Burb’s Eye View: Those who were lost are still out there

Just because we look up into the night and can’t see the stars doesn’t mean they’re not there.

I thought this as my eyes drifted into the sky, past the stage lights at Johnny Carson Park. Those stars were up there somewhere, but a cloud hid them from sight.

I turned my attention back to Joe Wilke standing on the park’s stage. He told hundreds of cancer survivors and caregivers about his 12-year-old son Christopher, and how his family’s life changed on Jan. 4 when Christopher was diagnosed with a rare bile duct cancer.

Most of the audience knew the story; how the boy was given less than a year to live and died March 30. His parents chose to tell his story through social media, and before long a Facebook page in the boy’s name gathered thousands of followers from around the world.

“As a family, we’ve been deeply touched and moved by the outpouring of love and support this community has given us,” Joe Wilke said. “We feel part of our 12-year-old son’s purpose here on Earth was to pull this community together.”

Eleven years ago, this smaller group of cancer advocates, patients, survivors and warriors put together the city’s first Relay for Life, a 24-hour walk to raise money for the American Cancer Society. Every year, they take over a city park and transform it into a vibrant, beautiful and loving celebration of life.

At night, the path around the park is lit with candles. Each one represents a memory of someone who died from cancer or someone who beat it.

In the daytime, the park is vibrant and brimming with energy. Children sprint the quarter-mile track while their parents and grandparents take turns on the long, endless walk. Teams set up booths along the path to help raise more money for cancer research.

As of Monday night, the Burbank Relay raised more than $110,000.

There are raffles for everything from spa days to children’s toys to comic books and bubble baths. It seems nearly every business in Burbank is represented at the booths.

The drive to raise money becomes feverish about seven hours into the relay. There’s a run on children’s toys at the Avengers-themed booth sponsored by the Burbank Jaycees, and mercifully this gives a sweat-drenched Captain America the opportunity to quietly slip out of his crime-fighting costume.

(I realize putting Cap’s gear on in the middle of a 90-degree day was counterintuitive, but the lighting was good and we had a professional photographer. It was totally worth it and I’m no worse for wear.)

At some point during my super-heroing, I missed a text from my mother. I call her from a quiet section of the path and she fills me in on her latest radiation treatments.

A few months ago, doctors found and removed a lump on her breast. She goes for treatment five days a week, and after every appointment, she goes to the gym because she is determined that this disease will not control her life.

The doctor calls her his “tough cookie,” because she exhibits none of the side effects she’s supposed to have.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she tells me while I walk.

Later in the day, I hear someone make preparations for next year’s Relay for Life.

I hope this was the last one. I hope that in 12 months we won’t need a Relay or cancer fundraisers because the cure was found.

Even if the cure is created and given out tomorrow, there’s still a cloud that blocks the ones we’ve lost from our view.

Deep in the night, I took another lap around the candle-lit trail. Each twinkling light called out a name of a loved one, many of whom have died.

Just because we can’t see them, doesn’t mean they’re not there.

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BRYAN MAHONEY writes about Burbank neighbors and the place they call home. He can be reached at 818NewGuy@gmail.com and on Twitter: @818NewGuy.