The Road to Recovery: Military Widows
Two Women, One Goal
Dawn Cash, an accountant in Greenville, North Carolina, took a special interest in Jen's call to action. It had been more than a year since her husband, Chris Cash, 36, an exercise physiologist and captain in the Army National Guard, was shot and killed in Iraq, on June 24, 2004. But the wound was just beginning to scab. How did Jen find the strength, Dawn wondered? "I couldn't imagine living without Chris," she confesses. She felt like everything in her life was on pause. Except her feet.
Dawn started running shortly after Chris was deployed. And before his death, Dawn was training for the 2004 Army Ten-Miler -- a notion that had thrilled Chris, since he often ran fund-raising marathons for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. "That was the part of him that had to give back," Dawn says. "After he died I wanted to do that for him -- give back some of the things he gave me." She footed all 10 miles of the race, talking to him the whole way through. "I knew Chris wanted me to keep running when they announced the race date for the following year -- October 2, his birthday. It's as if he was saying, 'Don't you even think about quitting.'" And she didn't. Dawn competed in a half-marathon later that year, and practically slept in her racing sneakers. But she still struggled with her grief. "The pain went so deep. I just couldn't bring myself to accept Chris's death. As far as I saw, I had no future, because it had been taken away from me." She was just going through the days putting one foot in front of the other.
Upon seeing Jen's inspirational notes on the Gold Star Wives message board, Dawn e-mailed her, asking for the secret to her rose-colored POV. Was it infectious? Could it be taught? Running helped Dawn reap the oxygenating benefits of a clearer head, but she was tripping on the emotional part, she says. "And I could easily see myself getting stuck in that place." When she found Jen, they clicked instantly. The first time they met in person was at the Army Ten-Miler in 2005, which they both finished just shy of the two-hour mark. Soon afterward, Dawn visited Jen, and they took a three-hour grief workshop together at a local church. "The burden was still heavy. My heart hurt so much," says Dawn. "Grief is work."
She also had been seeing a therapist weekly, trying to find her way through the emotional thicket. Her runs became more therapeutic. "I worked through a lot of my feelings -- sweated out the negative energy. I felt like I was finally saying good-bye to Chris. It was hard, but it was my gift to him. He had lived his life to the fullest, and he would want me to do the same." Now she can -- and she's got assistance. For the past few months, Ed Salau, a first lieutenant in the Army National Guard who resembles a younger version of Ben Stein, has been filling Dawn's days and evenings with the affection and laughter she had missed for so long. "Of course there will always be a place for Chris in my heart. And I'll love him until the day I die," she says. "But Ed has showed me I can have happiness in my life again."
Ed is here at the race, cheering Dawn on through every one of those 10 miles, which she's just finished in 1 hour 42 minutes 51 seconds. Jen is right on her heels. Famished, spent, and high on endorphins, both women throw their hands in the air in sweet celebration. "It's over!" they yell. But really, it's just beginning. In a few weeks, Dawn will organize the Reindeer Dash for Cash, her second fund-raising race for Chris. Jen will throw herself back into the parenting/training hustle; she'll even take on a new venture: writing.
The two friends must part ways for now. But their paths will cross again. They will continue running to honor their husbands and themselves. And that victory deserves four gold stars.
Gold Star Wives of America was founded in 1945. Currently, there are 10,000 members nationwide and more than 60 active chapters.
Originally published in FITNESS magazine, February 2007.
