Michael Ortiz: Every Soldier Needs Three Square Meals
May 12, 2018
In the winter of Sophomore year in college, I remember sitting in my dorm and stressing over finals. Reaching my saturation point one particular evening, I decided to go for a walk and went to the mailroom, where, to my surprise, I had a package. It was from my grandfather. I opened it when I got back to my dorm and discovered it was a care package, something I’d never received before.
On top was a note that read, "Every soldier needs three square meals." It was touching to me because it was exactly what I needed that week, and he knew that. In honesty, it made me teary-eyed because no one had ever done that for me before. He was the rock of the family, and made sure everyone had what they needed. And on this occasion, he made sure I had what I needed.
That was before we found out he had cancer. That diagnosis would happen a year later. His health had declined so rapidly between the disease and the treatments that his personality seemed unrecognizable to me. Everything had taken its toll. There was a brief period of remission over the summer. We even thought at one point he'd beaten the thing. But it came back, because that is what this disease does.
When I'd gone back for Christmas, my grandfather looked gaunt, this time unrecognizable to me physically. His energy was zapped, and simple things like going to the bathroom were very difficult. I helped him, but I would feel so helpless. I wanted to do the things that couldn't be done. I wanted to cure him; give him my health; something, anything. Worse, I didn't have the words to say. That was perhaps most frustrating.
After the break, I went back to finish my last semester of school. A few weeks before finals, my brother called to tell me our grandfather was going into hospice. "What's that?" I asked. "It's a hospital where you check it, but don't check out." He told me to focus on school as best I could but to expect that the call informing me of the worst would be sooner than I expected.
On the night before my last final, the call came. The doctors said our grandfather would likely not make it the night. He was in a lucid state and could hear and understand, but that he couldn't respond. My brother told me to tell our grandfather goodbye. When he put the phone to his ear, I suddenly had the words to say.
"I'm sorry this is happening. You've made such a difference in my life and afforded me the greatest opportunity and I want you to know that I'm going to do the best I can with it. I'm going to make you proud. I love you so much. Goodbye, grandpa."
And that was it. He died that night.
This is the face of cancer. It rips loved ones from our lives too soon and it doesn't have to; not when research is so close to making pivotal breakthroughs in both treatment and cure. My grandfather was 68 when he died. He gave me everything and is the reason I could go to a good school. He believed I would do big things and he was my number one fan. I miss him so much.
Now as an adult, when I think about the words he’d written, I realize a bigger theme. If we’re in the position to help someone who is in need, then we should help that person. This is one of the greatest lessons my grandfather has taught me, and is one of the reasons behind why I come back every year to raise money for cancer research at MSKCC. Our collective efforts in The D10 have a ripple effect that will ultimately help a great many. And that is exactly the point of all of this, because at the end of the day, every soldier needs three square meals.
In each of the last three D10 NYC competitions, Michael Ortiz has raised more than $10,000 for Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. For more on his incredible personal story, watch this two-minute film produced for The D10's 2016 TV special on NBC Sports Network. Help Michael rejoin the 10K club by donating here, or contributing to his Head-to-Head matchup in the 400 meters.
