Adrian Barich: Telethon Giving Ceremony a window into what is truly most important

There aren’t many events where you can pop into Woolies and buy tissues on the way, just in case.

On the other hand, there’s nothing like the Telethon Fundraiser.

Held this week at the Crown Ballroom. Approximately 800 people, including the Prime Minister, Deputy Prime Minister, Kerry Stokes and Christine Simpson Stokes, Richard and Janine Goyder, the Governor and his wife. . . you get the picture.

But the importance of titles and positions gets lost pretty quickly in Telethon. Big T is a bit like football; It is a great equalizer.

Because what happens in that room takes you to a completely different place.

A place many of us are lucky to have never experienced. A place of unimaginable suffering. The loss of a child or the daily struggle to keep someone alive.

It’s confronting. This is a solid reality check for those of us who don’t care about the slightest bit of whining about traffic or referees. The truth is that most of us have no real idea of ​​what some families are going through.

But you’ll get a glimpse of it during the few hours you spend in that ballroom.

Telethon offers a unique way to very quickly remind you of what’s really important.

You walk out feeling like someone hit the reset button.

Because in the midst of our busy lives, Telethon quietly puts everything back into perspective. It asks a simple question: What are you doing for others?

And suddenly, the little things don’t seem so big anymore.

One moment from the ceremony in 2023 will stay with me forever. A mother named Preeti stood up to talk about her daughter Ziya, who passed away just before her second birthday. Then his six-year-old daughter Mahi spoke.

“My family said Ziya couldn’t hear anything,” he said. “But I was still talking to her. She always had such a beautiful smile. That made me so happy. I loved her.”

I don’t think there was anyone in that room who wasn’t offended.

But it wasn’t just heartbreak that stayed with me.

This is what came next.

In the midst of this pain, Preeti made a decision. He chose his purpose.

A physiotherapist set out to become a doctor to help save other children. Giving meaning to Ziya’s life.

And guess what? He’s about to graduate this year.

Think about this for a moment.

Faced with something that would devastate most of us, he found a way to channel his pain for good. Not just for himself but for others as well.

And next to him was Mahi, who still carried the same love and was already talking about following in her mother’s footsteps. I want to help. Who wants to save lives.

We hear it all the time, “Turn your pain into purpose.” It may sound like a disposable line. But when you sit in that room and watch stories like this, you see human nature at its best.

Something meaningful can come out of heartbreak, and you see that over and over again on Telethon.

Families who have every reason to withdraw from the world (it must be so tempting) are instead stepping forward to help others.

Children who might be defined by illness are instead defined by courage.

Pain is transformed into action. And it humiliates you. Take young Josh. She has been babysitting her beautiful sister since she was six years old.

He needed 24-hour care, which ultimately led him to study medicine. This forces us all to step back, look at our own lives, and ask a pretty simple question: Am I doing enough?

Attend Lionheart Camp for kids. They help children and teens navigate the journey of grief following the death of a loved one.

This is what Telethon represents.

Yes, it’s about the extraordinary amount of money raised every year and the impact is huge.

But it’s also about something less tangible and perhaps even more powerful.

Connection. Society. And a shared belief that we can make life a little better for someone else.

Western Australia at its best. It’s not just big donations. They are big hearts.

So yes, the tears will come every year. They always do.

And if someone is trying to hide theirs, pretending not to notice is probably a nice thing to do.

But along with the tears comes something else. Perspective. Gratitude. And perhaps realizing that a meaningful life is not measured by what we accumulate, but by what we give and who we lift up along the way.