My mom passed away the year Rob [Dyer] and [Skate4Cancer] did their first trip, from LA to Toronto. I found out about what they were doing, bought a shirt and mailed a little note about my Mom in with the money. When I got the shirt there was a response note that Rob and the Skate4Cancer crew had written for me, telling me to never give up and that this shirt was a symbol for the change he was trying to bring. Rob’s changed my life and is definitely my biggest inspiration. Thank you so much!

This quotation is a comment that my brother, Nick, left on the Skate4Cancer Short-Documentary Official Trailer #2 on YouTube three days ago.

I had met Rob in passing a handful of times while I was a student at Ryerson; he was a server at the campus pub when he wasn’t out skating the world and repping Skate4Cancer. I knew who he was, but I didn’t want to bug him while he served my friends and I food and pitchers of beer. It also seemed like the wrong time and place to talk about cancer and loved ones dying, even in a positive way, which Skate4Cancer is known for.

But I had always wanted to tell Rob how much he and Skate4Cancer had inspired Nick. Whenever I saw him on campus, it was all I could think about.

So when I found out I would have the opportunity to produce a video blog for work featuring Rob, of course I had to jump on it. And I had to do something for Nick.

Even though I knew Rob is possibly the nicest, most humble person on the planet (not exaggerating at all), I was a bit shy about asking him for this favour. Talking about my mom is still very difficult for me, and it becomes even harder at work where I like to feel very in control of everything.

Luckily, Kate, who pitched the video blog to me, was able to bring it up and getting it rolling. Rob was totally into it and helped us set it up.

Kate wrote on the whiteboard while I took down the equipment from the shoot and moved some furniture around. Rob took my picture.

Rob wrote his own text and I took his picture. He also hugged me countless times and seemed genuinely happy to hear the story and to hear how one little thing like that note could make such a difference in a kid’s life when he’s dealing with the loss of a loved one from cancer.

Nick loved the photos, so a HUGE thank you to Rob and Kate for being open to making this happen! It means so much.

This week I also bought Nick and I tickets to the Skate4Cancer short documentary premiere at the Mod Club on Feb. 19. As I’m writing this post, tickets are still available for sale here.

You can also support Skate4Cancer (and the future Dream Love Cure Centre) by following the organization online on Twitter and Facebook, buying t-shirts at West49 or buying t-shirts and other cool merch online (the prices are super reasonable), volunteering, and, eventually, donating money when they get the whole charity thing sorted out.

Continued…

*I wrote a much longer post and realized I should probably just get to the point at the top instead of the bottom (I guess that’s my journalism training kicking in), so the rest of the original text is below if you want to read it.

When our mom died from cancer in May 2004, he was 12 years old. Not exactly a child but not quite a teenager yet either. I was 18, and her death was the hardest thing I had ever endured. If I’m lucky (and I don’t say that lightly), it will end up being the hardest thing I have to experience in my entire life.

So I can’t imagine how difficult it was for him.

While I can say with confidence that it brought us closer together in some ways – we were the only kids we knew going through this horrible thing at that time – it was also the beginning of a somewhat unnatural sibling relationship where I became responsible to him as a sort of substitute parent. I felt responsible for continuing to raise an amazing kid into a smart, caring, productive member of society – to pick up where my mom left off. I didn’t want to let him down and I sure as hell didn’t want to let her down.

However, less than a year and a half later, I left home to attend Ryerson University in Toronto and, aside from spending two summers at my dad’s house after first and fourth years, never really looked back. I worried about him a lot, about what kind of person he would grow up into with neither me nor our mom around to guide him.

For both of us – for our entire lives, no matter where we lived – home meant Mom. And once she was gone, it felt like something was missing. Her lack of presence has lingered more strongly than the presence of the people in our lives who are still living, even in places she had never been. They’re not kidding when they say dead loved ones will always be with you.

I was worried, and many people in our family were worried, that her death would have such an impact on him that he would never be “normal.” He refused counselling while she was sick in the hospital and after her death (as did I, until I sought it out when I experienced emotional breakdowns for a brief period during university), and no one pushed it on us.

Today, though, he’s in his second semester at Conestoga College studying something that he loves. He’s known as a great guy. He’s kind, he’s intelligent, and he’s going to have a great life. Everyone, including me, is so proud of him and I know our mom would be too.

A lot of his ability to cope and overcome that experience has to do with the solid foundation that was laid by my parents when he was a child, but I also know that he’s found a lot of inspiration elsewhere – in friends, in girlfriends, in music, and in people who make a difference in the lives of others in one way or another.

His biggest inspiration in that respect has always been Rob Dyer, the founder of Skate4Cancer. Rob lost his grandmothers, mother and best friend to cancer within a year of each other, and in early 2004 set out to skateboard from Los Angeles to his hometown, Newmarket, Ont., to raise awareness about cancer – and has done so through various initiatives, including other skates, ever since.

My brother always loved skating and he was inspired by Skate4Cancer from the outset. He probably would have been interested in it as a normal kid who loved skateboarding, even if his mom hadn’t gotten sick and died, but it made it that much more important. Once he received that note from the Skate4Cancer team with his first t-shirt, he held onto that connection and will probably cherish it for the rest of his life.

While that first t-shirt was probably trashed long ago from wear and tear (he would wear those tees until they were full of holes and coming apart at the seams, like any self-respecting teenage boy), he still has that note. He still beams about Rob, whom he’s met at various events over the years. He’s bought countless t-shirts since; I just gave him one as a gift for Christmas and he loved it.

Rob is one of his personal heroes.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my dad. And I’m sure most people love their dads too. But there’s something different and special about mothers.

My friends and colleagues complain about their nosy, bossy mom in one breath and then list everything she’s doing for them in the next. They receive texts, emails and phone calls, and, if they live away from home, the occasional visit once a month or so.

They call their mom when they have a problem and are more like sisters or old friends than mother and daughter. They receive care packages, thoughtful and practical gifts, and clothes that actually fit.

If you don’t know me, or you haven’t visited the about me page yet, my mom died of cancer almost five years ago when I was 18.

…

Phew. OK. The bomb has dropped. Can we move on now?

It would be too simple to say I’m jealous, or that it stings when I witness and hear about the relationships between them and their mothers, whether good or bad or somewhere in between.

I’ve accepted my place as a quasi-orphan and I’ve learned to deal with people’s sympathy.

As a seemingly unrelated aside, I’ve totally accepted my Gen Y identity – except I don’t have a helicopter parent.

It would have been my mom. She wouldn’t have been one of those crazy helicopter parents who does your homework for you or won’t let you do your own laundry or calls your profs if you don’t get an A in their class. But she would have been involved in my life.

The thought occurred to me today after I went back to Cambridge to visit my dad and my brother. I can’t help but think of her whenever I go home. My mom never lived there, but some of her furniture, photographs and knick-knacks are there. We have to drive past the house we lived in with her when she died on the way to my dad’s house, only a few blocks away.

But I got a direct reminder thanks to some paperwork my dad’s been holding onto for the past four, almost five, years. I guess my mom put some money away for my brother and I when she really knew she wasn’t going to make it and my dad wants me to check it out.

Just seeing her handwriting, our old address and phone number, and her email address (which no longer exists – I checked) flooded my mind with memories and the reality that, after all this time, she’s still not around.

She filed the paperwork April 2, 2004; less than two months before she died. It’s not much money and I’m not even sure how to go about getting it, but I’ll figure it out.

It just got me wondering what she would think of me now, five years later, as I’m about to graduate from university. I’ve survived this long believing she’s proud of me and somehow knows what I’ve accomplished since she’s been gone.

What kind of relationship would we have? How often would we talk, email, text and visit? What would I ask her for advice about? Would I be annoyed by how involved she is in my life? Would I take her for granted?

They’re questions which can never be answered, but also questions I think about to figure out where I fit among my peers – especially as I continue to discuss and write about Gen Y, who seem to have such deep relationships with their parents.

What kind of relationships do you have with your parents?

But I’ve also come to appreciate the people in my life at various points in time who have given me the extra push I needed to get through a rough patch.

It’s taken me a while to recognize who they are and exactly what they’ve done for me, but now, when one of those people appears, I know instantly. Now, the experience is much more rewarding because I feel I can appreciate what they’re offering me.

My parents raised me to believe that a person’s success was determined by how self-sufficient they were.

This was probably because, at times, they weren’t very self-sufficient and they had to take jobs, borrow money and accept second-hand items (including cars) from well-off family just to get by. They worked hard and did their best, but it wasn’t until much later in their lives that they were able to achieve some measure of self-sufficiency.

But I’ve been accepting help from well-meaning friends, family members and strangers for almost five years now, since my mom died. Whether it was simply their company and inspirational words, or their expertise in a certain area, or even gifts or money.

It has been tough to realize people actually care about me enough to offer me these things without expecting anything in return, except my company and, for those who have contributed to my education, my continued hard work.

It’s also been difficult to realize I may actually be the type of person who deserves these tokens of appreciation and support. My drive, hard work and persistence has probably helped these people decide I deserve whatever they’re offering, but I’ve always been too modest to think or say that.

Recently I noticed that I’m now able to accept these things as they come. Instead of feeling guilty and holding myself back by being reluctant to accept them, or by not accepting them at all, I know I’ve proven my worth and the person really believes in me.

I survived the loss of my mom with the support of family and friends.

I stayed in the journalism program at Ryerson thanks to the faith my first-year reporting instructor had (and continues to have via email) in me.

I focused on school and extra-cirricular activites at a critical time in my career thanks to the financial and moral support of my dad.

I’m going to the National Post for my internship instead of a small community paper because my third-year copy editing instructor took the extra time to tell me she thinks I’m a strong enough journalist to pull it off — almost a year after I was last in her class.

And today my aunt took me shopping for some professional-looking clothing so I can feel confident and comfortable when I finally start my internship in March.

I didn’t ask for any of this, but I needed it and it’s truly helped me to become who I am and get where I am in my life.

I’m not a success yet, but I think I’ll get there one day if I accept help from enough kind-hearted individuals. I hope I can offer the same help to others along the way, but perhaps a person’s success is measured by how much they help others realize their dreams.