Author: Sheila Quirke

Posted on

Iron Man Has Nothing on This Iron Woman

Today is a good day for Robert Downey, Jr. fans.  Iron Man 3 opens.  That’s cool, right?  You get to see People’s Most Beautiful Woman play opposite my second ex-husband in what is sure to be an epic-ly cool special effects blockbuster.  But I know something cooler and someone cooler.  And she needs our help.

Kristin McQueen is a neighbor in Cancerville.  She is a super cool neighbor.  One of those folks that when you meet her, you feel all awkward and odd, kind of like you are meeting a rock star or royalty.  Kristin is sort of a legend in Cancerville.  And no doubt, she doesn’t feel cool, or like a rock star.  Thing is, cancer came calling for Kristin.  She didn’t set out to inspire those of us who are inspired by her.  Kristin is just living her life in the face of cancer.  Plain and simple.

Ten years ago Kristin was diagnosed with metastatic thyroid cancer.  In the last decade she has had 15 major surgeries and her most recent was just this week, her 10th brain surgery.  Add to that two rounds of radiation, which can no longer be used as her cancer is now resistant to it; nerve damage; vision loss; vertigo; chronic pain.  Yeah, cancer has not been kind to Kristin.  Cancer can suck it.

Kristin doing her thing. Run like the wind, girl.
Kristin doing her thing. Run like the wind, girl.

Despite everything that has come her way, Kristin is an athlete and a competitor.  She is fierce.  I’m serious.  I whine about thirty minutes on the treadmill and here Kristin is doing her thing.  Racing and running are her get out of Cancerville free card.  When she is running, she is in control, not cancer.  She gets to call the shots, not cancer.  I can’t tell you enough how important finding that coping mechanism is.  For me, it is writing and words and connecting with you.  For Kristin, it is competing.  To date, she has run in 17 marathons and 9 Ironman competitions.  Good Freaking Lord, the woman is a beast. She says it best herself:

“Ironman is so much more than an endurance race. It is not about simply propelling myself 140.6 miles for kicks, it’s about challenging my limits and seeing what’s possible. It’s about reclaiming my body after 5 neck surgeries, 2 rounds of radiation, 10 brain surgeries and a slew of acquired physical challenges. It’s about not giving into all the limitations that cancer and its buddies have imposed on me, but viewing them as challenges that ultimately make the race even sweeter by overcoming them. It’s about going from not being able to open my eyes without getting sick, having difficulty sitting upright and being too weak to stand by myself to completing one of the ultimate tests of human endurance. It’s about raising money so that nobody else has to go through what I have. It’s about remembering those who have passed and honoring those who fight every day to live a “normal” life despite a disease that tries to tear them down.”

And this is where YOU come in.  Are you ready?

Kristin wants to compete in the 2013 Ironman Championship in Kona, Hawaii.  You have to qualify to participate in this competition.  These are hard core athletes competing in Kona.  Kristin wants to be one of them.  Kona has opened up seven slots for folks voted into the competition.  The theme of the contest is “Anything is Possible.” And honestly?  Anyone would be hard pressed to demonstrate the power of possibility better than Kristin McQueen.

She wants to win one of these slots.  We can help her, easily.  Here’s what you need to do in three easy steps:

  1. Watch this video;
  2. Vote for Kristin every day between now and May 7, 2013;
  3. Tell your friends and neighbors on all your social media feeds.

See?  Easy-peasy-lemon squeezy!  So much easier than cancer.  So much easier than running marathons or competing in Ironmans.  We can sit on our sofas and do something good today.  With the click of a button, we can help an outstanding human being faced with ridiculous struggles (but managing them with grace and grit  — a lot like Donna), to achieve her dream.

Easy-peasy-lemon freaking squeezy.  

Posted on

Guns in America: When Moms Get Mad

A few weeks ago I “liked” a Facebook page called “Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America.”  Some might call that “slacktivism,” but for me it is something more.  Seeing the page’s offerings in my news feed is educating me, informing me, encouraging me to do something.  This post right here?  It’s something I can do.  Me, a mom, most likely just like you, a mom, but I am using my voice to talk about something important to me — gun violence.

The thing is, ladies, we have mad power.  Mad power.  We vote.  We influence.  We care for the next generation, shaping their sense of the world. We hold our children each and every time another mass shooting makes its way into the headlines. We try and explain how and why scary people come into schools and shoot children.  I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough.

Here is what Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America is advocating:

1) Ban assault weapons and ammunition magazines that hold more than 10 rounds.
2) Require background checks for all gun and ammunition purchases.
3) Report the sale of large quantities of ammunition to the ATF, and ban online sales of ammunition.
4) Make gun trafficking a federal crime with serious criminal penalties.
5) Counter gun industry lobbyists’ efforts to weaken gun laws at the state level.

(Courtesy of the Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America website.)

This makes sense to me.  This makes sense to 90% of Americans.  Sadly, it doesn’t make sense to our politicians.

Owning a gun in America is a constitutional right.  This call for a more common sense approach to gun sales and legislation is in no way, shape, or form seeking to limit the rights of Americans to own guns.  What is it they say — some of my best friends are gun owners?  Yeah, that’s it.  Some of my best friends are gun owners.  To each his own, you know?

This is one of three print ads appearing in a recent PSA to raise awareness about the backward nature of gun legislation in America.
This is one of three print ads appearing in a recent PSA to raise awareness about the backward nature of gun legislation in America.

Here is the deal, moms.  We are strong.  We are powerful.  We have a voice.  Use your voice.  Better yet, gather our voices.  Demand change.  Call your politicians.  Talk to your school staff.  Talk to your neighbors.  Read, educate, learn.

What is happening, repeatedly, is unacceptable.  Something needs to change.  More guns is not the answer.  Politicians are under the thumb of who knows what.  They shake their heads in sympathy, but not empathy. Yes, of course, how sad to lose a child to random gun violence.  But that sympathy is quickly forgotten.  Harder to forget is what happens when we truly empathize with the parents of children taken too soon by a bullet. Imagine that anguish.  Imagine packing up clothes that will never be worn again, toys that will never be played with again, shoes that will never be tied again, books that will never be read again.  Empathy is an entirely different beast than sympathy, and wholly more powerful.

If you are reading this and you are a mom, you have the power to influence this national discussion.  You.  Yes, you.  You in the yoga pants and unwashed hair.  You, running late after work, stopping for a rotisserie chicken to feed the kids.  You on that soccer field, chilly and wet in the rain.  You have the power to influence this national discussion.  

That is some powerful shit, my friends.

You are a mom, an influencer, a nurturer, a voter.  Do your thing, Mama.  Do your thing.

Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America provides lots of ways to start.  Easy, simple methods.  Their website provides instructions on how to email, tweet, or call our elected officials.  There are social media tools to use to enlist the help of other moms.  You can even work with or establish a local chapter.  How cool is that?

Know that there is something more you can do than comfort your confused and scared child.  You are a mom, you are powerful, and you can help.

If you are a rabble-rouser like me and want updates about my new posts, subscribe!

Type your email address in the box and click the “create subscription” button. My list is completely spam free, and you can opt out at any time.

Posted on

Dancing With Donna

Donna was a dancer.  She loved it and her weekly dance classes, started at age 3, were one of just a few opportunities she got to be just a kid.  I remember her first class like yesterday.  At the time classes started, Donna was not in any kind of active treatment.  She had had her third craniotomy (tumor resection) just about six weeks earlier, but she was doing great.  She had bounced back from that surgery like the old pro that she was.  But cancer had taken its toll on her.

Donna could not run or jump like other three year olds.  But somehow, she managed.  And more than that, she was a great student.  While she couldn’t do everything the other students could do (treatment had made running and jumping difficult for Donna), there were other things she did really well.  She was laser focused and attentive, a great example for her fidgety classmates. And Donna loved her weekly classes.  She loved her black tap shoes and black leotard and black tulle dancing skirt.  I loved watching her.

IMG_1635

I don’t think the other parents knew what we were going through.  Hard to say. We were polite and said hello to one another, but there wasn’t a lot of socialization.  Some parents watched and some parents read and some parents played on their phones.  I watched, I marveled, I cried silent tears. My poor girl.  She had been through so much and would experience much more during her time in dance lessons.

After Donna died, the first thing we did was set up a scholarship at the studio. We wanted other kids to dance and didn’t want finances to be the obstacle for them.  Donna couldn’t dance, but they could.  Lack of money shouldn’t stop them.  The studio  could not have been kinder.  The room where Donna studied was renamed the Donna Quirke Hornik Dance Studio.  A plaque and framed photo of Donna was hung above the door.  A HOPE poster of Donna was hung inside the studio.  Being there was always a comfort.

IMG_7601

When Mary Tyler Son turned three we agreed that he, too, would take dance lessons.  He was a natural in the kitchen, surely that would translate into the class, right?  Ha!  Well, a little, but truth be told, Mary Tyler Son is not Donna. He is his very own self.  He likes to dance, but prefers the kitchen to the studio.  That said, we will finish out the year and enjoy watching him on the recital stage this Father’s Day.  Then, it seems, he will be hanging up his dancing shoes.  There’s time to decide that later.

Last week, there was a photographer in class to take some candid class photos.  I had a lovely and bittersweet flashback to Donna’s time in class. Just before the end of her year there, Donna’s teacher asked a friend to come into class and photograph the students.  It wasn’t until later that I realized that this was a gift for us, Donna’s parents, to have these memories in photos.  They are beautiful and bring lovely memories back.

Seeing Mary Tyler Son in class, dancing under the poster of his sister just moved me in a profound way.  There are not many times that I get to feel like the mother of two kids instead of just one.  As I have written before, our parenting almost feels like Groundhog Day.  Right now, we have parented two separate kids to four years old, with just a few months of overlap between them.  It is an odd feeling, sad, hard to articulate.  Our boy is not an only child, but in many ways he is.  In his experience, it is just him.  He knows of Donna, speaks her name, knows her story, but for him, it is just a story. The memories are ours, not his.

There is my girl in the upper right hand corner, with her message of HOPE, and there is my boy in the lower left hand corner.
There is my girl in the upper right hand corner, with her message of HOPE, and there is my boy in the lower left hand corner.

I am so grateful for the moments where my kids, both of them, connect.  Last week was one of those moments.  My kids danced together.  One was there, one was not, but still, they danced together.  And I watched, I marveled, I cried silent tears.  And then I went home with one kid, not two.

We miss you, Donna.  Thanks for dancing with your brother.  May your memories always bring us comfort and joy.

If you want more of me, type your email address in the box and click the “create subscription” button. My list is completely spam free, and you can opt out at any time.