[2020-12-29] Terry Fox's challenge
It was a cold morning in Ottawa, so on Pyjama Day 5, I curled up on the couch, under a warm throw, and read the rest of Forever Terry: A Legacy in Letters. As I explained in Stories, the book includes 40 letters by 40 contributors, detailing the impact of Terry Fox on each of them.
Many entries brought me to tears. One that stood out for me today was by NBA basketball player Steve Nash. He wrote:
When Terry ran, somehow I didn't see the struggle. I saw the strength. When I catch that footage now, I still do. It was impossible to watch him and not see how different his running looked compared to mine, yet his movement was so rhythmic, so solid, that it was the runner that came through. His mindset was all over his face, in the way he held himself, and his silent steadiness. That made such an impression on me—it was maybe my first real exposure to the grit of resilience. I remember hearing that his prosthetic leg was so painful that he bled from it, and maybe we even saw that in the news coverage. But with Terry, everything was aligned and working with purpose. He passed on that determination to so many of us that I think it's more than a piece of our cultural fabric—generations of Canadians impacted by this "regular" guy’s dedication to change.
There were things I didn't think about back then—I don't think I ever wondered whether Terry thought his cancer was terminal. I believed that he was going to follow what was later described to me as a "meticulous plan" to make it, and that we'd all be there to see him dip his foot in the Pacific. When he suspended the run, I thought it was only temporary, a pause to recover. Because what could interrupt, let alone defeat, that kind of indomitable spirit? That spirit was contagious....
Now I think Terry probably was aware that cancer would end his road, which makes it all the more inspiring: in the face of that crushing weight, he hustled for change, to help others. No sitting, no moping, just drive and hustle for change that wouldn't come in time to save him. That sense of constantly impelling forward has held such force in my life, as I'm sure it has for millions of others.
As I was reading Nash's letter, I was texting with a friend about our respective creative outlets: his music, mine writing. It reminded me of the inscription on Terry Fox's monument in Thunder Bay, which reads: "To every Canadian, he left us a challenge—a challenge each of us will meet in our own way."
Fox's challenge was bone cancer; his talent, running, not to mention resilience, perseverance, selflessness and so many other remarkable qualities.
My challenge is ovarian cancer; my talent, writing.
I said to my musical friend: "I write. You play and sing. In our own ways, we are trying to communicate something that will reach others." He replied that my blog is about hope and joy in the little things, and that's what people need to be reminded of. While it's not on the scale of what Terry Fox did, I think that he would have approved. Big and small, all contributions that tackle a challenge advance the cause.
Olympian hurdler Perdita Felicien put this well in her tribute letter:
What makes Terry Fox remarkable is that he was an everyday Canadian, an ordinary kid, who decided to give voice to the fight against cancer. There wasn't a lot of fanfare when he first declared he was going to run across the country. But as he started to move west, Canadians paid attention. What touched a lot of people, and what touches me now when I think about him, is the example he showed us that any one of us can make a change. We can all take up a cause in our own lives, in our hometown, and we can channel Terry’s energy to do good. You don't have to be a humanitarian or an activist to make a difference in your community. That's why I respect Terry Fox so much. He wasn't a millionaire. He wasn't a movie star. He was a guy who loved sport, was diagnosed with cancer, and set out to raise one dollar from every Canadian.
My community is small, just the readers of this blog, both those I know and those I don't. Not every post is life-changing, especially when I'm recovering from chemotherapy and have little energy—physical or mental—to write something profound. But the effort is worthwhile, and the daily discipline, rewarding.
In thanking Fox for being an example to her, Olympian speed skater Catriona Le May Doan wrote:
Though we are on this Earth for just a brief period of time, it is during that time that we must make a mark. A mark on others. A mark on our community. A mark that will inspire at least one person to be better and achieve more than they ever thought possible.
Fox inspired a country, and eventually the world, to be more giving, to see ability rather than disability, and to strive to make a difference.
I'll leave you with Fox's own words: two excerpts from a letter he wrote on October 15, 1979, to the B.C. Division of the Canadian Cancer Society asking for support for his run:
The night before my amputation, my former basketball coach brought me a magazine with an article on an amputee who ran in the New York Marathon. It was then when I decided to meet this new challenge head on and not only overcome my disability, but conquer it in such a way that I could never look back and say it disabled me. But I soon realized that that would only be half my quest, for as I went through the 16 months of the physically and emotionally draining ordeal of chemotherapy, I was rudely awakened by the feelings that surrounded and coursed throughout the Cancer Clinic. There were the faces with the brave smiles, and the ones who'd given up smiling. There were the feelings of hopeful denial, and the feelings of despair. My quest would not be a selfish one. I could not leave knowing these faces and feelings would still exist, even though I would be free from mine. Somewhere the hurting must stop... and I was determined to take myself to the limit for this cause....
We need your help. The people in cancer clinics all over the world need people who believe in miracles. I'm not a dreamer, and I'm not saying that this will initiate any kind of definitive answer or cure to cancer, but I believe in miracles. I have to.
Like Steve Nash, I suspect that Fox did believe, on some level, that his cancer would return, though I'll never know for sure. Perhaps he was like me—aware of the possibility but choosing to focus on what he could do. Fox not only believed in miracles, but also created them. I am the beneficiary, 40 years later and more than $800 million raised in his name to support cancer research.
