People did care
‘‘Annie has been rapidly deteriorating. They don’t expect her to live more than a week or two at the most. I just wanted to let you know.’’
As I read the note from Annie’s husband, I started sobbing and began to feel feverish.
I had spent many days with four amazing women with stage IV breast cancer: Peggy Murphy, Susan Marangi, Darby Steadman and Annie Siple.
Soon after her story was published in The Baltimore Sun, Peggy died. I was on the phone with her partner for hours, both of us bawling.
I didn’t want anyone to succumb to the cancer they had fought so hard to defeat.
Annie was always positive. ‘‘I’m gonna beat this!’’ she beamed. And I truly believed that she would.
Soon, another note followed: ‘‘We are all here with Annie now. She is not conscious now. This appears to be the end. Thank you for your kind thoughts and words.’’
Slowly and firmly, I closed my eyes as if I was taking mental photos of Annie’s last moment with her beautiful, peaceful smile. Tears followed.
I had a series of unfortunate occurrences in 2009 — I got laid off, I was injured when my car got rear-ended, my father-in-law died, my mother fell seriously ill, I came down with the H1N1 flu. At times, because of these and other difficulties, I couldn’t be positive and I moped.
‘‘There’s no time for self-pity!’’ Annie would’ve said. She had stage IV cancer, which is considered the final stage, but she was never down. How could I stay morose?
Many of the life lessons I have learned are from people I met through stories I did at The Sun.
As a photojournalist, my role was to be a medium of the people who were sharing their stories with others. My intention was to inform and inspire, educate and enlighten, but most of all, I wanted everyone to care.
And I cared, deeply.
I always tried to be fair and did not judge, but I couldn’t help getting emotionally attached to these people.
From domestic to international, from under the water to up in the sky, from joy to sorrow, what’s common in these generous people is that they had such love, courage, hope, compassion, creativity, curiosity, determination, endurance, enthusiasm, honor, humor, integrity and wisdom.
And their stories and their spirits might have equipped me for my own personal challenges.
For 14 years, I took pride in representing The Baltimore Sun. After countless buyouts, The Sun newsroom had lost so many people. As I walked through, I could still see many great journalists sitting at those desks but only in foggy, out-of-focus memories.
The emptiness reminded me of a photo I had taken at the Sparrows Point shipyard. A huge cavernous room, once filled with tables and workers, was left with only a few tables in a corner where workers were eating lunch.
In late 1996, Bethlehem Steel announced a plan to sell its Sparrows Point shipyard after more than 100 years of operation. Over the years, the company had laid off more and more workers.
The dark, lonely room haunted me with one question: Where did all the workers go?
It took me a long time to get that simple, yet telling photo.
In the midst of uncertainty, company officials were not sure they wanted me inside the shipyard. I visited numerous times, talked to many people and got sent around to different departments.
Finally, one day when I showed up, a helmet with my name on it was waiting for me. ‘‘If you’re going to spend more time here, you’ll need this,’’ one official told me.
We received many letters after this in-depth story on the shipyard was published. Many people shared their memories of Sparrows Point. All had wanted the shipyard to continue operating.
Each time I did stories like these, the response from The Sun’s readers was overwhelming. Often, positive outcomes followed. Just as I hoped, people did care.
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