Dear Friends,
It was an honor to represent you this morning in Swim Across America’s 1.5 mile swim from Greenwich to Stamford. Your generosity made me one of the top 5 “earners” for this event. We raised more than $6,500 for cancer gene therapy research, or more than 2% of the total of $300,000 in contributions yielded by the swim. I can’t thank you enough!
The water was like glass, merging with the gentle fog over Long Island Sound at 7 am. As I struggled to put on my new wetsuit, I said hellos and traded swim stories with new friends. We were together in preparation for next Saturday’s Swim Across America event, and we were all anxious to make sure we remembered how to sight-swim outside the confines of our normal habitat (lane line, lane marker, lane line).
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.
I’m sure the words will come pouring out. In time.
Until then, here’s a sad postscript to my sister’s story, as told through my words.
She died on Wednesday, with Paul and me by her side. She knew how much we loved her. And she wasn’t in pain.
I miss her. Already.
Absurdity catches me by the tail and spins me around. I feel my burdens slip away as I look into its silly, kind eyes.
We now have tides in our basement. High tide likes to sneak up on us, jumping out from behind a tree and screaming “BOO! Gotcha!” Low tide takes its time, stopping for pastries and coffee, always here later than we’d like.
The trees that used to beckon launched a full-on aerial attack, missing the house by a few feet.
Things change.
The trees are gone, changing 10 years of landscape and shade and, well, meaning. The anti-team sports child plays lacrosse. The massive, end-of-the-world issue from way back in January is resolved and I am gaining, what’s that word? Oh yes. Perspective.
I wonder how I’ll make it through another seemingly endless stretch from when I dolphin-kick into my first morning lap — the warm up before endurance work, the endurance work before sprints — and when my head hits the pillow.
And I wait for absurdity to grab me by the tail and spin me around one more time, making me laugh as I look in its kind eyes and leave the burdens behind, one by one, in the deep end.
Healthy children.
Healthy, happy children.
The means to care for an ailing dog.
A job. With benefits. Interesting work.
A computer.
A wam cat next to me, hunkering close and losing his shit (like the rest of the pack) because their canine leader is hospitalized.
New underwear!
A sport I love. An obsession (weight lifting) that’s actually healthy.
Swimming. At all. Regardless of speed.
Perspective. Hard earned.
A stolen 3 day weekend on the beach.
Love. Deeper now than I ever thought it could be when I met him 17 years and 1 day ago.
Steak. Nom, nom.
Sometimes it takes something extraordinary to make a friend who lives just a few miles away.
In my case, it was starting a blog.
The WingDangDoo is one of about a hundred blogs featuring this post today. Yes, a hundred. My friend Kevin of Always Home and Uncool wrote this post to raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his lovely wife’s birthday.
Having met the entire Uncool family, I have to tell you, it’s quite the misnomer. They are lovely, welcoming, and exceptionally cool people.
Several years on, it’s impossible to look at Thing 1 and imagine she was diagnosed with this debilitating disease. She is a beautiful child, full of energy and blessed with intelligent, beautiful eyes that (sorry, Kevin) will be leveling boys’ hearts none too long from now.
I’d like to wish Kevin’s lovely bride the happiest of birthdays. I am sure is a bittersweet day for her. I’m keeping the Uncools (especially Rhonda and Megan) close to my heart today.
~~~
Our pediatrician admitted it early on.
The rash on our 2-year-old daughter’s cheeks, joints and legs was something he’d never seen before.
The next doctor wouldn’t admit to not knowing.
He rattled off the names of several skins conditions — none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner — then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.
The answer was almost always the same: lasagna. Angel food cake with fudge icing.
Except for those dark, early years when I seemed to favor layer cake with lemon (ewww!) filling and buttercream frosting.
Look at the smile on that face. Hell, he’s got a cat right next to him and he’s still smiling. I’ve never seen a happier cancer-laden, arthritic 13 1/2 year old dog. Have you?
I think I told you (both of you?) my goodest good boy has cancer. But to verify, I’d have to go back to a part of the blog I’m none too anxious to revisit.
“You haven’t updated your blog in a loooooong time,” she tells me during her check-in phone call. “I worry.”
I’m fine. Silent-ish but ok.
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