Fundraising Letter - First Draft

I have a confession.

For someone who set her fundraising goal well above the minimum amount, I am absolutely terrible at asking people for money. In fact, there are only two people I've EVER felt comfortable asking, and one is sadly no longer in a position to have any to give.

So when I told myself I wasn't going to do any writing here until I finished my fundraising letter - pretty much the cornerstone of my effort - I had no idea it was going to take me THIS long. After all, I knew after last week that I wanted to center it around what I wrote on my fundraising page. That's probably the best piece of writing about this whole messy business that I've done to date, and if they pull out a checkbook instead of visiting my site, I want to make sure they've read that letter. But it was still difficult to get the expository stuff out without sounding like, well, a charity infomercial. I've been banishing images of homeless pets (to Sarah McLaughin's voice), starving Somalians, and harelipped children from my mind all afternoon. Argh.

For better or for worse, I wound up canning the PR stuff about the Alzheimer's Association and the statistics about the disease. I'm not trying to scare anyone into giving money - if they aren't partially intimidated to scared shitless about the deterioration of my mother's mind, they're probably not going to donate anyways. Even in the inevitable paragraph where I actually have to do the asking, I tried to put as much emphasis as possible on the personalized aspects of what's actually being lost here - not neurons or dollars spent on home health care providers or anything that can actually be quantified, but memories, both past AND future. And who can put a price on those?

Anyways, here's my first draft. Too weird? Based on what you've read of me, does this sound like me?

Dear ,

The news coming out of the Hodges household in recent years hasn’t exactly been the kind of stuff Christmas newsletters are made out of, so we stopped the presses quite awhile ago. If you haven’t seen me since Max and Jen’s wedding, you probably know me as a violinist, a writer, a golfer, mother to a huge furry dog Dad hates, a student, or some combination of those things – but probably not as a runner, let alone a marathoner.

With Mom’s mind steadily withdrawing and with Grandma Nancy’s recent passing, I’ve started doing a lot of things I never thought I’d do. A good portion of every day is devoted – whether I like it or not – to worrying about what’s going to happen to my family, especially Dad. I keep my phone on and with me at all times, in case someone needs me. I cry – a lot. And because things lately have a tendency of getting to be too much, too fast, I run.

Maybe I’m biased because she’s my mom and well, she wanted me so badly she sent for me from halfway around the world, but if you’re reading this, I have a hunch you agree – there’s nothing about Janet Elizabeth Henry Hodges that isn’t special and unique and wonderful. When she started losing her memories and her personality and everything that made her her, a big part of everyone who knew and loved her was lost, too. So when I decided I wanted to run a race in honor of Mom, there was no distance for me but the marathon – 26.2 miles – and no stage big enough but the streets of New York City.

So on November 6, 2011, before most people have started their first cup of Sunday morning coffee, I will be shaking off my nerves at the starting line of the biggest, most famous race in the world – the New York City Marathon. I am running as a member of Team Run2Remember, a group of 80something people who run in support of the Alzheimer’s Association to fight back against the disease that has stolen memories from our loved ones. So not only have I dedicated myself to completing a 26.2 mile race for only the second time in my life, I have set an ambitious fundraising goal of $6000, a small amount when stacked against all of the things I’ll never get to share or reflect on with Mom.

This is where you come in. I’ve never once thought this goal was unattainable because of all the people out there who love me AND my family, and who miss the real Mom with all their hearts. I’m writing to request your support with a tax-deductible donation to the Alzheimer’s Association in memory of all of her lost memories and the lost opportunity to make more. I can accept credit card contributions in any denomination on my personal New York City Marathon fundraising page, at http://2011teamr2r.kintera.org/elizabeth, or checks can be mailed, with the enclosed donation form, to my home address: XXXX, Kansas City, MO XXXXX. If you have questions, don’t hesitate to get in touch – elhodges@gmail.com, or (XXX) XXX.XXXX.

Of course, it would be remiss of me to ask for an “investment” in my undertaking without providing an investor report, of sorts. To this end, I’ve started a blog with the aim of writing about my life as framed by both my running adventures (and misadventures) and my experiences with Mom’s condition and the effects it’s had on my family. It’s usually not a very easy thing to write, and from what I’ve heard, it’s equally difficult to read, but if you’re interested, I’d love for you to join me there – http://roadfullofpromise.blogspot.com.

When I initially received notification of my acceptance to the team, Dad was the first person I called to tell the good news. It wasn’t until a couple of weeks later, when wrestling the best way to personalize my fundraising page, that I found the best way to tell Mom – by telling everyone who loves her.

Dear Mommy,
Remember the journal you gave me when I was younger – the shiny red one with the Labradorpuppies on the cover? You told me if there was anything I wanted to know and might be too embarrassed to ask out loud, I could write it in a note to you in that book and you’d write back to me. We only wrote back and forth a few times before one of us lost track of the book…but I found it on a bookshelf the other day. My silly questions – written in teeny tiny handwriting and all signed “Me” – made me laugh, but your careful, considered responses, written so non-judgmentally and with so much love, made me cry. I’ve put the book in a safe place, where it can still be our little secret.

When I couldn’t think of what to write here, that book was the first thing I thought of. Twentysomething years later, confronted with the need to “write something meaningful” on this page, the only way the words are actually coming to me are in a letter to you – and believe me, I’ve tried pretty much every other angle possible. I think this is what they call “coming full circle,” except, in a horribly unfair twist of fate, you’ll be the only one who doesn’t get to read it.

Remember the time you decided to move that ugly white-tiled coffee table from the living room to the family room and you had a 5 year old Max screaming and crying, clinging to your leg, begging you, “Don’t change! Don’t change!” I’m not sure if anyone else actually remembers that, but for some reason, I think of that moment a lot lately. At the time, I thought he was being stupid…but nowadays, there’s a big part of me that screams every time something happens that wouldn’t have if you were still healthy and wholly you. We know you’re not getting your memories back, and that your Mom-ness is gone, but as all of our lives move on without you, I think it’s like we feel the space all the more as time passes. Does anyone ever get used to having their heart broken over and over again? Would anyone ever WANT to?

If I were a more religious person, I could fill that emptiness with my faith in God and my belief that he has a plan for everyone…but I’m not. I believe in God, but I’m also pretty sure that this couldn’t be part of anyone’s plan. It’s horrible and evil and awful and we miss you every day, even though you’re still, in the vital signs sense of the word, with us. There are so many things I’d like to ask you, and so many moments I wish you could have been a part of, that it could crush me if I let it. I know the same is true for Hanna, Max, Alex, and Dad.

It seems like people pat me on the back an awful lot these days and tell me to take care of my family. But really, I think we take care of each other. After all, we learned from one of the best, and I think we do you proud in the way we’ve come together. It’s for you and Grandma that I’m signing up for this, but it’s with the strength of Hanna, Max, Alex, Dad, and everyone that loves you and misses the real you with all their heart that I’m going to be able to finish it. I can’t think of a nobler cause to run for than the end of this terrible disease that’s robbed you of your you, and so many families of the people they love most. I wish you could be there with me, but in a sense, you’ll be with me every step of the way. With any luck, we’ll get a chance to talk about it someday.

In the meantime, don’t worry if you can’t remember. We’ll never forget.

Love always,
Me

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your love and support.

Love,

Elizabeth

If you read this, would YOU donate?

Stay Tuned...

Yesterday I spent the day writing about NOT writing for the fundraising page...and today, I wrote for the fundraising page. It's very nonconventional. I can't tell if it's my sense of relief at finally having written something that makes me think it works, or if it actually works, so I've run it by a couple of loved ones who know both me and my mother to see what they think.

I was going to ask Dad, Hanna, or one of my brothers, but I'm afraid it would make them sad, and maybe they've had enough sadness for awhile.

The Darker Side of Honesty

Having finally conquered my blog-stipation yesterday, and after receiving several positive comments on my first post, I felt more than capable to take on today's writing challenge - the fundraising site.

I've had several requests already for the link to my fundraising site, so I want to go live as soon as possible. But the generic "Thank you for supporting the Alzheimer's Association New York City Chapter. Your contribution is greatly appreciated" doesn't do Mom justice, and I don't want anyone to contribute thinking I couldn't find the words - about Mom, about the marathon, about the overwhelming sense of gratitude I feel for their support.

Thing is, for something so personal that I've discussed countless times with family and friends, I've never actually had to write anything down for public consumption. If people ask me how Mom is doing and I don't feel like talking about it, I give a wishy-washy answer like, "Oh, good days and bad days," or "Same ol, same ol" and kind of leave it at that. (Most people don't want details anyways, because there's never anything really positive to say.) I'm still paralyzed by this need to be articulate and polished and evocative, that will inspire people to donate more than they originally intended to do...but it's hard to fit a raw, awful, messy, ambiguous situation into a neat little presentable word package. I'm not sure it's even something I WANT to do, because doing so indicates some level of comfort with the situation...and I'm still anything but comfortable with it. I'm not even sure I ever want to be.

And this is where the confusion takes a darker turn, because when it all comes down to it, this is starting to feel an awful lot like an obituary for someone who isn't actually dead yet. I don't want to offend anyone by saying this, but the Mom-ness isn't there anymore even though she's still alive. To what degree she's "still in there" I'm not certain - her eyes light up when she sees me sometimes and I think that deep down, she knows who I am...but then I watch her struggling with other things she did effortlessly her whole life (going up stairs, say) and realize it's probably more coincidence than anything else. But she is still very much alive in the vital signs sense of the word, and in writing about her like she's gone, I can't help but think of the "Bring out your dead!" Monty Python scene, where the man in the wheelbarrow screams, "I'm not dead yet!"

As a result, "I'm not dead yet!" has been running through my head on a loop all afternoon, blocking any hope of logical thought on the matter. Mom used to tell me that my voice carried when I spoke, and that if I couldn't remember to talk softly, I needed to watch what came out of my mouth. Maybe this is one of those times. But that's all I can think about.

I'm beginning to think that when it comes to the New York City Marathon, the running - and writing about the running - might actually be the easy part. I have 5 miles on the schedule for this evening. Maybe that'll help me get some clarity.

Thoughts From The Starting Line

Anyone who's listened to me speak in public (or read one of my many blogs over the past few years) has probably heard me utter a version of this line - "I have absolutely no idea how to begin, and I'm really not very good at this." It's kind of hard to believe I aced public speaking. But hey, if you can't be smooth, you might as well be honest. And sometimes, from such inauspicious beginnings, great things can grow. Not all of us are first-impression people, after all.

Still, it's amazing that someone who spends most of her time either running off or running off at the mouth (or running off at the mouth about running, as my brothers would remind me) could have such a difficult time putting one foot in front of the other, so to speak, and writing something along the lines of an introductory post. I started one other running blog, right before beginning to train for my first marathon, and my introductory post was simple - paraphrased, "Intros blow and mission statements make me uncomfortable, so I'm not going to write one. Screw expository nonsense, here goes." I'm pretty sure I was the only one who ever read that blog, so it didn't really matter - it was just the deep breath before the starting gun.

For that particular blog, and that particular race, I was running to prove to myself that I could finish. For this next race, I'm taking on a cause bigger than myself and running it for Mom, for Grandma Nancy, and for my family and loved ones and all the challenges we've faced together since Mom's diagnosis. I've been given this amazing opportunity to represent the Alzheimer's Association at one of the biggest-deal races in the world, the 2011 New York City Marathon. I'm going to ask my friends, family, and acquaintances to invest their hard-earned money in my efforts for the cause. If I'm lucky, my readership is actually going to grow beyond, well, me. And that's left me with the sudden urge to be articulate and do things properly...and the best I can do is yammer on about not knowing how to start.

Instead of writing a kind of blow-by-blow running journal that could bore even the most enthusiastic coach to death, my aim here is to write about my life, as framed by both my running adventures (and misadventures) and my experiences with my mother's condition and its effects on my family. There is an undertone of accountability to any running blog, especially when fundraising is involved, but I'm hoping to inspire my readers to not only donate but to continue reading and sharing my journey to the finish line...and the next one...and the next one.

So. Enough expository nonsense. Here goes.