I had a lot of great birthdays growing up, but my eighth birthday — October 6th, 1990 — was going to be something special. That year, I was going to get a little sister! There were already three of us kids but, since my parents were passionately Catholic at the time, we were born in fairly quick succession and rapidly vacillated between friends and enemies. A couple devastating miscarriages later, and we were so excited to have a little sister we could spend all our time doting and loving on. My mother kept saying it was the easiest pregnancy ever, and we counted the days excitedly. Two days before my birthday, she was born. We talked to my parents on the phone. Easiest one yet, my mom proclaimed, the timing was perfect, they hoped to be home for a birthday party. I really was getting a little sister for my birthday this year! After school, my grandma hurried us to the hospital to meet our new little sister. We each got to hold her as doctors and nurses hustled this way and that. My mom and dad were tense. They told us our little sister just needed a few tests run. Before we knew it, my little sister was on a helicopter to St. Louis, my parents following closely behind in our van. She was on the verge of dying and needed open heart surgery. That birthday did end up being memorable, but for all the wrong reasons. As an eight-year-old kid, it’s hard not to be selfish. I remember wondering how, if my sister died on my birthday, would I ever really get a birthday again? We never did extravagant presents as kids, since times were always tight, but every year my mom or grandma would make us a special themed cake. A baseball, a butterfly, a clown holding balloons… something meaningful for us.
That year, however, my grandma drove me to the grocery store and told me I could pick out any cake I wanted. I was sad, but also kind of excited — I spent hours as a kid ogling the grocery store desserts and wondering what they were like. I walked up and down the display, looking for the biggest brightest smash of frosting I could find. When I finally saw it, I just knew. It was a beautiful white cake with a massive pile of red flowers flowing out of one corner. “Are you sure?” My grandma asked, as I told her it was the one. “It’s not really a birthday cake. But if you want it…” Oh, I wanted it. I don’t remember what present I got that year. But I remember eating every single ounce of that red flower frosting. How the red dye stained my fingers. And I remember how ridiculously sick I felt after gorging myself and how I swore I would never eat a bite of frosting again as long as I lived. An oath I’m sure I broke at the next family birthday. Although, to this day I don’t go heavy on icing and have flashbacks if I try.
My sister survived that open heart surgery, several ensuing health scares, another open-heart surgery, and more. It’s hard to capture the toll that takes on a family. Mentally, emotionally, and financially. I remember my mom crying herself to sleep not just because she wasn’t sure if her little girl would survive, but also because she had no idea how they were going to make it financially. Something that we could have never accomplished alone, and only did because we had a community behind us. All I want for my birthday this year is to make sure no family has to go through something like that again. I’m so honored to have you on this team — and I know that together, we can take this Senate seat back for real working people. Thanks for all your help, Lucas Kunce Use of military rank, job titles, and photographs in uniform do not imply endorsement by the Department of the Navy or the Department of Defense.
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Sunday, October 6, 2024
October 6th
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