It all started with Todd

I began this walk last year in memory of Todd. Because of him, he pushed us to further his memory and begin volunteering. We now cook, most often as a family, Kory, Molly, and I at Damiano House. I now have new friends for whom I now walk.
But this is Todd's story:
I was introduced to Todd almost 6 years ago now. I knew, as soon as I had met him, that I would like him. He was kinda bitchy that day. We were taking Jann (my husband Kory’s, mom) out for lunch. Todd wasn't feeling well, I would later find out. I've always had a soft spot for sassy/misunderstood/gay men. But I just had no idea what I was getting myself into.
As time went on, our friendship grew. Todd and I trusted each other. He knew that he didn’t have to waste the little time we had on educating me about his disease. We both knew that we had met in the dusk of his life. We both knew that the good times spent were few, and precious. There were times I remember watching the tears well in his eyes, out of fear and frustration. He knew his brain was slipping, he knew the disease had begun to eat it away. He knew, but he was so afraid, to break the perfection of the moment surrounding him. He would just sit, looking at the fire, as the water lapped up to the dock, not saying a word. Handling the situation, as afraid of his disease as so many were, only this time they couldn’t punish him. These are the memories that break my heart.
But this is how I choose to remember Todd: Late nights of Scrabble and Sorry! with our verbal jabs rivaling a green room at a drag show. I remember late nights at my house on our porch when we “snuck him” Cuba Libra’s and packs upon packs of Camel cigarettes. “He’s dying…let him have as many cigarettes as he wants, let him have a few drinks!” we would say “What’s it gonna do? Kill him?”
I am walking because I remember when he had a hard time walking. When the disease went into his spine and when he would have to throw his entire body weight into tossing his leg in front of him as if it were a dead cat leading his way. Only it was never that easy. Because each morning he got to find out if he would be blessed with the use of that leg. As if that cat were thrown into the pet cemetery at the end of the day. He would joke when we went out. “They’ll never know if I’m drunk.” He said it every time we went out, at least once.
For Christmas a couple of years ago he created a painting for me. When Molly, my daughter of two was born, she fell in love with that painting. As soon as she met Todd, she of course fell in love with him. The two of them had a very special bond, and still do. On October 13, 2005 Todd passed. My sister was with Molly, off and on that night. Molly would run right up to his painting and jabber at him, pointing, talking, and then move on, with what she was doing. The next day, I stood next to the painting trying to explain to her what had happened, mostly for me, I’m sure. But that night before she went to bed she had to say good night to that painting, which she never had to before.
I’m walking because I have a little girl who I was blessed to introduce her uncle, a man named Todd, who contracted a horrible disease, without a cure, that took him from her.
I’m walking in the hopes that someday, some woman doesn’t have a story similar to mine about a friend turned brother turned uncle turned angel.

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