Well, it happened again.
With the ringing in of the New Year I was reflecting on my life, my time spent and my future direction. I couldn’t help but question what I am doing with all of this effort, work and worry about breast cancer. I mean, after all, it sometimes feels that I am pulling a 1,000 pound rock up a very steep hill, often times with a heavy headwind. Begging people for money is hard work. Running events big and small is hard work. Making, buying and selling “stuff” is hard work. It all takes a lot of energy and it often seems that I should be using some of that energy more wisely for myself, like earning money for our family, spending more time with our granddaughters, maybe just resting a bit more.
Then, as I was watching the 2012 Sugar Bowl, ESPN ran a feature about the University of Michigan’s Senior Center, David Molk. After a stellar career at Michigan, David is projected to be a first round pick in the upcoming NFL Draft. He was talking about his mother Gail, diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer at 31 years of age. He talked about how his 7th grade team set him up, as a lineman moved to tailback for one play, so he could score a touchdown as his parents looked on at what would be his mother’s very last football game. Here is David’s story:
(Reprinted from The Michigan Daily by Stephen J. Nesbitt, Originally published October 26, 2011):
LEMONT, Ill. — With the early strains of The Star-Spangled Banner hanging in the brisk autumn air, Dave Molk glanced over his shoulder. His mother and father were settling into lawn chairs on the grassy hill next to the Lemont High School football field.
Gail Molk looked back, watching her 12-year-old son prepare to play the final game of his seventh-grade season in the Lemont youth football league.
It was the last game Gail would see.
After battling breast cancer for 12 years, the cancer had spread to her brain in the fourth relapse.
Years of off-and-on chemotherapy had sapped her strength and left her bald. She wasn’t wearing a wig that November day at the football field.
“The whole game, all I could do was turn around and look at my mom,” Dave said 10 years later, blinking back tears. “It was so scary. The cancer was fully in effect. That was right near the end of the season, when it was the worst.”
Late in the game, Dave’s team rumbled down to the five-yard line.
“Molk,” coach Jeff Christiansen barked. “You’re in at tailback. Go ahead and score.”
For the two-way lineman, this was a first. He lined up four yards behind the quarterback and took the first-down handoff — stuffed. Second down — stuffed.
On third down, Dave knocked straight through the line and fell into the endzone.
Without a second thought, he picked himself up and kept running. He ran through the gate at the back of the endzone, around the cement sidewalk and all the way up the hill. Glassy-eyed, he handed the football to his mother.
“This is for you, Mom.”
Gail never let that football go.
A month later, Dave and his older brother Steve gathered around their mother in the family room as her life left her.
Tom Molk, their father, sat alongside his wife. As a family, they didn’t want Gail to pass away in the hospital. They’d conceded that the cancer had finally won, but they wouldn’t let it dictate how she would leave them.
On December 12, 2001 — three days before Dave’s 13th birthday — Gail passed away in the Molk family room, surrounded by her boys and husband.
It obviously fired my spirit again, because here I am writing about breast cancer and how we just must not accept the status quo. We MUST keep pressing forward to find a better way to detect breast cancer far earlier than existing technology provides for us today. We must not settle for young mothers being stolen from their families when we can do so much better! We must keep pushing science with our own resources to create something better for us and our families.
As this all happened to unfold, it could have been a coincidence…that I just happened to be in my kitchen, cleaning and watching the Sugar Bowl, rather than running up and down the stairs putting away still more Christmas decorations. It might have been a coincidence, but I always go back to the quote, “Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.” I am certain that I am going to learn this lesson at some point and just stop questioning ‘why’, however, it seems that in those periods of questioning, I find confirmation.
As we embark upon the journey of 2012, I hope that you, too, find some moments to question, some reinforcement in answers, and a deep desire to challenge – and firmly NOT accept – the status quo.