On Saturday, May 20, 2006, we woke up at 5:15 a.m. in our hotel rooms because we could not be late for the opening ceremonies of the seventh annual Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in Boston. Seventeen women pulled different variations of pink T-shirts with the initials L.A.R. (for Lisa Anne Reid)  over unstyled hair and eyes that had barely opened for the day. We pinned breast-cancer ribbons on our pink baseball caps; straightened them on our heads; stocked our back-packs with water bottles, pain relievers, extra socks, and more; and then ran through the lobby of the hotel into the parking lot to pile into cars. We were moving fast, until Jean said, "Wait." In the parking lot of the hotel, we each took a deep breath and joined hands in a circle while Jean led us in prayer:

"God, make me brave for life, oh, braver than this.

Let me straighten after pain, as a tree straightens after the rain,

Shining and lovely again.

God, make me brave for life, much braver than this . . . "

We shed the first of the tears we would shed during our 26-mile walk (a 39-mile walk for many), embraced one another and continued on our mission; and when we did, we were braver than we were before. This was our second year walking for Lisa. The first year we walked in earnest for her cure. The second year, of which I write, we walked in her memory.

When we arrived at The University of Massachusetts in Boston, we walked onto the field where the opening ceremonies for the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer incite the crowd to walk proudly, to walk with those who walk alone, and to constantly remember why we are walking. Immediately, we became one with the endless horizon of 2,600 walkers dressed in pink. And immediately, we were a subset of a much larger team that raised $6.3 million to help in the fight against breast cancer.

The sun shone high above us after 12 days of rain. I stood in the direct sunlight, because, with a reminder from Missy, I realized it was Lisa's presence. We all began to realize it was Lisa's presence, and we basked in her spirit. Suddenly, through the pink horizon, through the sunlight, came Denise - Lisa's mother - to greet us. We waited while Denise and Tara embraced one another and cried - Tara, of course, being Lisa's sister and our tireless team captain. We waited so we too could hug Denise in attempt to help heal her and heal ourselves. The highly anticipated arrival of the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer temporarily brought an inevitable wave of grief

Before we took our first steps onto the pavement, the opening speaker, who is a breast-cancer survivor, passionately asked of us to perpetuate what is a tradition at the beginning and end of every Avon Walk for Breast Cancer: to create a connection, a bond. She asked us to grasp the hands of the people to our left and to our right whether we knew them or not and raise them high in the air. So we did, and soon, 2,600 sets of hands were passing energy from one walker to another via the power of touch.

With this energy, we were ready to begin our journey together; or, for many of us, to continue the journey we began together on May 14, 2005. As we walked, we slowly emerged from our sorrow ready to talk and laugh. Often, the laughter was more physically fatiguing than the walking. Like the year before, we enjoyed friendship, renewed friendship, and discovered friendship in strangers.

The crowd of walkers eventually thinned as people chose their paces. I walked alone for a mile or so, remembering Lisa. Lisa and I went to middle and high school together. Of course, my feelings for Lisa were not embedded in the length of time that I knew her, but in the emotional and spiritual connection we had naturally built as adults and the reverence I had for her as a friend  . . . a best friend. We faced our individual trials together. And, with all that was ominous, laughter still came readily between us.

I will forever reflect upon how proud Lisa must have been as Trisha approached the 13-mile mark; she was never an athlete. Though I was holding the strap to her fanny pack to steady her as she staggered, she achieved the milestone and walked the next day like a champion. And, of course, she laughed and made others laugh, including strangers, through her pain. And I will forever reflect upon how impressed Lisa must have been when Missy walked by Starbuck's without stopping. Christina, for two days, continued to put one foot in front of the other with nagging pain in her knee; Michelle walked a total of 39 miles though she received a telephone call during the walk that her grandmother was ill; Joanne walked 39 miles with welts on her ankles; Joan, my favorite breast-cancer survivor, walked 39 miles despite the anticipation of surgery on the following Tuesday to biopsy a suspicious spot on her lung; Jessica walked 26 miles on Saturday, and after drinking a celebratory cocktail with too much enthusiasm, rebounded to complete 13 miles on Sunday.

We crossed the finish line on Sunday as a team, somehow holding hands in a 17-person chain with no breaks. Denise and Bev stood waiting with Roses for each of us. We could not reach Denise fast enough; hugging her at the finish line was the climax of the experience. Could we ever dull her pain or ours? After wiping tears we took our next steps, holding our roses, toward the "Men with Heart;" they stood in two lines as they did the year before to cheer for us as we walked between them. But, instead of walking between them, a surge of energy spurred us to break into dance as we made our way between the two lines. The surge of energy was in part due to the music that helped greet us: The song Ain't No Stoppin' Us Now infiltrated our bodies, reminding us that $6.3 million can potentially save countless men and women suffering from breast cancer now.

The closing ceremonies of the seventh annual Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in Boston started and ultimately ended in the same way the event began during the opening ceremonies - with 2,600 walkers holding hands high in the air. On May 20, 2006, the pink horizon thickened as the sun rose, and on May 21, 2006, the pink horizon thinned before the sun went down. Our next steps were back into our individual lives, where, amidst the chaos, we will continue to think of Lisa everyday; hold onto the love we felt during our weekend journey; package the countless memories made to be held sacred forever; and continue our quest to help eradicate breast cancer.

Lisa Reid

By Erin Heffernan

Erin Heffernan is a photographer in Scituate. Her Wink South series, "Shutter to Think", explains how looking at life from a different angle, even if it's via the viewfinder, can offer valuable lessons (and sometimes comic relief!).