Todd Smith was named 2013 Man of the Year (Congrats, Todd
and team!) and I was named 2013 Woman of the Year. It’s a total misnomer because there’s no way
anyone has enough money to donate in order to get my friends to call me that
henceforth. Not even once.
Nor should they. (Unless, however, I beat them handily at
WWF, then that’s clearly another story).
Nothing about this was an individual effort. It took every ounce of time, energy,
teamwork, and purpose that the collective
“us” could muster in order to make this all come to fruition. Our teams were absolutely invaluable. And
while each of the six teams went about efforts in different ways, we ALL wanted
the same outcome: money in the hands of
researchers to FIND A CURE FOR BLOOD CANCERS.
Spend wisely, Dr.
Smarties. We’re rooting for you. Go get ‘em.
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I also promised I’d recap some of the emotions from
Friday. I’ll try. Even I sometimes struggle with the right
words to convey such a momentous occasion.
Friday was a day in which everything came to a culmination, a personal
sense of closure, and an end…for now.
I woke up and somehow magically my stomach knew it was Gala
Day. For a quick second I was very
confused, thinking I was about to go run a marathon since it was the exact same
feeling of “Did I eat some really bad
sushi last night?” I get race morning.
After a cup of coffee, I was better.
At 10:00am, I met Jen at Ceruti’s to help unload the auction
items. I thought arriving there would
make me more nervous, but actually, it helped.
Keeping busy is my medicine (c’mon…act like you didn’t know). From there, got the hair done, came home,
made some food, and (act surprised again), had a glass of wine. It’s totally better than coffee.
Chelsea and Joe arrived first. Ok, now that IS a surprise! My best friend is
NEVER on time (love you, you know it’s true).
There as so many things to say about the level of closeness we have
shared our entire lives, but suffice it to say, her non-stop talking calms me
down. Our non-stop banter back and forth relaxes me like nothing
else. The relationship is unrivaled.
Shortly thereafter our friend, Ty, showed up from Ohio to do
the make-up. There’s nothing better than
not only saying Up Yours, Cancer…but also saying Up Yours, circa late ‘80’s prom-night! 23 years later, I had a much better +1 than I
did in High School, not that there’s really any comparison whatsoever. Angela then arrived from Indy followed by
Liv, Mariam, my amazing +1 and friend, Foster, and a gaggle of IOS
compadres. I think the neighbors popped
in at some point too, but honestly it’s a blur; I was nervous and am a bit of a
lightweight when I don’t eat. And I
hadn’t eaten a thing all day.
After the pre-party festivities, Foster and I left. Whew.
We arrived at 6:03 (I know this because I was giving him dirty looks for
being late to which he shut me up mid-story of his like he always does) and
there were a lot of people there already.
And that’s pretty much it.
This is where I struggle with the proverbial “rest of the story.” I do remember saying out loud a few times, “This is reason #712 why I’ll probably never
get married again; the mingling thing is ridiculous!” While true, I LOVED LOVED LOVED having so
many people there with whom to mingle. I
just wish I had more time to properly talk and hang out with them all. THANK YOU to my family and friends (although
that feels so interchangeable at this point in my life) for EVERYTHING
throughout the course of this entire journey.
And no, I don’t mean just these last 10-weeks, and no, I don’t just mean
a regular “thanks.” I mean profound
gratitude. I’ll never forget it.
The entire celebration would not have been complete without
the people I love in attendance. When
they called my name, I cried. I cried
for all those who have gone through, are going through, or will go through a
cancer diagnosis. I cried for their
families. I cried for closure. I cried because I could finally eat. I cried…because I was complete. And then I cried harder because Liv, upon
hearing my name announced, immediately stood up and hugged me with her
outstretched arms.
Talk about sweet. For
all the hardships, all the ups and downs, all the “what if’s” line of questioning I pepper myself with when it comes
to mothering her – then and now – nothing will take that moment away.
Saying I’m happy to be here seems so simple to read on a
page, but really, it is simple. I’m
thankful to have been given a second chance at life.
And I hope and pray that we have made a difference in
Greyson’s, Kellcey’s and their families’ lives, of which, I’m honored to have
been a part…if even for just a short time in the journey.
One last time…a heartfelt thank you to all.
We did it!
--------
Thank you. Thank you
all for being here and taking part in this very special night.
Jen instructed each of us to prepare acceptance speeches
because two of us would be asked to say a “few” words. I’m pretty sure by now most of you know…I
don’t even know what that means. But I
promise nonetheless to keep this brief.
First, I’d like to give my gratitude and thanks to my
teammates, without whom, this entire effort would never have been
possible. Now, mind you, that is not at
ALL what I thought going into this. In
fact, when Jen asked me who I had in mind for team members - without hesitation
- my answer back to her was, “Nobody. I’m going to do it all myself.” Ever the lady and professional that she is,
she only smiled and said, “Well…it’s a lot of work. Let me know if you change your mind.”
Thank goodness I did.
Angela, Stacy, Billy and Travis – thank you guys so much for everything. I really appreciate your efforts, your ideas,
and your constant support. There are many
other friends here tonight to thank as well:
Harker and Deb for the rabbit relocation mission; my new friends from
Lucky Harley-Davidson for your amazing support of LLS this year and now, after
the campaign, in future years – we’re very excited about that; the other
candidates for your relentless efforts these last 10 weeks; and Foster – for all
those 5am runs, the myriad of subsequent effects afterwards, and for being my
+1 tonight. Thanks.
I’d also like to thank my IOS family for your loyalty and
friendship over the years – especially when I was sick. You continue to this day, all these years
later, to put up with me. And if that doesn’t say something about the
strength of our company, I don’t know what does…
I have friends in this room tonight who have known me almost
my whole life. Literally, we’ve been
friends for over 30 years. We grew up
alongside one another, played sports together, went shopping and got in trouble
together, learned how to drive and weather broken hearts together. We went to college together and attended each
other’s weddings (sometimes more than once) – so you can imagine the day I had
to call not only those best friends, but my parents, and tell them I had
leukemia.
Yet telling them, while incredibly hard, was not nearly as
difficult as the thought of not being able to watch my daughter grow up – to be
her Mom. She’s here tonight, along with
my incredibly supportive parents. Liv,
you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and by far, my greatest
blessing. Without even knowing it, while
you were learning to rid yourself of diapers, I was a couple hours away trying
to rid myself of cancer so I could get home to you and have the joy of raising
you…of seeing you turn into the beautiful young woman you’ve become. I’m proud of you, and I love you very much.
Whew! By the way, I’m
still working on the brief thing…
Let me tell you a little bit about this campaign and what it
has meant. I had certainly heard of it
in the past, but really had no idea what it entailed. After speaking with Jill and Craig about
their experiences last year, I was getting closer to committing. Then, I read
about Kellcey and Greyson and decided I’d give it a try. And then I met them. In person. And “trying” needed to turn into something more.
These kids and their families are amazing people who have
been in the midst of a trial, an emotional roller-coaster, and an uprooted life
schedule. Cancer invaded their homes, forcing them to make that call to their friends and family. But I
can tell you, that the money raised these last 10 weeks, the money LLS relentlessly
pursues every day, does make a
difference in the lives of patients. It
has given Grey and Kellcey more treatment options, a better prognosis, and more
hope than has ever existed before. And
it has given all of us the privilege of meeting them and forming new
friendships, as well as opportunities to provide mutual support along the way.
THAT is what I have re-learned throughout this
campaign: we are all a team, walking the path in this journey of life together. Sometimes there’s a detour, sometimes we get
re-routed, but knowing that there are troops fighting on our side just up
ahead…that matters.
Sometimes cancer
becomes that detour in our lives – the one we never saw coming. Sometimes, we are able to re-route and
sometimes, despite all valiant, gut wrenching efforts we are not; and it
becomes surreal and incomprehensible.
But what I have also realized throughout this campaign is
that both tragedy and victory happens to us,
the “better” us…”team” us. It can’t
happen to just one, because we all rejoice at each recovery and we all grieve for each and every setback
and loss.
While cancer can defeat one of us, it cannot and will not defeat
our collective will. We have come too far, we have won too many
battles, and we are getting closer every day to winning the war.
Cancer will eventually retreat… because it knows by now, as
this evening shows, that we will never
give up.
Thank you.
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