We were sitting on the hard seats, listening attentively to the current speaker. It was Nationals 2002 and we were glad to be out of the Virginia heat and inside a cool auditorium. The speaker was a newcomer, and we could tell she was a little nervous, but something about her caught my attention. Gina Waegele started her motivational speech about character building, outlining different parts of her life and explaining how each specific instance had shaped her character. I listened to her share her life, but wasn’t that interested in her story, until she started talking about her childhood. She talked about how the first big event that had changed her character was the death of her father.
Something she said hit me. Listening to her story, I began to hear her describe that night that my own father had been taken away. I couldn’t shake off the images that she seemed to share with me about that traumatic experience. She described perfectly the denial, the anger, the coming to terms. She had my attention for the rest of her speech.
After she was finished, she invited us to come up and talk to her, buy her book, and have an autograph signing. I went up quietly, shuffling my feet as I went. I didn’t know if I should be letting myself do this. I hid in the back and didn’t say a word. I waited for everyone to leave the auditorium before I approached her.
“I wanted to wait for everybody to leave before I talked to you,” I murmured. I explained how moving her speech was and how it had hit home to me. I was so taken up with emotion that I had to stop for a second to breathe and exhale. She encouraged me to continue with my story.
“It was November 8th, 1997. I had just gotten home from babysitting and I went to kiss my father and mother goodnight before going upstairs to bed. Just about an hour later I woke up to sirens and bright, flashing lights. I knew what was going on as soon as I saw the look in my mother’s eyes. I remember pacing in the hall, reminding myself that this had happened before, it would all be okay. At about one o’clock, my mother and brother returned from the hospital with the bad news. It’s tough, life is tough.”
She nodded in understanding, as only one who has gone through the same thing could. She listened and reassured me that she knew what that was like. After I had finished my account, we hugged and I turned to walk away. “Wait!” she said, “I want you to have this.” She handed me one of her books and wrote in it: “Dear Erin, You are strong! Keep persevering! Love, Gina Waegele”. I took the gift and turned to the door. Sometimes the most amazing people are those that you’ve just met.
