Believe
Why Michael Rides
In short, when I was originally presented the opportunity to ride a bicycle across the entire continent of North America, I honestly agreed to participate for shallow, superficial, and petty reasons. I thought it would be pretty cool to be able to reply to the copious and hackneyed inquiries of, “What did you do this summer,” and “How was your break,” with an arrogant and almost condescending response of “You know, the usual – I biked across the country.” While the fact remains that I will still be able to answer in this manner, it is clear that my attitude has transformed with everyday spent preparing and pursuing such an incredible adventure. This trip, after all, is not about our tight-knit group of thrill-seekers looking to check off one more insane activity from a crazy check list. Yes, it will be our team that physically traverses the country via bicycle. However, this ride will be dedicated for the millions of individuals who suffer from the terror that has come to be known as cancer. This is for all of the families that appear to endure more pain than the actual victim, who know deep in their hearts that an inevitable ending approaches. Lastly, this journey is for the thousands that will be diagnosed with one of the various forms of cancer in this next year.
As a group, our general purposes and intentions for this ride have been clearly established. Nonetheless, our upcoming journey holds a bittersweet place in my heart. It was during the beginning to middle months of 1995. My mother’s father, (we called him Grampy), was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I was 7 at the time, and was old enough to realize something was wrong, but still to young to fully appreciate the severity of the situation. A little time passed, and things were fair; daily calls, constant worries, and occasional breakdowns were the norm. Finally, we were able to pack up as a family, drive down to Clearwater, and spend some quality time with Grampy. He had drastically lost weight, and overall, fit the description of what an individual might stereotypically picture a cancerous person to look like. The days flew by, and sadly, we were on our way home. Shortly thereafter, in the early September, the time of the year when you can feel the weather begin to change and see hints of autumn approaching, my mother received news that her dad was struggling and immediately caught a flight the next day. Along with her solemn family, my mom stayed with her dad practically every moment for a solid week. Finally, she had to return home to get back to her daily stresses (which at the point seemed trivial). What my mom was not aware of is that Grampy passed away, September of 1995, as she was en-route back to Atlanta. To say the least, the next few months were difficult. However, slowly and gradually, my family got back to its normal routine and my mom coped with her loss. The New Year was sure to bring more ups and fewer difficulties than the previous 12 months. I was a little older at this point, and knew my father well. One would ask, “What do these two have to with each other?” Let me explain. In my eight years of interaction with my father, I had never seen him cry…not even once. This is why I was so startled when I came home one day from school to see him teary eyed. Any sons or fathers out there reading this know that there isn’t anything more sacred than the relationship and love a dad shares with his little boy. My dad had found out that day that his father, who had never smoked a day in his life, was sick with lung cancer – a terribly severe cancer whose survival rates are almost nonexistent. My pop-pop showed me how to play baseball, make a happy plate at the dinner table, and most of all, he taught me how to be a good boy and hopefully one day, become a good man like his son. When he passed away in February of 1996, a mere 5 months after Grampy, the death tore right through any remaining threads that were connecting my family to a glimpse of hope and recovery. It was during this time that I came to understand what the real meaning of strength was, as I observed my parents battle through their most difficult times. As cliché as it may sound, one of my longtime goals is to live every day to its fullest and attempt to have no regrets. For the most part I’d like to think that I have been successful in this endeavor. However, with this said, I regret every single day not being old enough to fully appreciate the love and kindness both my Grandpas had to offer.
Eventually, as time has passed, my family has been able to overcome our tremendous period of loss and eventually recede back to our everyday lives. We go on with our busy schedules and try to forget and put behind the tough periods. Therefore, with all of this said, instead of partaking in this summer expedition to gain bragging rights and an overconfident mindset, I am riding for my Grampy and my Pop-pop. These two men always believed in me, and taught me so much in only a short few years we had together. This story may not stand out in any particular way…another grandparent lost to cancer here, another one there – Nevertheless, hopefully accounts like these will inspire and encourage countless individuals to help in the cause of eliminating cancer, and eventually we can make it to the point where losing a grandparent, no less a single person, will be a tremendously rare occasion.
Thank you for your time,
Michael Berke
Believe