Remembering Terry

I have been cheating with another blog. But don't worry Big Picture....we're into polyblogamy, aren't we?

I've popped in for a reason.

Side note: I'll resume fulltime spewage once I get my course behind me.

Yesterday marked the 25th Anniversary of Terry Fox's start to his Marathon of Hope. I suppose its not like me to get all sentimental, but we all have our moments.

I was 10 years old when Terry started. Memories of that time very much include my father, who was instrumental in teaching me about Terry's awesome task. Maybe this moment is so wrapped up with thoughts of my dad that I am mourning for both their passing. Who knows, we're such complicated creatures. I don't have any specific memories of Terry Fox back when I was ten, except for a poster my dad gave me, which I proudly hung in my room. His moppish hair, his awkward, yet determined gait, his iron-on T-shirts, adidas shorts, running at dusk in the mist and that song (oh that cheesy song!) "Run Terry Run!! Run Terry Run!" are now iconic, representing hope, courage, determination, and bittersweet disappointment.

I can recall the day my mother telling me that Terry had to stop running. "But why? He is only half done!" Then she told me the cancer had come back and he had to stop. The cancer coming back was not part of our plans I think I feared that he would lose his other leg, and not be able to finish. Little did I know that it spread to far graver places - his lungs. I watched the CBC archives of Terry announcing that he had to stop because the cancer had spread. We all felt his utter disappointment. We all wanted him to continue soon. I was young enough to think he would.

Vague are my memories of his death. Yesterday I thought that his journey would have been hallowed by Canadians from Coast to Coast to Coast regardless of the outcome. Its somewhat satisfying to think that he would have recieved as many accolades for dipping his artificial leg in the Pacific. When I think of Terry Fox, I see him struggling in the rain, his rhythmic thump-thump-pull, those curls. Today I think he was just a kid. Just a kid. Just a kid with a dream.