Worse than the First

This morning I rolled into work (late as usual) to be greeted at the front door by that day's receptionist (they take turns because our permanent receptionist was let go four years ago). She smiled and said "Do you know Tammy Thompson (names have been changed)?"

"Yes," I said. "She was last year's spokesperson for one of our events. She's great. A wonderful surivor."

"Well," said the receptionist. "She died yesterday at her office. Call this person to find out more."

It wasn't exactly the best way to get the news. I hadn't talked to Tammy in about 2 months and I can't say that we were exceptionally close, but I did know her. I knew she was WAY too young to die and to do so suddenly. I knew she'd just finished her earning her college degree after going back later in life. I knew she loved football. And that was enough for me.

The sad and weird thing was that this wasn't the first time this had happened. When you're working with people who are survivors, that indicates that they've had something to survive from. Chances are good that unless you've been hit by lightning, what affects you once will come back again.

So, I pick people to speak out about their experience and inspire others. I also pick children whose parents want desperately to help other parents who are going through the same thing. And with this comes risk.

The first surivor that I lost was a one year-old baby. He was precious and strong and had a freak reaction during a surgert. I was beside myself when he passed away. Seeing his father with one of his son's toys hanging out of his suit pocket at the visitation was enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Tammy's death is no less sad. I also feel guilty. I told the baby's story yesterday to someone because I was speaking my apprehension about this year's child spokesperson. She's only had surgery two months ago and this worried me. Now I'm beginnig to feel like a jinx.

Maybe I won't use spokespeople for next year's event.