Woman runs Fort Worth marathon in honor of her sister

By Brent Shirley

Special to the Star-Telegram

At first the words brought tears.

Then resolve.

They echoed again and again, compelling tired legs. They became a mantra.

As Valarie Fratiani rounds the bases Sunday at LaGrave Field to finish the Fort Worth Marathon, they will bring peace and some finality.

The eight words Fratiani holds onto:

Like a marathon on a hot, humid day.

Amy’s first gift

When she got the call that her sister, Amy Firth, was in intensive care in November 2012, Valarie wasn’t extremely worried.

Amy had a headache that wouldn’t go away. When she went to the hospital, the doctors found blood clots in her brain but thought they would be treated easily with medication.

But Amy, who was 38 and lived in Belton, crashed quickly. She died four days after Thanksgiving.

“We were absolutely unprepared for it,” Valarie said. “But I was blessed, because there was nothing left unsaid between me and Amy. We always told each other we loved each other on the phone when we hung up.”

Amy, married with two children now 13 and 10, was joyful and giving. She was also an organ donor. While her death created a painful void for Valarie and her family, who live in Allen, it gave six others a second chance.

Amy also left an unexpected gift for Valarie — a short story titled Dear Me, which her husband delivered the day after Amy died. The plot follows a girl as she runs to find healing after the tragic death of her sister.

It wasn’t finished. Amy had taken up short-story writing and had several other short stories in various stages, but Amy wrote this one using Valarie’s running as the inspiration.

“I was struck by how many similarities between me and Amy were in her book,” Valarie said. “It was clearly based on us. I had never wanted to do a full marathon. I was happy with doing halves. But as soon as I read that book, I knew I was going to run Amy’s marathon.”

Valarie’s first attempt, at the Tyler Rose Marathon in October 2013, ended with a stress fracture.

“I walked to 13 miles but couldn’t finish,” said Valarie, who had been injured during training. “I started a little too fast, and with the hills, my fibula just couldn’t hold up.”

At the time, the Tyler Rose was a letdown. Now Valarie knows the timing wasn’t right. She hadn’t met Carrie.

Amy’s second gift

In November 2012, Carrie Giddens was struggling. She had battled cystic fibrosis since birth. The disease overworked her lungs. She had constant infections and needed multiple breathing treatments daily. Her younger brother, Bryan, had died from cystic fibrosis seven months earlier.

Like her brother earlier that year, Carrie suddenly had respiratory failure. Bryan had been placed on a ventilator and died while awaiting a lung donor. But Carrie’s doctors used an innovative surgery to place her on a machine that acted like an artificial lung. She was able to talk and move around her hospital room and regain some strength while waiting for a donor. When Amy died three weeks later, Carrie received new lungs and a new life.

“The [machine] was like the doctors’ Hail Mary, and they didn’t exactly know what was going to happen,” said Carrie, 29. “They saved me. They are my heroes.”

Carrie and her husband, Craig, have twin 3-year-old boys, Liam and Ryan.

“When people choose to donate their organs, they are saving lives, and in Carrie’s case, it’s allowing two children to grow up and have a mother,” said Randall Rosenblatt, Carrie’s doctor, a pulmonologist and cystic-fibrosis and lung-transplant specialist at Baylor University Medical Center at Dallas. “For patients who have cystic fibrosis, donors are allowing those patients not only to have lives but enjoy them as well, to return to work or school. It’s adding years and quality to their lives.”

With Amy’s lungs, Carrie was immediately better.

“I no longer have the recurring lung infections, pneumonia, mucus and hot spots for bacteria growth,” Carrie said. “Before, getting up and walking to the kitchen would make my heart rate fly up to 190. I’d be short of breath and have to sit down. I look back and wonder how I did everything that I did with such little lung function. Now, I’m breathing without struggling or thinking about it.”

Valarie and her family received a thankful letter from Carrie in December 2013, on the anniversary of Amy’s funeral.

“I was praying for my donor family all along,” Carrie said. “I knew that in our joy and excitement about me getting lungs, someone was losing a loved one. I thought about them all the time without knowing who they were.”

Carrie and Valarie, along with her family, agreed to open communication. In August, after many Facebook messages and texts, they set up a meeting. The night was emotional, but Carrie felt at home.

“We instantly bonded, and there was no awkwardness,” Carrie said. “Some people ask: ‘Isn’t it weird?’ Well, no. They’ve adopted me, and we have this huge extended family now. They don’t love me just because I have Amy’s lungs. They love me for who I am, and we’ve become very close.”

Valarie’s mother recently took a trip to the arboretum with Carrie and her two sons. Carrie and Valarie often eat lunch together, and the two text and talk on the phone daily.

“Carrie is the last gift Amy gave me. She’s priceless,” said Valarie, who lives 15 minutes from Carrie. “No one can possibly understand our bond. Not only does she have my sister’s lungs, but she knows what it’s like to lose a younger sibling.”

The finish line

Valarie, 43, lives in Allen with her husband, Tony, and two children, Michael, 15 and Annalisa, 13. Besides working as a CPA and dedicating much of her time to her family, Valarie poured two years of training into Sunday’s race. She jokes that her running group members must be tired of hearing her story. Instead, they’ve been motivated by her heart.

“Everyone adored Valarie before all of this happened,” said Erin Bender, Valarie’s coach through Luke’s Locker in Allen. “Seeing how gracefully and optimistically she handled everything after such a horrible tragedy, and trying to turn it into something positive, no one gets tired of that.

A few weeks ago, during a breakfast after a long run, a new runner in the group met Valarie and was in tears after hearing her talk about Amy.

“That’s how powerful her story is,” Bender said. “She’s never sorry for herself. It’s ‘This is what happened. It stinks, and I miss her every single day. But these are the beautiful things that have come out of it.’ ”

Bender will help pace Valarie on Sunday.

“She is extremely determined and much stronger than she was last year going into her first marathon attempt,” Bender said. “She is in a completely different place this year. She’s going to finish.”

Carrie will be waiting at LaGrave Field, and the Fort Worth Marathon race director has agreed to let her run the final steps with Valarie, steps that would have been taxing two years ago with her own lungs.

“You take breathing for granted,” Carrie said. “You just do it. For me, it was something I had to think about for every breath, because I couldn’t do it. Now, I can do whatever I want and not think about how tired it’s going to make me or worry about ending up in the hospital. It’s a completely new, different and free life. And it’s because of Amy. Sunday is going to be special for both of us.”

Finishing Amy’s marathon will give Valarie’s two-year journey a conclusion. Finishing with Carrie will bring joy.

“It’s going to be a beautiful tribute to both of our siblings,” Valarie said. “Seeing Carrie at the finish line with be cathartic for me. A part of Amy will be there with me.”

Valarie still hasn’t read the middle of the short story her sister left behind.

“I don’t want her words to be over,” Valarie said. “It’s almost like picking up the threads of her life. I don’t want it to end.”

While she hasn’t read every page, Valarie has memorized the final words. For 26.2 miles on Sunday, she will repeat Amy’s ending to Dear Me in her head.

Will I ever wake up and not remember what happened? Will there ever be a day where I forget?

I close my eyes and hear the chords of a piano concerto. The notes float through like a symphony in my head. Her love is a song, and I suddenly realize … I don’t want to forget.

Like a marathon on a hot, humid day.

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