I thought I’d do something I love (swim) to stamp out something I hate (cancer). Grief into action.

So I signed up for the Swim Across America swim from Greenwich to Stamford on June 26. It benefits the Alliance for Cancer Gene Therapy, a Stamford based foundation that funds national grants for cell and gene therapy cancer research. Although the 1.5 mile distance wouldn’t challenge me in a pool, open water swimming (especially when the waters are cold, like the Long Island Sound is at the end of June) is always a bit tougher .

I set my goal for fund raising by asking for a dollar for every stroke I estimated it will take me to complete the swim: $1,890. I sent three emails and posted a link to Facebook. I sweated a little, wondering if I’d be able to reach the goal before the event.

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After taking a spill and hitting his head last evening, my father had to get a CT scan. Turns out he was fine, but you can’t be too careful with a 79 year old who’s on blood thinners. Off to the ER we went. After he was treated by the trauma team, we were left to be as nosy as we possibly could from our bay in the trauma room our own devices for several hours. We couldn’t help but notice:

• A screamer (whom the staff referred to as a “frequent flier”) with a rather colorful vocabulary
• A drunk with a sprained ankle, sleeping it off
• The crazy woman – quite possibly related to the drunk sleeping it off – who insisted someone stole $500 from her purse
• Two cute clinical assistants (OK, maybe Dad didn’t notice them as much as I did)
• A suicide attempt
• A little old lady who said she crashed her blue convertible Camaro into a taxi (did GM ever make a convertible Camaro?)
• An EMT asking me on a date
• 10, maybe 12, members of the trauma team working on a pedestrian who was struck by a car (little old lady, I’m lookin’ at you!)

After three hours, I leaned toward my father and whispered “This is like watching an episode of E.R.!”

Eyes wide, his response summarized the night perfectly. “Better.”

Yesterday, we celebrated my sister’s life. I was honored to remember her with these words.

My name is Patty, and I am – and forever will be – C.’s kid sister.

For some of us, there are words and images that will forever evoke memories of C. Let me try a few on you. VW bug. Turquoise. Apricot jam. Blue suede shoes. The perfect pair of blue jeans. And for my oldest sister, it’s the sound of a needle hitting vinyl and the happy sound of Doobie Brothers’ “Another Park Another Sunday” playing through the speakers.

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