By Cammy Singh – Team CBTF
People often tell you to “stay strong” through difficult times in life. When I had my share of grief and loss four and a half years ago, I had no idea how I could possibly find the strength to face each day and stay strong. I was in full flight, fight or freeze mode and ‘running’ the longest race of my life. Everything in me was on the back burner… my physical and mental self were all consumed by grief and intense pain.
My sweet boy, Rohan, was diagnosed with a brain tumor two days after his 7th birthday. The shock and overwhelming feeling of despair and hopelessness, coupled with the fact that I was on the other side of the medical team and the medical knowledge I had on this tumor, threw me into complete disarray. The grueling and short battle of 28 days shattered me, yet in the end, shaped and defined me to live life intentionally and with a deep sense of purpose. As I continue to look back on his life, I always see a huge sense of urgency in everything about him; from being an advanced learner in school to running not like a child but an athlete with incredible stride and focus. He would laugh and smile the entire time as I would remind him to “look forward when you run”. He did not lose, he won the race… he went heavenward.
My mental fog, intense pain, deep grief and blurred focus following those 28 days caused me to be desperate and to search for constructive ways to live life again while keeping Rohan’s memories alive. I was looking and yearning for survival in a real, tangible and hopeful way. Running came in the picture through the form of a Running Evolution free couch to 5K class in a postcard. I was intrigued and decided to check it out. When I first started running, 9 months after my loss, I was still very troubled by it and life was still very much “one foot in front of the other.” Running and the conversations happening while running, helped clear my mind, for a few minutes at a time and I got to the point where I felt it was becoming an aid to find focus and renewed purpose… a way to get mastery over something. By the end of the training, I discovered that running can be that strength for me. Putting one foot in front of the other and realizing that same feeling in life will not last forever. I felt stronger, physically and mentally; strong enough to recognize and figure out who I really am and what I am made of especially in the circumstance I was in then. Running gives me time to compartmentalize all of my emotions…it became the ultimate therapy for me.
Shortly thereafter, I ran my very first half marathon. I didn’t know what to expect, except that my training and the support from my run buddies assured me that I would run the race with endurance, courage, strength and with intentionality. Rohan loved legos and butterflies, so in his honor and in memory of kids gone too soon from cancer, I pinned a gold ribbon on my bib and held a lego butterfly tight in my fist the entire time. I was surprised my sweaty palms didn’t let go of it. As I was approaching the finish line, I heard an inner voice saying, “Run Mom, Run,” and I saw the butterfly fly out of my hand and never to see it again. I took this as a sign that he was with me the entire time, cheering me on.
A few half marathons underway, I decided to take the plunge and train for 26.2; I chose the Portland marathon because it coincided with Rohan’s 11th birthday. Running Portland was truly a celebration and an exclamation point after an intense training, one that involved injuries, setbacks and lots of self-doubt. That relentless forward motion, the hurt, the fatigue and “hitting the wall’ feeling, the fight with every muscle fiber in my being is something I will always cherish because it gives meaning to the miles and to life and all its challenges. And it edged me to push through just a bit more and leap with joy when I saw the finish line. A special bond has emerged between my daughter, Norah (name scrambled from Rohan) and I through running. Though her memories of her time with Rohan are just a short three years, she holds those memories close to heart and runs each kid race with enthusiasm and determination— running for and with Rohan in her heart.
So, this is my journey that encompasses both grief and running; through this journey, I have learned that running gives me a sense of control when I may not be able to control anything else around me. Running is a place of hope and a place of defiance and coming out strong when things looked impossible. Running gives me the space to enjoy the now in a mindful way. There is more determination and fight in me than I may accept and grasp in that moment. I will always put Rohan’s pain and strength to be far greater than any I endure. I will continue to run each race, big or small in honor of my sweet boy, dedicating every mile of my race to his life. I will continue to create awareness and raise funds to fight pediatric brain tumors in his honor. All this may be small in the grand scheme of things, but the feeling of expending my all to the limits, and honoring my son who underwent so much is perhaps a way to fight back. To make a stand. To remember. For as long as I can, for as long as the pain and grief is out there, I will continue to run and remind myself that life is a gift and worthy of purpose. I do not run for medals, I run for Rohan, because running for Rohan brings profound meaning to my miles.
