Thanks for the journey

This is the time of year when we begin to look at our corner of the world and take stock of our blessings, of the people and places and things for which we are most thankful.

As for myself, I have many blessings. I'm thankful for my constantly supportive family. I'm thankful for the young woman who has come into my life and made every day better. I'm thankful for the job opportunity I was given this year by this newspaper.

And I'm thankful that I met a man this past summer named Rick Hammersley.

You might remember the article I wrote about him -- he was walking across the United States to raise money and awareness for cancer research, and happened to come through Southwest Nebraska on one of the doggone-dest of our dog days.

McCook marked a near-midpoint for his journey, and I visited with him while he and his wife Valda rested in their small recreational vehicle at Karrer Park. We talked for almost three hours about his trip: the reasons behind it, his own colon cancer survival, specific anecdotes of the walk itself. I remember him as being extremely generous with his time; he had nine miles yet to walk that day, but put those steps off without seeming to give them a second thought, just because we were in the midst of a conversation. I even remember thinking that his unfailing kindness in the broiling heat made me a little sad that this would likely be our lone encounter.

Going over my notes of that conversation to refresh my memory of it, I see that I likely asked him one of those standard-issue "5 W" questions, most likely, why had he decided to undertake this endeavor. I assume this is true, because I wrote down what I remember now as his simple, yet profound response: "Basically, I'm doing this 'cause I didn't die five years ago."

I received an e-mail from him yesterday, informing me that he'd finally finished his walk. He crossed the Brooklyn Bridge on foot, and made it safely to Coney Island, where he had the two Nathan's hot dogs that he said would be his reward to himself for completing the trip.

Unfortunately, he also shared with me the news that any cancer survivor dreads -- his disease had returned. He did write that he is now in Oklahoma, receiving treatment, and that he is continuing to blog about what he calls his "new journey" at his Web site, www.rickwalksamerica.com

(He also thanked me for sitting and talking with him on that summer afternoon, and added, "...know you have played a part in stamping out this dreadful disease." I can only hope that is soon to be true.)

I was reminded by his choice of words in that message of something he'd said near the end of our talk on that hot, breezy day.

"My journey's not gonna end at Coney Island," he said to me across a sheltered picnic table. "Long after it's over, this journey is gonna be with me."

My friend, your journey will also be with me. And I am most thankful for that.