To the Backstreet Boys (in case you ever read this)

When I heard you were taking part in the Muscular Dystrophy Show of Strength, I was ecstatic.  As soon as I heard, I looked into buying tickets and flying out to California from small-town Kentucky to be a part of the studio audience—because this cause means that much to me.  Unfortunately, the studio audience tickets were sold out, and to be honest, I had myself a good cry.  Oh, this wasn’t about missing out on seeing the Backstreet Boys.  No offense, but as long as I’ve been a Backstreet Boys fan (oh, about 16 or 17 years), I’ve been affected by muscular dystrophy in some way, shape, or form for so much longer.  It touched my heart so deeply to see you involved in a cause I cared so much about, but the big, blubbering mess I turned into that Sunday evening wasn’t necessarily about that, either.  It was about Pat, and his kids, Marie and James, his amazing wife, Michele, his parents, my Aunt Judy and Uncle Denver, who used to take me to the grocery store so I could browse the magazine racks for new issues of Tiger Beat and Teen People featuring my favorite “Boys” (Kevin, Nick, Brian, Howie, and AJ—you know who you are), and should never have had to experience the agony of what it feels like to outlive your child.

It was for Cadence—the coolest nine year old girl I know, who isn’t really symptomatic yet, but found out that she had Myotonic Muscular Dystrophy (MMD) at the mere age of 5 years old when an anesthesiologist insisted that she be tested before going under anesthesia for a routine tonsillectomy.  He probably saved her life, as MMD patients are prone to complications from anesthesia and need to be monitored much more closely.  That’s her in the airplane with her little cousin (my baby boy, Logan).  Beautiful, isn’t she?

 

It was for my uncle Jerry, who spent years of his life literally crawling on the ground night after night as a coal miner-- who struggled to get any type of disability compensation, and to pay his medical bills, when he was no longer able to work (on the ground in a coal mine)- even though he could barely walk. That's uncle Jerry's hat Logan is wearing, since I couldn't find a picture of just Jerry on my computer.



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It was about Johnny (I don't have a picture), who was taken from our family at the mere age of 24 years old after suffering sudden cardiac arrest, which the medical examiner attributed to weakening of his heart muscle due to Myotonic Muscular Dystrophy.  Johnny had spent a great deal of time volunteering for "Jerry's Kids" (you might recognize that title from MDA Labor Day telethons of years past). He didn't even know he was one of Jerrry's kids. 

By the grace of God, I do not have this genetic form of muscular dystrophy.  I know, because I've been tested, but I've seen the devastating impact it has up close and personally.  Many of the faces of muscular dystrophy are the faces of my aunts, uncles, and cousins.  Pat, the first cousin I mentioned, was in the Navy in his twenties.  He worked as a security guard in his thirties.  He was able to get down in the floor and play with his babies when they were very young.  For that, I am so thankful.  But, later on in his thirties, he started experiencing problems with muscle weakness.  In a matter of ten to fifteen years, his disease progressed to the point that he was unable to do anything for himself-- except pick up the phone and talk.  He really liked to do that.  I can remember being on bedrest when I was pregnant with the handsome little guy you see in a couple of the above photos.  Pat would call me and we'd talk for hours. Those are some of my most precious memories.  He died of complications from pneumonia last summer.  He was 47. You may wonder how this is related to MD, but as singers, I think you may understand this.  With weakened chest muscles, Pat was unable to cough up the "gunk" that would get in his lungs from an infection like most of us would be able to.  In a similar fashion, he was eventually unable to breathe on his own. His kids, now young adults themselves, are more like my little brother and sister than my second cousins (or is it first-cousins, once-removed?).  In fact, I can remember that when I was a teenager and Pat's daughter, Marie, was just a little girl, following me around and kind of getting on my nerves, we bonded over something-- The Backstreet Boys.  Kind of cool how it all comes full circle, isn't it?

I'm writing this because I know that your appearance on the MDA Show of Strength on September 1st is good PR, but it's so much more than that.  So I encourage you to give, give, give. I've donated to the Muscular Dystrophy Association on several occasions.  When the telethon happens, I'll do it again. I beg of you, please encourage your fans to do the same.  This is so much more than just another television appearance. God bless!