Jody Stoyan is my aunt (dad's sister.)

When I was a kid, I visited her at least twice a summer in Toronto. If I wasn't suggesting I go see her, she was suggesting I go visit her.

Our phone bills to Canada were astronomical.

Let me tell you, she was the person to hang out with. As my brother described her, "She was like the big sister I never had and also a cool mom."

No one whom she met was unimpressed by her.

She could, with a straight face, lecture you on eating your vegetables and eat Neapolitan ice cream at the same time.

I could go on forever, and you do know, of course, where this is going. Stories about awesome people who have runs for cancer research rarely wind their way to a happy conclusion.

She had cancer that started when I was in eighth grade, and it recurred at the end of my junior year in high school.

Her goal was to make it to my high school graduation.

Missed it by about eight weeks.

The whole thing was, well, pretty awful.

But the sadness of losing her was more than made up than the eighteen years of memories I have with her.

It hurts like hell that I won't be able to call her up today once I get the results.

Even though she's going to be with me at the SUDL. (I don't even need to tell her where it is.)

Hang in there with me, babe. This could get interesting.

(Yeh, I know. You prolly hate the shirt. It has no color, just words and a computer-generated stick figure, and worse yet, your name on it. Sorry.)