Sometimes, when I am in a particularly bleak frame of mind, this train of thought leads me straight into a downward spiral, and I then have a hell of job trying to climb back out.
Other times, though, I can ask this question and come up with an answer (or answers) that make me feel – well, good about who I am. Because, you know, I think I’m quite a nice person. Not that I’m the type to blow my own trumpet or anything.
I am here to make a difference, to help make the world a better place. If my presence on this earth changes just one life for the better, then I think that maybe I’ll have done OK. I like to think that my immediate circle – my family and my close friends – are enriched by the fact that I am in their lives.
I try to instill positive values in my kids, to set them up for happy and productive lives in which they, in turn, can have a positive influence on those around them.
I am a strong supporter and advocate for the autism community. I run a race every year to raise funds for autism services, and I try to spread awareness and acceptance for people like my beautiful boy George. I also try to ease James’ path as sibling to a child with autism, to allow him to balance care and concern for his brother with his own need for independence and identity as a human being in his own right.
As Gerard’s partner, I try to make a difference in the lives of the youth in our community. I support Gerard in his endeavours to keep teens away from a life of crime and gangsterism, to steer them into avenues where they can have a more positive outlet for their creative energy.
When someone I love needs advice or support, I try to be there for them as much as I can. I have a genuine love and concern for my family and friends, and it gives me joy to help them through troubled times.
When a friend’s baby dies, there is very little I can do to ease the pain, apart from making sure my friend knows I am there, and offering whatever support I can. There is no way to get anything positive out of that kind of tragedy.
Or… is there?
On January 20th, I donated blood for the first time, in honour of Capt. Snuggles, an eight-month-old baby who was fighting for his life. Four days later, I wept – even sitting at my workstation where other people could see me, I openly wept – as I read the devastating news that Capt. Snuggles had slipped from this world into the next.
A couple of weeks later, I started pondering the question: if I started the chain of events, how many people could I get to donate blood, in memory of Capt. Snuggles, over a five-day period? After running my idea by Amy, the brave, brave Mom of Capt. Snuggles, and after receiving her blessing (and some really valuable advice), I am now officially launching the campaign.
The Captain Snuggles Blood Drive.
From 9:00 a.m. Eastern Time on April 4th until 8:00 p.m. Eastern Time on April 8th, I am inviting everyone who is medically eligible to roll up their sleeves and give a unit of blood in memory of Capt. Snuggles. No matter where you are geographically located, please consider going to your local blood donor clinic in the first week of April to start in motion a sequence of actions that could save someone’s life.
I am relying on word of mouth here, so I need everyone’s help. Please spread the word. Repost, reblog, tweet, talk – please do whatever you can to let the people in your life know about this drive. Let’s work together to create a snowball effect that would make actual snowballs look like lazy amateurs.
Together, let’s save lives.
Currently, there are three ways for you to sign up:
- Respond to the Facebook event that has been set up.
- Send an email to email@example.com
- Leave a comment on this post, but make sure there is some way for me to contact you.
If you sign up, you will receive regular news updates and information, and I will even help you find a blood donor clinic convenient to you. Once your donation has been made, I will ask you to let me know, and you will be added to what will hopefully be the giant number of people who made a giant difference in honour of an incredibly brave, tough baby.
This blood drive is not going to diminish the tragedy of Capt. Snuggles’ plight, or the grieving of his family.
What it will do, though, is this. It will allow Capt. Snuggles to live on through the good that we will do for other families who need life, who need hope.
Together, let’s see what difference we can make.