WASHINGTON, DC — In a city of traffic and noise, Constitution Gardens on the National Mall is mostly silent save for the crunch of footsteps on gravel as hundreds of people walk slowly around the pond, reading the names of people who have faced cancer written on thousands of Lights of Hope bags arranged in row upon row along the path.
The mood is somber and reflective, and maybe a little celebratory.
Geese glide onto the water, then lift off again.
More than 550 volunteers from every congressional district and state across the country, volunteers like me, spent the day on Capitol Hill asking Congress to support increased federal funding for cancer research and prevention, and legislation to improve cancer detection and clinical trials access for all.
Because of the pandemic this is the first time we have been together since 2019, and we’re the first group of our size to have a lobby day in a couple years.
For me, it has been like a huge family reunion. Catching up with friends. Meeting people who I’ve only known virtually. Still, it’s like we’ve known each other forever.
We spend the better part of four days together, celebrating volunteers and staff, training, and then preparing for Lobby Day, the big reason we all come together. To meet with lawmakers.
In short, we spend this day telling our stories to members of Congress.
Stories of survival.
Of caring for loved ones.
Of grief and loss.
Then, as dusk and then darkness settles on this city of political power, thousands of voices speak to us. Sharing their stories.
Our aunts and uncles. Our friends. Our parents. Our children. Our husbands and wives.
Quietly, unobtrusively, but purposefully. Each bag lighting the darkness.
Hear her story.
And his.
And theirs.
My name is on some of the bags here. It still startles me a bit to see that. While I spend hour upon hour sharing my story loudly, here in the quiet it hits me. Someone shared my story.
My legacy, our legacy, is realized in this night and for all the nights beyond. And that makes me proud.
This is my last Leadership Summit and Lobby Day as State Lead Ambassador, our fancy name for lead volunteer. After seven-and-a-half glorious years, I’m passing the mantle to the gifted and talented Brittney Block, a fellow cancer survivor from Memphis.
It’s time. Not that I’m leaving ACS CAN. My heart is wedded, maybe welded, to this organization. I don’t know what my next role will be, but there are things I want to do, like expanding our volunteer ranks with an eye toward inclusion, and helping with our important work on health equity.
We have so much work to do.
Today and tonight are proof of that. So many bags. So many stories.
I know that telling our stories matters. Telling my story makes a difference every time someone gets screened for colorectal cancer. Makes a donation. Sponsors an event. Gives me airtime or print space.
Every time a lawmaker supports legislation that makes an impact on the cancer burden.
While I have breath, I will tell my story.
I know my fellow volunteers will too, until the day comes when we can tell the story that begins like this:
“Once upon a time there was this disease called cancer…”
May we live to see that day.
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