Strength

Strength comes in a lot of ways. There’s physical strength, emotional strength and moral strength. To keep the theme of self deprecation running, I’m not sure if I qualify as especially strong in any of those areas, but I have been fortunate enough to bear witness to those strengths in other people

My friend Heather ran in the Rehoboth Beach Marathon today to benefit our classmate Joe, who is fighting cancer. I know for a fact that I don’t have it in me to run 26.2 miles, and I don’t know where I would find the strength to battle cancer. I admire both for their fortitude. I am literally ready to barf after 2.5 miles, so I don’t know how Heather is able to run 10 times that, plus more. As for illness, I was a total baby when I had bacterial bronchitis back in February, and don’t even get me started about my turbinectomy in June. Joe’s ability to get through the myriad treatments is beyond me. I admit it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Joe, but from what I’ve heard the man has strength that I cannot even begin to fathom.

Another way I have witnessed strength is seeing the fight my niece fought as a 1 ½ pound 26 week preemie, and the determination my sister and brother in law had sitting by her incubator each day, silently willing her to take each breath and gain each pound. Like a lot of people, I had the Cabbage Patch Doll perception of premature babies – just like regular babies but a little bit smaller – I could not have been more misinformed. Tara was red, wrinkly and frankly a little scary looking. One of my friends at work told me that she couldn’t look at the pictures I had, although she humored my attempts to decorate the plain white onesies I was allowed to buy for her. One of the phrases that will life in infamy is “Beth, you cannot Bedazzle the baby!”. All I knew is that I desperately wanted to hold my little niece. I would drive over to Bryn Mawr Hospital on my lunch hour, hoping that I might be able to catch my sister during visiting hours, hoping that I’d have a chance to clasp Tara’s little hand. I’d indignantly call my sister if she wasn’t there, annoyed that the nursing staff adhered to regulation and wouldn’t let me in, “Kelly, don’t they know who I am?” I was thrilled when I was allowed to hold Tara for the fist time. I was so thrilled in fact that my grin took up the whole picture. Beth, you can’t even see Tara, my friend Nancy told me. Who cares, I got to hold Tara. Now, she is strong in her own way. A strong, stubborn, feisty 7 year old, who I’ve had to negotiate with to watch the Today show for 15 minutes instead of Cartoon Network, but still the same strong little girl with a will to live.

As for moral strength, my friend Jeff is my idol. Jeff is a proud gay man, not afraid to be who he is, and advocate for others who still feel the need to be silent. Until recently, I hadn’t talked to Jeff in about 15 years, but I am so happy we are in touch now, and more importantly, I am proud to call him my friend. He has been fiercely vocal about the rights that homosexual people have been denied, and kindly, compassionately educating those who are less informed. I don’t know if I would be as patient as Jeff has been in the face of such intolerance. Jeff is my friend, not my gay friend, just my friend. He has inspired me to become involved in an issue that I had formerly been on the sidelines.

Whether they are aware of it or not, all of these people have inspired me. Heather, mile after mile, running to raise funds and awareness for a sick friend. Joe, treatment upon treatment fighting a battle that he never asked to fight. Tara, having won against seemingly insurmountable odds. Jeff, unbending in his knowledge that he is fighting the good fight. I may not be there physically next all of you, but I am with you all in spirit, and I admire what you have accomplished.