Written by Naomi Olivarez

I’ve had the honor of being involved with Head for the Cure for what will be ten years next September of 2025. I first joined in 2015, the year my son passed away from stage 4 glioblastoma multiforme, and I haven’t missed a single event since.

To say it was a difficult time is an understatement. All I wanted was to find a place where people could understand my pain and where something good could come from such a devastating experience. Watching my son endure things I’d only ever heard about in commercials was excruciating. Equally painful was seeing my eldest son—his only biological brother—quietly suppressing his own grief, stepping up to support his brother while managing his daily responsibilities and helping in any way he could.

Cancer was never a topic of conversation in my family, and the thought of my 10-year-old son being diagnosed with one of the most aggressive, incurable, and fast-growing brain tumors in the world seemed unimaginable.

I still remember that day vividly—running with a group of strangers, covering my eyes to block out the painful memories of the past few months. I noticed a man running in front of me with the same scar on his head that my son had, from the stint placed to stop the bleeding in his brain. The words “I am George” were printed on the back of his shirt, and “I’m with George” was printed on the shirts of his family members running behind him.

At that moment, I realized my son would have wanted me there, reassuring me that he was okay. He would have wanted us to come together to help another child facing a terrible diagnosis and to help find a cure. This journey has been bittersweet for our family. Nothing has been the same since his passing, but this community has played a significant role in my healing, giving me hope that one day a cure will be found, and no other family will have to endure what we’ve all gone through—watching our child fight a hopeless battle.

As I mentioned, this upcoming year’s race marks both the 10-year anniversary of my son’s passing and my 10-year involvement with this organization. Whenever someone asks who I walk for, I always say it’s for my son, P-Nut, and the strength and bravery he showed when none of us could contain our sadness. I will always walk for my son and for every child who deserves the chance to beat this disease—a chance my son ultimately didn’t have. Despite everything, he always kept his sense of humor, his infectious laugh, and his beautiful smile.