Donor Shoutout

Hey all, sorry for the delay in writing. Training has, for lack of a better word, sucked… and it’s been a little discouraging.

Luckily, it’s nothing serious. I’ve just got a classic case of “overtraining,” which makes everything feel harder than it should. If Becky were here, she’d say, “Very on brand for you—you can never just train, you have to OVER-train.” I was hoping it would be something easily fixed, like tweaking my thyroid meds, but no such luck.

What it means in practice: my heart rate spikes way too high at an easy pace, and when your heart is working that hard that early, the rest of your body pays for it. Your heart gets tired, your muscles don’t get enough oxygen, and everything feels like trash. The cure? Rest. Take it easy. Slow down. (Three things I am historically not great at.) If you’ve dealt with this and have remedies or advice, I would LOVE to hear it—please text or call.

Anyway, enough woe-is-me when there’s not much to woe about. On the bright side, I’ve had a few more signs from Becky lately. The other night I turned on the TV and found Sister Act 2. Becky loved that movie. Want to feel old? Whoopi did a cast reunion on The View and they performed “Oh Happy Day.” I had forgotten how good it is. I was instantly back in the family room on Margin Street on a Friday night, probably eating a Mr. G’s pizza with Grandpa, watching it for the 15th time. What a happy day those days were.

Now for FANTASTIC news: we’re up to $5,023! Bit by bit, we’re building. Thank you to every single one of you who has donated so far. Your support keeps me going—especially now that training’s gotten tougher.

Let’s get to the shout-outs, shall we?

Raquel Frisch. I don’t know Raquel personally, but I know this: in high school I didn’t get it. I didn’t get the lasting connections and the power of a community like Fenwick. I didn’t understand what it means to have people who share a moment in time and a set of values, and how that can weave through your life. Times like these—when we lose one of our own, like Henry, Becky, and others—we show up. We say, “I’m here. I see you. I support you.” I took it for granted at 18; I’ve been grateful for it ever since. Raquel, thank you for being part of that.

I hope you’ll pardon this aside but as I was writing this it made me remember the poem “I call the moment Fenwick” by Richard Messina.

“There have been many moments in my life
Each one filled with its own kind of joy
Some touched with Pain…

There has been, however, one moment in my
Life, one brief and beautiful moment which has
Taught me more than all the other moments
Put together
I call the moment Fenwick…

Now a new moment comes
The moment of good-bye
Those of us must leave
Will never leave alone. In our hearts we will
Carry the gift of Fenwick forever. So good-bye is
Only a small word. It means the end of
Staying. But we will bring with us the moment
We called Fenwick which lingers deep within.
It shaped our hearts, our thoughts, our dreams,
And taught us how to give.”

Julia Mazepa. I haven’t seen Julia in years, but we worked together at HCPro when I was just getting started. Little did I know I was making connections that would last. Julia is an incredibly brilliant mind—the kind of person where you describe the problem and you can almost see the database spinning in her head as she pulls it all together. She’s just… brilliant, and it was a joy to watch her brain work. Julia, I’m so grateful for your donation. Thank you.

Shannon Caruso. We haven’t met, but I’m so grateful for Shannon’s support. She’s a fierce diabetes advocate and a T1D champion herself. Thank you for backing Joslin’s work to care for people like Becky, Shannon, and her son—and for fueling the search for a cure. Shannon is also one of Becky’s Bishop Fenwick classmates—another example of how strong this community is.

Vanessa Green LaMalfa. “V” and I have been friends for 21 years. We didn’t start that way; she was known as the “Ice Queen.” Cold as ice—until you break through and find that big, warm, beautiful Italian heart. I survived the frozen tundra and made it to the warm side. We had some of the most fun I’ve ever had at work: we worked hard, laughed harder, and have supported each other ever since. She’s a brilliant marketer, a wonderful friend, and mom to two incredible sons (now young men) who keep her in line as much as she does them. V, I’m grateful for your support, you Ice Queen.

Lacey Berrien. Lacey and I worked together at Drift, where she could spin front-page-worthy stories out of hypergrowth chaos and make it all look perfectly rational. She’s the queen of grammar (probably cringing every time I hit “publish”), mom to Bear—who just turned 1 year old—and has run more marathons in more countries than I can count. Lacey is a total powerhouse: the type who gets her startup on magazine covers while earning an MBA and then drops it in the group chat like, “oh yeah, NBD.” Meanwhile I’m over here making ramen in the microwave, impressed with myself. Lacey, thanks for giving me something to chase—and for your donation.

Eloise Gabriel. No real intro needed. Eloise is the queen of all the shouting—good shouting, corrective shouting, and the “you better straighten up” shouting. She can command a room of preschoolers as easily as a choir of women meeting the Pope for the first time. On Patriots game days, consider earplugs. If you think you can out-shop her on Black Friday, you are gravely mistaken. I don’t think she sleeps—except during commercials in Pats games and Hallmark movies. She raised four great humans who now have great humans of their own. She opened her home on Margin Street to all of us; everyone knew they were welcome. She’s endured more losses than seem fair and somehow carries it with a steadiness that holds the rest of us together. El, thank you for your support. I love you, and thank you for giving me a best friend.

David Gabriel. Maybe best for last—or maybe that’s just how the list shook out. I think I’ve known David since he was about 12. Cutest kid, hilarious, with the most contagious laugh—I can still hear it. If you’ve ever felt like you had a lot of opinions weighing on you, try having three sisters and a mom like Eloise. He’s better for it, but no one understood what he was up against like Becky. Becky was David’s brother in a 4’11” woman’s body. She spoke David. He now has four kids of his own—adorable, all of them—and two have T1D. I’m hopeful the Joslin’s work will benefit them. Thanks for your support Dave and Amie.

Thank you all for reading, for donating, for texting, for cheering. I’m resting, I’m listening (begrudgingly), and I’m keeping my eyes open for more little winks from Becky. On we go.