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I guess people really needed to hear those words: Your work is not in vain, because that post was by far the most viewed and most shared one I’ve ever written. It’s not the best I’ve ever written, but the message undoubtedly resonated with people. We are hungry to know we are not alone in this fight (any fight) and that our advocacy does matter.

In a nice segue to that other cause that keeps me busy, I received a message last week from one of Austin’s old nurses at Rainbow. This is a woman I haven’t seen or heard from in years and I have to admit it took me a second to recognize her name since I knew her best before she was married. But she drew the parallel between that post and my work on behalf of St. Baldrick’s and said that I had long given a voice to children with cancer and their families and that what I attempt to accomplish with my event is, . . . you guessed it, “not in vain.”

Sometimes my success on that front feels small in light of such an enormous problem. The ten or twenty dollar donations I beg for, that one extra shavee I somehow convince to join us . . . how could any of this make a difference when we’re talking about thousands upon thousands of sick children and millions upon billions of dollars needed for research?

But it’s not small. It’s actually quite big.

Here’s what’s big: We have 133 people signed up to shave their heads next weekend. And more signing on every day. And a fair number of them are women and girls. That’s no small feat. Here’s what else is big: They’ve raised almost $50,000 for childhood cancer research. And by “almost,” I mean that by the time I post this, we’ll probably be there.

Here’s another thing that’s big: A grandmother who has signed up to shave her head not because any of her children or grandchildren have ever had cancer. But precisely because they haven’t. She feels just thankful enough and just lucky enough to be willing to do this on behalf of someone else. Someone she doesn’t even know.

Here’s what else is big: Rebecca has been gone for nine months but she looms large in the minds of many. She is so, so far from forgotten. Next Sunday, a cadre of her friends, from her earliest babyhood playmates to the classmates she never had enough time with, are either shaving their heads or cutting their hair in her memory. And she was never even bald. She held on to that crazy mass of curls until her last day on this earth. But still, they will sit up there, these little six-year olds who should never have to fathom such big and scary things, and they will shave their own heads for her.

And yet, it’s not really for her and they all know that. No amount of heads shaved, no amount of money raised, will ever bring her back, will ever make her well. But they will do this anyway. And that is big.

Rebecca’s best friend, the frick to her frack, is a six-year old first grader at Fairfax. She loves princesses, much as Rebecca did, and usually wears her long light brown hair in a braid down her back. I don’t know her all that well, but I feel pretty safe in calling her a girly girl. And my assumption about girly girls is that they like their hair. Or they at least like to have hair. But nine days from now, Ruthie will be bald. Bald. And not only that, but her father, her mother and her four-year old brother will be bald alongside her.

None of that will bring Rebecca back. None of it will make them miss her any less than they do today. But they will do it anyway. So that no other six-year old has to lose her best friend.

And THAT is big.

Over the past week, I’ve been called an inspiration, a powerhouse and — my personal fave — a force of nature. While that all makes me feel really, really good, this is not a one-woman-show, people. There is an army of volunteers who stand behind me and beside me without whom our event could never happen.

First of all, the barbers. They are on their feet shaving head after head after head for hours on end. They hunch over the little kids and let the very littlest stand up in the chairs. They calm the nervous shaking bodies and they comfort the crying. They laugh and they cheer and they do it with style.

So, a most enormous and heartfelt THANK YOU to Alex Quintana and his crew from Quintana’s: Theo, Mike and Jessica.

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And, of course, to the fabulous Shawn Paul, aided and abetted by Bethany and Angela.

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Thank you also to Rachel and Megan from Kreate and Rick, Laura, Racheal and Caroline, without whom there would be no bald heads (and what would be the point of that?).

Thank you to my tireless Treasurers and Registrars: Becky, Ann, Christie, Nancy (mom), Mark (honey), Jennifer, Julie, Julie, Kristy, Brenna, Ashlie, and Melissa. No one could check in and no one could give money if it weren’t for your hard work (and what would be the point of that?).

Thank you to everyone who worked at the Bake Sale table, especially Shari, Sheryl, Joe, Simon, and Logan, and of course, to everyone who baked for the Bake Sale, even though I have no idea who you are or what you brought. When I headed over to start emceeing, there were maybe two items on the table and when I finished four hours later, there was only one item on the table and I asked a volunteer if there had been any food at all. “Oh yes!” she assured me, and she must have been right because it brought in an additional $338. Nicely done on that!

Thank you to Simone Quartell for donating the American Girl Doll and to Nancy, Nicole, Kristi and Amelia for selling raffle tickets. We made one little girl very happy, plus raised another $478 for cancer research.

Thank you to anyone and everyone who stepped in and did jobs small — sweeping up all the hair off the floor (Nancy and Caroline) — and big — taking all the beautiful photos which you will soon get to see (Dallas and Sagi).

Thank you to the City of Cleveland Heights for so graciously hosting us year after year.

Thank you to Jason for helping me celebrate my own knight in shining armor, Mark, as he was inducted into the Knights of the Bald Table. I think your bagpiping skills served a recruiting tool for next year and the year after that as we now have lots of little boys (and girls) eagerly awaiting their own knighthoods.

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I couldn’t hold the microphone, the St Baldrick’s-issued wand and the script all at the same time!

And, of course, without question, the biggest, deepest, most well-earned THANK YOU to all the men, women, boys, and girls who shaved their heads or donated their locks on behalf of sick children. The entire room was overflowing with raw and honest examples of generosity and kindness. The incredible bravery of our shavees was matched only by their pure joy at having done something so special.

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This is a composite of kids from Team Fairfax centered around Becca, in whose honor they all shaved. And, yes, those are four GIRLS in the pics on top, demonstrating the truest meaning of friendship. Braedan happily reported that no one was made fun of at school today (and good thing because if they were, I would have marched my ass in there and gone house on those kids whose classes I spoke to all day Friday) and that they were congratulated by many, many, many. He feels like they’re all part of something bigger, like they’ve shared an important life experience that has brought them closer (“even,” as he noted tonight with some amazement, “the girls”). It is a powerful lesson these children have learned together. And I am so glad to have been part of it.

I have a thousand other stories to tell and about that many photos to share so check back in the next few days. But for now, I simply say Thank You.

Well. Wow. What a day.

I’m not usually at a loss for words (and I’ll surely manage to find a few now), but that was just a really great day.

Started off with me and Austin eagerly waiting through 50 painful minutes of the morning fluff on Fox 8 (my deep apologies to anyone else who also suffered through that — if you taped it, just save yourself and skip to the last ten minutes of the program, please!). But finally, there they were. First Mark and Dr. Letterio, sitting side by side with their half-shaved heads, talking about the importance of pediatric cancer research. And then, right when I thought the segment would end without Braedan getting his chance in the spotlight, they scanned back to the anchor table and there he was, sitting adorably on the anchor woman’s lap. And she looked just about ready to eat him up. With good reason too!  He was breathtakingly cute on that screen, all big eyes and pretty face.  I’m trying to find a link to it on their website but haven’t had any luck so far.

Then, by mid-afternoon, Mark and I and his dad were (wisely) in a taxi on our way downtown. A.J. Rocco’s was quite a scene — bottleneck at the door, people pushing their way through, sloshing the cups of beers raised high above their heads. It was reminiscent of my college years thankfully minus the bar smoke.  It was part party — hanging out with friends and drinking beer, and part hospital visit, surrounded as we were by our doctors and nurses strangely dressed in street clothes, not a white coat in sight.

The whole thing had an emotional tinge to it: random people hugging and crying, bits of heartfelt conversation wafting up through the ordinary bar noise. I was honored to meet some of the members of Team Austin we didn’t know, shavees who had simply picked my child from among the others on the St. Baldrick’s site, in part because of his cute smile and in part because they wanted to find someone currently “in the fight” (is he ever).  People who had never met us, for whom we were no more than a figment of the internet, but who nonetheless raised thousands of dollars in our name. And as I was gushing about my appreciation for all they did, they were likewise thanking me, telling me how proud they were to be part of this, how special they felt to be able to do this on behalf of Austin.

And then there was Cori. This woman had hair down to her waist, literally, to her waist.  We don’t even know each other all that well, but she just signed right up, like “Why not?” On her St. Baldrick’s page, she mentioned how when you see a child fall down at the playground, you just go and help, no hesitation. Well, this was the same thing for her: We walk to Fairfax together and wait on that playground, rain or shine or snow (mostly snow) for our boys to come dashing out the door, our little ones antsy in their strollers. We’re “playground friends” as she says. So when Austin “fell down,” she scooped in to pick him up.

She hadn’t raised a huge amount online, a decent amount but nothing worth the length of that hair. So when her turn came yesterday and her name was announced, the MC asked for extra donations. A few of us walked around the bar with leprechaun hats outstretched for people’s cash. Now remember, most of the people there had already given in one way or another, either money or hair. But most hands managed to fish out their wallets and give some more, because she came up with a whooping five hundred dollars on the spot.

And everybody watched with bated breath as the barber sniped off huge chunks of ponytail to donate to Wigs for Kids. And everybody teared up as the buzzer started working its way across that suddenly short hair. And everybody cheered when she stood up on the chair afterward to show how beautiful she looked.

The MC was standing next to me as I was cheering loudly and turned to ask if she was a friend. “She’s shaving for my son,” was my answer at that moment. But my answer right now is, “Yes. She is my friend.”

And that’s not all. Less than an hour later, one of Mark’s colleagues, the other woman on our team, walked in. And her hair was only an inch or two shorter than Cori’s! So the hats were passed around again and I was thinking, “These people just gave, there’s no way they’ll give again.” But give again they did, handing over another $377.  It made me feel a tiny bit guilty, these women with lush long locks willingly sitting on that stage, while I won’t do it and I’ve never even liked my hair! But I’ve suffered enough on behalf of pediatric cancer. I make my sacrifice every day. I’m keeping this hair.

Most of all I felt moved, touched, lucky. I don’t use the word “blessed” very often because it’s too religious for me, but I felt enormously fortunate. Fortunate that my life is so rich with generosity and kindness and friendship and love. That my husband and my children and I are surrounded by such an open and giving community. Yesterday made the heavy burden we bear feel, if not lighter, at least more tolerable. It made what should be an experience seeped only in negativity feel positive.

It made me feel full and whole and lucky. And so I thank you.

                                Mark, Austin, Krissy & Braedan, August 2008

I am the luckiest.

I have a family who stands beside me, backs me up and cheers me on. I have a rock solid relationship with my rock solid husband Mark. I have friends who encircle and enrich me. I have a strong and healthy and able body, despite having had type 1 diabetes for twenty-three years. I have enough money for everything I need and most of what I want. And I have two little boys, Braedan and Austin, who fill me with delight and wonder every single day.

But Austin is not the luckiest. Diagnosed with bilateral Wilms’ tumor, cancer in both kidneys, in July 2007 when he was just ten months old, Austin has been forced to endure more horrors in his short life than most of us ever will. But he is a survivor. After eight months of treatment, he has been in remission since March 2008.

The months, and now years, following his diagnosis have taught us a lot . . . about fear, hope and strength, about each other, ourselves and our boys, about life, luck and love.

And I’m ready to share.

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