SHADE Foundation

Feb 2010

Spring Training has always been my favorite time of year.
It meant in just a short time we would be pack­ing away
the hats, gloves and win­ter sweaters.  In no time our
shorts and flip flops would be replaced in our clos­ets.
If you live in a place like Boston or Maryland (where I grew up)
you were sick of win­ter after Christmas and ready to feel the warmth
of a sum­mer day.  When I was younger it meant visions of sum­mer vaca­tion
and as an adult it reminds me of the begin­ning of a new base­ball sea­son.
We can still have those feel­ings and be safe at the same time.
Lets start from the begin­ning by remem­ber­ing to apply sun­block
to our chil­dren and our­selves.  Remember our skin is our biggest
liv­ing organ on our body.  It pro­tects every­thing in our body.
Lets keep our skin safe and get a healthy jump on spring which
is right around the cor­ner.
Shonda

Jan 2010

I know it has been a long time since I have writ­ten on this blog.
I did some­thing I never thought I would do.  I wrote a book!
As of yes­ter­day it is com­plete and ready to go to print.
The book is called “The Best Kind of Different”  My family’s
jour­ney through Aspergers.  Like SHADE this was a very
heal­ing process for me.  My third child has Aspergers.
The release date is March 23^rd and you can pre-order it at Amazon.com .

I do hope that dur­ing these much colder months
that you take this oppur­tu­nity to really look at your
body for changes in your skin.  This is the best time
to do so.  Our bod­ies have not been exposed to the sun
too much when it is 20 degrees out­side like here in New England.

Wishing every­one a Healthy, Happy 2010.
Stay Shaded,
Shonda

Oct 2009

Hello Everyone,

I spoke at the Glenna Kohl Fund For Hope’s First Annual Angel’s Masquerade Ball on Saturday, October 17^th.  This is in mem­ory of my dear friend who recently lost her bat­tle with melanoma.

15 years ago I stood before the FDA wait­ing for my turn to give my
tes­ti­mony on a clin­i­cal drug trial for ALS.

One by one I heard fam­i­lies plead to have the drug.

They explained what could hap­pen in a human life over the course of
three months, because that was the aver­age increase in life expectancy
of a per­son tak­ing this clin­i­cal drug.

One per­son in par­tic­u­lar who was in her mid thir­ties explained what
three more months would have meant to her husband:

cel­e­brat­ing their 12^th wed­ding anniversary

watch­ing their son turn 9
see­ing their daughter’s first dance recital

and watch­ing their third child start kindergarten

This moment will be etched in my mem­ory for­ever. How much time three
months really means.

As I stood there shak­ing and cry­ing, I searched to find the words that
could even come close to the mes­sage that this per­son was giving.

As I walked to the podium car­ry­ing my one year old son, I shook and cried
so hard that my hus­band had to find the words to say to the four stone
faced adults, who sat on the board and with a yay or a nay, approved or
denied a request.

Many of you prob­a­bly don’t know how I came to know Glenna.  When Red Sox
nation was so excited about our com­ing to the Boston one per­son reached
out to me to say “Welcome, I love what you are doing, I too am a melanoma
survivor.”

The email friend­ship began.  Over the next three years we kept in touch
on our health, our fam­i­lies, and of course our Red Sox.

I remem­ber the first time I ever met Glenna. It was with her brother and
dur­ing a rain delay on what ended up being a very long game.

Glenna was always pos­i­tive, smil­ing and never seemed to complain.

She touched my heart for so many reasons.

She was grace­ful and con­fi­dent even though you knew her days and months
had to be filled with need­ing a break.

We would check in with each other time to time and once or twice a year
I would invite her to the game so we could catch up.

I was for­tu­nate to meet mom and dad also.

I intro­duced her to Kelli Pedroia at one of these games.

Just as I thought Glenna had a way of mak­ing you feel good being around
her.

Kelli would always check in to see how Glenna was doing.  Of course
Glenna’s ver­sion was always pos­i­tive and filled with humor.

As Glenna rooted for the Red Sox, the Red Sox rooted for Glenna.

Even though Glenna was sick she worked hard to spread the word about
melanoma and how it could be pre­vented.  She shared her story only to
make a difference.

She was a good per­son with a heart of gold.

When Glenna passed it broke all of our hearts.

She was too young and spent too long fighting.

I was shocked when I saw a pic­ture of Glenna with long beau­ti­ful blonde
hair.

She was a very beau­ti­ful girl.

You see, I had never seen Glenna not sick or with hair.

The con­fi­dence that she showed and love of life was all that I could
see.

I would be lying though, if I said I saw her with­out hair, because Glenna
always wore a Red Sox hat!

If you are won­der­ing why I started telling the story of stand­ing before
the FDA here it is:

I can not tell you any­thing that you don’t already know about Glenna.

What I can tell you is what I learned after the FDA hear­ing, that like
ALS or melanoma, not one voice will change the world.  It was the sto­ries
that were told that day; the sto­ries that will be told of Glenna for
years to come.

Glenna in her dark­est days still looked to help oth­ers.  That is what
she wanted.  Tonight is a per­fect exam­ple of car­ry­ing her legacy on.  Her
pass­ing will bring life to others.

I love the saying:

What we do for our­selves dies with us.  What we do for oth­ers lives on!

Glenna’s name will live on through each of us in the sto­ries that we
share about her courage and love of life.  Thank you to each and every one
of you out there tonight for being here.

Thank you to the Kohl fam­ily for shar­ing her with every­one.  We are all
bet­ter peo­ple for know­ing her.

Please let us all have a good time tonight and cel­e­brate Glenna’s life.

Shonda Schilling