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People with MS have a quiet kind of courage

Across the swollen and muddy waters of the Red Deer River, tons of people milled around, talking and eating and laughing.

Across the swollen and muddy waters of the Red Deer River, tons of people milled around, talking and eating and laughing.

“That’s weird,” I thought to myself. “How did they get over there?” Or better yet, “How did I get over here?”

I was on the MS walk.

I was the mom, the matriarch of the family. Several of my family members were walking along with me on this sun-soaked morning in May, where green leaves shyly played peekaboo in the soft summer breeze, and Marble the dog, sniffed everyone and everything along the way.

Apparently, we were all lost.

My first clue we were lost was when I noticed how wide the muddy, swollen Red Deer River was. My second clue was seeing all the people on the other side, and my third clue was the walkers and the bikers and the runners, all of whom smiled and waved at us, were all going the other way.

Weird!

We all had agreed to do the five-kilometre walk, except, of course, for Marble the dog, who didn’t really agree to anything, only trotted along happily.

As it ended up, we lost one entire branch of the family tree along the way and the remaining kids all dramatically complained they were suffering from serious dehydration, exhaustion and malnutrition.

Unfortunately, their verbal skills remained intact.

“I’m hungry became I’m sooo hungry and I’m thirsty became “I’m dying of thirst, are we done yet?”

Eventually we noticed signs that said “this way,” (probably put up later for directionally challenged people such as ourselves) and finally straggled across the finish line.

We smiled and waved and pretended we had never been lost. People applauded appropriately.

They gave us stickers and lip balm and more water. “Thank you,” I said, pretending to like water.

We found our long lost branch of the family tree casually sitting on a picnic bench wolfing down hamburgers and wondering what took us so long.

“We just decided to do the 10K,” I muttered, like I was some kind of really physically fit grandma who could do 10K while piggy backing a grandchild.

Regardless, the MS walk was, once again, a wonderful adventure, filling a day in the time sheet of life with far more pluses than negatives.

And, once again, the walk humbly reminds me of how the little things add up to really big things.

During the month of May, I have had the privilege of interviewing several people who have had to do battle with one of life’s little curve balls. For them, this battle has been dealing with the unknown, unexplained and unpredictable symptoms of multiple sclerosis.

It hasn’t been easy for them. They never said it was. They never told me they were particularly courageous.

They didn’t have to.

For them, courage is not about being verbal.

It’s about smiling when you can’t find a reason. It’s about helping others, when self-pity seems much more appealing.

It’s about making a decision every day to be grateful, hopeful and thankful, no matter what.

And as I learned, much to my surprise, it’s about meeting a stranger with a notebook and pen in her hand and saying, “Hi, how can I help you?”

And for that, I’m grateful.

And, I’m grateful that for this year, as in the past, I can walk beside the Red Deer River with someone dear and special to my heart and laugh about not very much at all.

Even if we are on a MS walk and we’re lost!

- On The Other Side