Awkward, intimate, inspiring, imposing, shameless, gratifying, necessary.
This exercise raises a real internal struggle for me each year. I am amazed by the generosity that friends and strangers have shown towards this cause on Sam’s behalf. The former colleagues of my mother who annually solicit $5 and $10 donations from their colleagues, friends from childhood, people we know casually from our neighborhood, friends of friends, parents of friends, people who are exceedingly generous year after year, and people who just don’t have to support us, keep on doing it. Every year, I feel as though I can’t possibly do this again and then at the end I am so buoyed by the support and the thought that maybe our efforts made a difference.
I don’t know the origins of walking for a “cure” as a fundraising mechanism. Like everyone, I get a lot of emails like ours and so I am sympathetic to the over-saturation of important causes. We have adopted a few that we support in addition to JDRF. Some we have a personal connection to (breast cancer, ALS, pediatric hospitals) and with others the only connection is that the person we know cared enough about someone else to participate. All the emails begin the same way: “I am walking for my mother, my cousin, my husband, my friend, my child, because this beautiful human being got some crappy disease that they didn’t deserve.” As much as I want to reach our goal (the 2007 and 2008 circle of excellence awards for raising over $10k are hanging in Sam’s room with an obvious spot for 2009), the actual walking is a really important part of this annual effort. The shirts that we make for walk day all say, “I am walking for Sam Dickinson, Age __” and Sam’s says, “I’m Sam.” As he passes, people say “Go Sam!” or “You can do it Sam!” and it makes me think that his future is hopeful. You CAN do it Sam. You can live a great life.
Jon’s father lived with ALS for nine years before his death in 2002. His final years defined courageous. After he was completely paralyzed and lost his ability to speak, he continued to write his syndicated column using only his eyes and a special keyboard. He was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize for those articles. Twice. In one particular article he wrote about all the small joys of life and I distinctly remember the line, “Walk, Oh, do walk when you can.” Even though our fundraising effort is for JDRF, when we “walk” I always think of him and of what a privilege it is to be healthy. Sometimes he would write about day to day events in the life of his own family. I can imagine how he would report on this event and perfectly capture the spirit of walk day – especially the powerful imagery of families spilling across the bridge in support of their children. I wish he had known Sam and Talia and that he could write them a story about this day.
Walking is freedom and power. After a two year period that included open heart surgery and breast cancer, my mother found the strength to do this walk for Sam. Her walk each year has nothing to do with fundraising and everything to do with the power of love. It seems almost possible that this kind of power might crush diabetes. If only.
The truth is that Jon and I believe in science. I want science to make diabetes into some obscure thing and I want it to happen quickly. It will cost money. Which is why, despite the awkwardness of fundraising we do it year after year. Aside from providing the diligent care and attention that diabetes requires this is really the only thing we have the power to do. We are humbled by and grateful to all who have helped us do it. This Sunday, we will walk for Sam and for the dignity and peace that every human being deserves. We love each and every one of you who “walk” with us every day in this journey to create a better future for our son.
