Party sparks belief in, and prayer for, a cure

Three of the granddaughters received invitations to a huge party thrown by Sanford Health a few weeks ago.

The girls wangled their invitations to the gala by virtue of having type 1 diabetes. If you stop to think about it, that’s a pretty stiff ticket price just to dress up, have some great food and hang around with other people who know families impacted by serious childhood illnesses. The girls didn’t spend much time reflecting on the cost of admission. They put on brightly colored gowns and dazzling smiles and spent the evening winning the hearts of a lot of people who had been strangers just a few hours earlier.

The girls’ mother and our son, Scott, were invited, of course. So were the girls’ Grandmother Bernadine; their cousin, Lara, and her parents; and their grandma and grandpa from Pierre.

I had a crisis of clothing just before the event. Nancy said she did, too, but she flipped through her things and found a dress that was a knockout. I don’t know how she does it.

Me, I looked through my wardrobe in vain. As a newspaper reporter most of my life, I haven’t paid a lot of attention to clothes. Much of the time I just wore jeans and sweaters. For legislative sessions I had a few pairs of slacks, a Navy blazer and a tan corduroy jacket. Neither jacket seemed appropriate for something that suggested evening wear, so I finally decided to wear the white dinner jacket I use when I play with the local big band, The Over Forte Orchestra. It worked for Bogie in “Casablanca.’’

I usually just wear white bucks and black and white argyle socks with that outfit (hey, I’m the guitar player, not a musician), but for the gala, I decided I needed black socks. I headed to the mall to buy a pair, but when I saw a half-price sale on black suits, I shifted directions and bought one. (If nothing else, I can wear it to funerals.) I looked over some black shoes, but none of them came close to being my style, even for potential funerals. I polished up my black-and-burgundy saddle shoes and called it good. (Who looks at your feet at one of these things, anyway?)

Nancy and I don’t routinely do a lot of elbow rubbing, but we had a pretty good time. We toured the new labs. I talked with a few people I knew from the days they worked in Pierre or served in the Legislature. We wolfed down the food. (Oh, come on. Of course we didn’t. We used forks and everything. I was just thankful there wasn’t a finger bowl. There wasn’t, was there?)

Mostly, we watched the granddaughters enjoy themselves. Jordan is 18, Frankie is 16 and Sage is a bit over 2. Those three have type 1 diabetes. Their cousin, Lara, is 14. Quite often, each of the girls acts like, well, a girl. This evening, each of them was incredibly grown up, with gowns and jewelry and heels. (Well, Frankie and Jordan wore flip-flops. Sage may or may not have kept her shoes on at all. Lara wore heels, for sure. When I walked next to her, she was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with me — and she’s third oldest of the four girls)

Each of the older three girls looked like the young women they are becoming, and catching that glimpse of the future made my heart skip a beat. They’re growing up so quickly, experiencing things their grandma and grandpa didn’t know existed. It’s wonderful, but it leaves me wishing things would slow down until I’m ready for them to become mature women off on their own adventures.

A highlight of the night was a video featuring families of children with half a dozen deadly childhood diseases. For this one night, our three Chamberlain granddaughters became the face of the type 1 diabetes the Sanford project is committed to curing.

When you see so many people pursuing that cure, you find yourself believing it will be found. When you imagine your granddaughters without the daily concern for blood monitors and insulin pumps, you find yourself praying it will be soon.

Tags: terry woster, type 1 diabetes, opinion, news