Six years ago I stood on the track at Fredonia State, watching a candle flicker gently from within a white paper bag bearing my grandfather's name. It was my first Relay, and I was moved to tears to know that so many others just like me were at other candles around the track, remembering those we had lost and celebrating those who had survived. It was an incredible experience; one that I thought would never be duplicated. I was wrong. Losing my grandfather and my uncle to cancer, I knew first-hand how destructive this disease can be to a person's body and mind, so when I was offered the chance to help fight it by being on the first steering committee for the Dunkirk/Fredonia Relay For Life I jumped in with both feet.

Perhaps I should've looked before I leaped. While I knew the event was well planned, (except for not bringing the duct tape, something that my husband still teases me about: "How can you plan an event and not bring duct tape? Duct tape fixes everything.") the entertainment schedule was in place, the team captains and their teams were excited and ready to walk, and dinner was in place for the 300 plus people we were feeding, nothing prepared me for what happened at the actual event.

Throughout day, in between running from registration booth to the radio remote, from the remote to the DJ, from the DJ tent to the food preparation area, from the… (well, you get the idea), I noticed something unique occurring. People were laughing, dancing, talking. Not just to their teammates, but to other teams. They met as they walked the track, and continued their conversations when their laps were finished. Stories were traded about why they chose to come to Relay, how they had just lost a loved one to cancer, how they themselves were a 10 year survivor. There was an air of openness, of compassion, of hope so palpable that you could almost touch it.

I stood in awe as I watched those first few candles flicker to life, as one by one, the rest of the candles were lit in succession. When I looked up, the entire track was aglow, lit only by candles. I walked the track with my parents and felt my breath catch at the sight of the candles for my uncle and my grandfather. I saw candle upon candle with "In Memory" stamped on them. So many lives lost to cancer. Then something amazing happened. I saw a name I recognized written under "In Honor". A survivor! I hadn't even known they had cancer and here was their name bathed softly in candlelight. And, as we continued our lap, I noticed more and more candles with "In Honor" on them. We finished the lap and I found myself back in front of Grandpa's candle when it hit me: He & my uncle may be lost, but there were so many others who weren't. So many others fighting to survive. I knew then, that while remembering those who lost the battle against cancer is a part of the Relay experience, Relay is about surviving.

So here I am six years later. Why do I Relay? Because I can't imagine myself not cheering on our survivors during the Survivor Lap, not tearing up during the luminaria ceremony. Because I can't wait for the day that Relay For Life becomes an event that no longer represents our fight against cancer, but commemorates the day we beat it, the day everyone who has cancer can be told "You will be a survivor."