Friday, June 06, 2008


I can't walk....

It's my own fault.

New York is a dangerous town; especially at night-
I should have known better.

And now I can't walk.

As you may know, I have been trying to get donations
to help prevent suicide as a way to celebrate my birthday:

If you're anything like me, you've been putting off "giving" until
you feel like you've "gotten" enough, but every year, it just seems
that you give less and less.

I wanted to change that.

Well, this weekend I was at a wonderfully joyous wedding,
and I couldn't help but notice a guest there who looked eerily
like someone I went to college with.

Let's call her Ann.

Ann was someone who I had performed with, made jokes with,
and created some great memories with.
Ann was friends with many of the people at the wedding,
so it wouldn't have been so weird if she had been there-

Except that Ann was dead.

Because Ann killed herself.

It's not well known because the family wanted to keep Ann's suicide a secret;
I guess that way they are spared the embarrassment they fear.

But as I sat there, lacking the courage to introduce myself to
the person who looked like our former friend Ann, I thought
about how many people we lose to depression and sadness.

And then it happened.

I realized that the deadline for donations is Friday,
and I'm nowhere near the required donation to participate in the
walk to save people like our friend Ann:

"The Overnight" turns the cynical, dangerous, New York city night
into a 20-mile walk dedicated to human kindness.

I can't walk unless I get to the minimum donation.

If friends and family would ask their friends and family to help me qualify,
then I'll be able to walk the 20 miles around New York, all for people
like Ann whom we enjoyed, but now only miss.

If you've lost someone to suicide, you know what I mean.

I would have loved to have seen her at that wedding.
Maybe she would even be married now.

Please help sponsor me and pass this note on to others
so we can stop suicide from robbing us of people like Ann:

On the night my mother gave life to me 36 years ago,
it would be such a gift to be able to save a life 36 years later:

Thanks for listening, thanks for caring.