Just Doing What We Can

So, this feels like kind of an awkward post to write. I'm coming to you with my grubby little paw out, asking for money in the worst economic time of our generation. Or most other generations for that matter.

But I feel like it's for a good cause so I'm just going to charge ahead like a bull in a china shop. Which is about the only way I operate. I'm a Sagitarius after all.

Anyway, many of you know that two years ago we became involved with an organization called St. Baldrick's. From the first time we heard about it, we loved the concept: People raise money for pediatric cancer research by asking for donations and then shaving their heads in solidarity with kids who have cancer.

If you've never attended an event, try to track one down in your area. It's just cool to see all of these people--men, women AND children--shaving their heads for a good cause. And then when you see them all over town for the next few weeks, you definitely know where they got their hair cut.

The event in our town is scheduled for Saturday, March 14, noon - 4pm, at the Eagle Fire Station. If you're local, come and join us.


St. Baldrick's 2008

Eamonn and Declan are both planning on raising money and shaving again this year. Again, I feel awkward asking this time around. The economy is awful, jobs are tenuous, budgets are strained. Believe me, we're feeling it, too. Eamonn and I were talking about how unfortunate it is that there isn't a Cancer Recession as well. I'm annoyed that it doesn't work that way. It seems like I'm following and communicating with more cancer families than ever before. And I hate it. Hate. It.

I don't know how many of you are cycling enthusiasts, but I spend an inordinate (and not unenjoyable) amount of time watching cycling races. I, for one, don't care why Lance Armstrong returned to cycling. Some people say he can't stand being out of the limelight. All I care about is that once again he's bringing cancer research INTO the limelight with him. On the first day of the Tour of California, Lance gave an interview and talked about two numbers on his bike: The first number, 1,274, represents the number of days since Lance last raced professionally. The second number, 27.5 represents how many people, in MILLIONS, who have died worldwide in those 1,274 days. That's like the entire population of the state of California dying in a 3 1/2 year timespan. Tears came immediately to my eyes while he was talking. Of course, we know I'm a silly sap who cries when her husband steals her People magazine, but those numbers scared me. That's a lot of frickin' people, people.

So, we're just going to keep doing what we can for as long as we can.

If you'd like to donate this year, you can link to Declan's page or Eamonn's page to donate now. If it's just not in the budget this year, we totally understand. We'll just write you down for twice as much next year. Kidding. Totally kidding. But you will be haunted by leprechauns if you don't donate. Not kidding. They're real and scary.

One memory of Finn's cancer journey I'll never forget is when Declan asked me, "Who will be our baby if Finn dies?" Declan was four and had already been through and seen enough to ask a question like that. It still tears at my heart. I wish I could make it so another parent never had to hear words like that again. Alas, my magical powers only extend as far as kissing a skinned knee, holding a fevered little body, or consoling over a lost hockey game.

Will cancer be cured in my lifetime? Declan and Finn's lifetime? My grandchildren's lifetime? I don't know. But I'm sure as heck going to try.

I Wish I Could Change The World

Taking part in the Make A Wish radio-thon on Monday was an eye opening (ear opening) experience.

Once again, I'm reminded of how lucky we are. Yes, our son had cancer. It was (still is) scary. But statistics are on our side.

During the radio-thon, we heard stories of kids who died just days, or even hours in one case, after their wish was fulfilled. That puts tears in my eyes right this very second.

There are so many stories. Too many.

So Laurie told me about this family who recently took their own Make A Wish trip to Disney. Honestly, I think I felt a piece of my heart break off when I read their story. Both of their children have a terminal illness called Sanfillippo Syndrome. You can read more about it on their blog, but the bottom line is both of their children are slowly dying.

Friends of the family are trying to raise money to help this family move to a home that can accomodate the childrens' changing needs. You can read more about the efforts of their two college friends at A Hundred For A Home.

I know I throw requests out there for donations for different organizations now and again. We all have our favorite charities. I have mine, you have yours. But I feel compelled to donate to this family because I can't even comprehend how you lose one child, let alone two. It must be agony if you can survive it and still feel.



Shannon, the mom, calls her blog "Exploring Holland." Here's why:

WELCOME TO HOLLAND by Emily Perl Kingsley

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this...

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip -to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The flight attendant comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland". "Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland? I signed up for Italy. I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease.

It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people who would never have met.
It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around....and you being to notice that Holland has windmills...and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy...and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And for some time, the pain of that will never go away...because the loss of that dream is a significant loss.

But, if you spend your life mourning the face that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things...about Holland.

*********************

What a beautiful, poignant way of saying life doesn't always turn out like we planned.

We had so many people--friends, family, total strangers--reach out to us when Finn was in treatment. We can never repay any of that because you can't put a pricetag on compassion. Without it, we never would have made it. So our goal is to just keep paying it forward when and where we can.

I'm going to head on over and donate what I would have spent on coffee this month. OK, I actually don't drink coffee, but I'm going to pretend I do and donate that amount anyway.

And then I'm going to be grateful that even though life didn't exactly follow the path we thought it would, where we are right now is pretty darn good.

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