Farewell to Eddie's Fund

Dear Friends of Eddie's Fund,

This morning I will write the final three checks from Eddie's Fund; when those checks clear, I will close the account and Fund entirely. (Below, the photo of the many-years-old Eddie's Fund checkbook I've carried with me through three house moves since Eddie's Fund began)

On the one hand, this is a sad day, because despite so many of our hopes to the contrary--that one day, Eddie's family would not need the Fund because he would be healthy and his family would be resuming a hospital-free life--Eddie is no longer with us. In August, Kori will mark the six-month anniversary of Eddie's passing; writing the final checks today means the Fund is not necessary in the least desirable of ways. It's not fair. It sucks. It is a tragedy in every way. And while Kori and Marshall grieve, so many of us continue to wonder what sense can be made of so much suffering to so innocent a boy.

On the other hand, this is also a day for celebrating. I will sign checks this morning through tears, yes, but many of those tears will be tears of gratitude, and even joy. I am grateful that Eddie's life brought me a friend as resilient, as hilarious, as caring, and as close as Kori. I am amazed when I think about the hundreds of people who have been connected through Eddie's Fund--at first, my family and some close friends, and then some folks who had never even met Kori, and then folks I've never even met, and former students, and teenagers, and little kids having birthday parties and hosting small fundraisers and collecting donations. A print shop and a mural artist. A bone marrow drive at one of our fundraisers which resulted in a good friend actually donating bone marrow to a stranger in the hopes of saving a life. The webs of connection--beautiful, silky threads of love and kindness--have been felt by so many of us. These threads have dared to glisten with light on really, really dark days; they have taught us that instead of asking, "Why Eddie?" we might better ask, "How?" How can we help? How can we love better? How, then, do we all live, now that we are so aware how short and precious is this life?

Today I'll cry because since April of 2008, when I wrote the first official check from Eddie's Fund, you have donated more than $42,000 to Eddie and his family. The donations came by the tens of dollars, and sometimes by the hundreds, though not as often. This means many, many of you gave what you could and more than once, trusting that your gifts--no matter how small--could be a drop in a greater ocean. And they were. You have kept Kori's car on the road for their trips back and forth to Jimmy's Fund and Children's Hospital. You have paid medical expenses, made sure their apartment had light and heat, and purchased food for them when their cupboards were bare from too many weeks in a hospital room. In every tangible way--delivering meals, shoveling snow, giving them an EasyPass, sending cards and gifts--you have been LOVE to them. How can I wallow in grief today, in the light of so many, and so real, and such beautiful, gifts?

Thank you, dear friends. You have loved well. I couldn't be prouder to have loved alongside you during these years.

And thank you especially to my dear, dear friend Kori. You have been one of my life's greatest teachers, providing me as you have with a vision of loving, grieving, dying, and living, a view I cherish. I have tried my best to use that vista to bring you light, hope, and love, and despite my failings at doing so, you love me still. What you need to know today is that I love you, I am amazed by you, and I will continue to watch trashy TV shows as long as I have you to help me make fun of them. Thanks for being a darkly hilarious, seriously big-hearted, super-mom friend. Here's to standing on hospital furniture, swearing at hospital TVs, staring at brick walls, eating when we're stressed, scavenging for pillows, yelling at nurses to GET OUT, crying at Bertuccis, living in yoga pants, paying too much for parking, visiting Au Bon Pain in the wee hours of a morning for "second supper," feeding coins to hospital laundromats, losing our sanity while isolated, holding puke buckets, counting blood cells, and surviving it all with a friendship we couldn't possibly explain.

And here's to all of us, Eddie's Fund friends! May the connection and love we experienced through the Fund endure as a tribute to Eddie's life; may we find some new family, some new suffering, some new hospital room, into which to bring light.

On behalf of Kori and her amazing family, thank you. A million times, thank you. My heart is full, and I know Kori's is, too.

Love Remains.

With love,
Melissa Winchell, writing one last time for Eddie's Fund