After a 7 year fight we lost my mother, Holly Davis, on January 27, 2022. While my father, sister, and myself sat with each other having a nice evening amidst all that was going on around us we got the call. No amount of time could truly have prepared us for that moment, despite what we may have thought. But I do think there was something special about us all being together as a family that evening after having visited with her that day that made her say it was her time to fly and that we would be ok.
She was a loving and devoted wife, an incredible and caring mother, a fierce lover and advocate of her friends and family, a wonderful daughter and sister, a hardworking pioneer in her industry, an absolutely abhorrent cook, had an infectious smile that could turn anyones day around, had one hell of a head of hair, but most importantly she was ours. She touched so many lives during her short 59 years here and that is evident in the sheer amount of outpouring we have received. She was always insistent that we not be sad, but to celebrate the life that someone had and to cherish those memories made. Sadness is certainly an inevitable part of it, but remembering her for who she truly was is the most important. She was not defined by her disease, and I hope all who knew her can honor her in her finest hours, not her last.
This year’s walk means something different. My family’s fight may be over, but there are millions around the world who are soon to be beginning theirs. Millions of daughters and sons, spouses, mothers, fathers, friends, and coworkers who will be impacted by the toll of this disease. Millions who will feel alone and helpless, just like we did - and to a certain point still do. Millions who will have no answers and no hope for their loved one. That’s why we are still here and why I am fighting for them. Because while I may never know them, I know them more than they will ever know.
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