For one reason or another, I decided to take an item off my bucket list and proceeded to register for the Marine Corps Marathon in 2012. Many things about the race were memorable. The nerves of a first-timer. The thrill of crossing the finishing line. The satisfaction of beating Oprah’s time. The sense of humility that comes when a United States Marine places the finisher’s medal around your neck.

And The Blue Mile, which is the one-mile stretch along Hain’s Point adorned with photos of service members who have made the ultimate sacrifice in service to the nation.

It is not uncommon (at least the two times I had run the race) to see runner’s slow down or come to a complete stop before one of the photos. Tears are shed. Prayers are said. Some salute, but all are impacted in one way or another. I could not help but to think of the son or daughter they left behind having lost my own father. I thought of the awful and life-altering moment when they learned Dad was not coming home. And I thought of how hard it is in the days and weeks after to believe, even to hope, that life will go on. And that is when I decided to set a goal for 2014 to run 14 marathons to raise awareness about Comfort Zone camps and other camps that cater to kids dealing with the death of a parent.

I was lucky enough to get picked in the lottery to run again in 2014. This year, the Blue Mile was different. Several weeks before the Marine Corps Marathon I had a conversation with my mom on what would have been my parents’ wedding anniversary. Having already run 15-plus marathons, spoken with lots of people along the way about Comfort Zone and thought a lot about my own experience along the way, something had stuck out in my mind.

“No one talked to me after Dad died about what had actually happened,” I told her. Yes, my mom told me Dad died and people expressed condolences and the like. But nothing more. Like running the Blue Mile, the days and months and years after Thomas Francis Michael Hickey succumbed to cancer were navigated alone. To my surprise, she responded, “You are right. For both sides of the family, we thought of Tom first.”

It made sense to me – and to the family – that my brother was in greater “need” than I . He was thirteen and I was – literally – just seven. He was a son and my father was very involved in his life from his soccer games to school activities. But as I have learned over the last 37 years, death plays no favorites and impacts us all in different ways.

What I have also learned in this last year is that death can provide an opportunity. To find strength. To rediscover hope. And, like the families of the fallen, to carry on in service to others by living the memory and the spirit of those we have lost. And to offer support. Running my third Blue Mile I was inspired to run on. I was reminded by the example of other Marine Corps marathoners to overcome. To overcome the disappointment of failing woefully to raise money for Comfort Zone camps (two donations to date). To overcome my own doubts and frustrations with not meeting Dad’s expectations.

I finished my third Marine Corps Marathon inspired, energized and recommitted to this cause and to giving hope to other kids that a lifetime of Blue Miles can be a blessing and not just a burden to bear alone.