I have wanted to be a part of the PMC since the very first year my mom and dad rode. I saw all the training and effort they were putting in and wanted to be just like them. Seeing as I was 7 the first year they rode, I was unable to actually participate in it, so instead I raised money. Instead of asking for gifts for my birthday I asked for donations to their team. At that age I wasn't entirely sure what I was raising money for besides my mom and for something called cancer. I knew cancer was bad but I didn't know what it could really do to a family until 2016 when cancer won the 11 year battle with my mom. I have riden and will continue to ride the PMC for her.

I don't want to just ignore the fact that there are families out there going through what I had to go through. By participating in the PMC, I feel that I am helping to find a cure. Every donation matters and every donation helps. Your donation helps families like mine reach a different end to their battle; an end to cancer. Every penny we raise together will go directly to the fight against cancer.

My Yearly Letter:

I hope your 2025 is off to a great start and you’re enjoying these nice, long days! The closer we get to summer, the more excited I am for the most meaningful and emotional weekend of the year, Pan-Mass Challenge weekend. This will be my 8th year riding across Massachusetts alongside my family with one common goal in mind; eradicating cancer.

As I learn and grow, my passions, friends and interests are ever changing. The constant in my life is the same. I ride my bike for those who can’t anymore. I ride my bike for my mom, for my Zadie, for all those who have lost their battles with cancer or are still battling. I ride so families remain whole. The PMC is not a want for me, it’s a need. I need to do this for those who cannot.

Although my mom is no longer physically here, her personality and soul live on through me. Last year I wrote about how I still feel my connection with my mom is ever growing. Our relationship develops as I get older and wiser(ish). The influence she had on my life will live on through my daily actions, words and feelings. The way she taught me to live, to never take anything for granted. It is something that lives on; something that could only be taught by example. Even in this past year I have felt our relationship develop into something new. The way she is watching over me, guiding me to make positive choices and change, is something I will be forever grateful for. I will be forever grateful for the impact she left on me. Without her guiding hand in life, I would be lost.

I lost my mom on February 11, 2016. The worst day of my life. A day I will never forget. I was lifeguarding at the YMCA after school when Suzi Tobin, a very close family friend of ours, suddenly visited me at work. I wasn’t able to process it fully at that moment, but I knew in the back of my mind why she was there. I didn’t want to think about it, I wanted to keep it down in the deepest, darkest part of my brain, so I did. I stuffed it down for those last few minutes of my reality where my mom was alive. Suzi and I chatted about driving manual cars and random other things adults talk to 16-year-olds about during the short drive to my home. When we got there, the feeling I had walking up my driveway was surreal, not in a traditional euphoric way, but in an indescribably terrifying way. I knew what was waiting for me inside that front door, but I couldn’t turn around and run. I walked in and my fear was confirmed. My dad was standing there waiting for me. I ran up to him and gave him a hug and he whispered two words,

“She passed.”

I broke.

We broke.

I stood there hugging him, crying. I knew this day would come but endlessly hoped it never would. I walked into my mom’s room where she lay and said my final goodbye. I told her I loved her. I didn’t know what else to say. This final goodbye is why I ride the PMC year after year. I ride so that one day, 16-year-old boys will not need to say their final goodbye. Their final “I love you.”

Okay, now that I have myself crying writing this letter, it’s time to turn to a more positive note. A story to help you remember her. I wrote last year about how my mom would pull me out of school to get dumplings and ice cream, some of my favorite days of the year. She would do this randomly, and we’d have the most amazing days together. This year, I find myself thinking about the business trips she would take me along for. I suppose a theme of our relationship was spontaneity. These trips were always so much fun. One trip that stands out in particular is the trip we took to Washington DC, along with my amazing Nana. The three of us got down to DC, and while my mom was off working, Nana and I were off playing. We walked around the capital, saw some landmarks, and had a great time. At one point, I found myself needing to find a restroom. We walked into some random hotel and both fell in love with the lobby. Nana and I couldn’t wait to share our findings with mom. When we told her about the amazing lobby, she immediately switched our hotels, and we were now staying in this amazing new hotel where we could see the guards on top of the White House. What a view! After my mom’s business dealings were done, it was time to play, so we did. We visited the museums, the zoo, the everything in between. And we had a great time doing it. She was always up for an adventure or finding something new to love. This particular part of her spirit lives on inside me. Her spontaneity and willingness to go with the flow to make new memories. It’s one of my favorite qualities about myself, which I directly inherited from her.

Mom, I love you. You will forever live on through everyone who had the privilege of meeting you.