carriers.
For me, I live to remember and hold strong. As I struggle everyday to find the energy to cling to the Hope, I remember Julie. At only 25 years old, she taught me the joy of hope. Hope learned through suffering.
The day's activity ended with the balloon release. What hope when the balloons formed a "J" in the heavens.
It was a great day, yet a tough day, and I'm so glad to have shared it with the family.
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