Gerald John Busse—My dad

written by Anita J. Day, Executive Director

I’ll never forget the moment I saw the Ferris Wheel. And I’ll bet my father never forgot how I pestered him to take me to ride it. You see my sister had been riding the Ferris Wheel for many years now. She was old. She was 11. I wanted to prove that I was brave enough to ride too. Dad gave in. He grabbed my little girl hand in his big, strong dad hand and walked me toward the Ferris Wheel. He lifted me into the cart and fastened the thin plastic seat belt around my tiny waist as the operator slammed the big iron bar closed across our stomachs. Smack. Up we went. It was comforting having Dad by my side. It was always comforting having Dad by my side.

We moved up slowly and then stopped while the next people stepped on. Up a bit more. Stop. We reached the very top where I could see for miles. I saw the church steeples that punctuated our little town. I saw people down below and I focused in on my mom and sister who looked like tiny ants. They were waving.

We started moving faster, and the first loop was invigorating. So were the second and the third. By the fourth loop we began picking up speed and by the fifth or sixth or seventh loop I was screaming so loudly for Dad to get me off of this ride, I think the entire town heard. “Daddy, make it stooooop.”

Dad waved his arms, called to the operator, and the ride came to a halt. Dad took my little girl hand in his big, strong dad hand, as we walked away from the ride. He saved my life. Dad was a hero. It was just one of the many times throughout my life that I felt Dad was a hero.

Fast-forward 35 years. I was once again clinging tightly to my father’s hand. Oddly enough, his hand was still strong. I remember having the same thought I’d had more than three decades earlier. “Daddy, make it stop.” You see, Dad was dying of melanoma and he was lying in a hospice bed at home. Make it stop. Imagine how I felt not being able to save his life the way I felt he had saved mine so many times before.

Many of you don’t have to imagine. Many of you know exactly what it feels like not to be able to save someone from melanoma. In fact, nearly every hour in the United States, someone dies of melanoma, and their loved ones must endure the accompanying pain and sadness

My hope is that one day a little girl-turned-middle-aged-woman can hold tightly to her father’s hand without the worry of losing him to melanoma. My hope is that no man, woman, or child will be denied a longer life because of this disease. When that day comes, I will celebrate with a Ferris Wheel ride. And I will not be afraid.

Outrun the Sun was founded in loving memory of John Busse and Gary Patton. Many people have come forward to volunteer, to serve on our board, to do research, to educate, to participate. Together, we want to make a difference. Together, we want to make it stop.

Please share stories about your melanoma heroes. We would love to meet them.

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