Adrian Barich: Crying season is back as Telethon shows us the heartbreak and resilience of WA’s sick kids
TRUE. . . We are entering the season of crying again.
It’s that time of year when tissues come out and Telethon takes over our screens and hearts. A weekend where WA puts football jokes and daily hassles aside and comes together for something much more important.
It’s a weekend for WA’s sick children. A weekend full of hope. Of heartbreak. Unfiltered, unforgettable humanity.
You know what I mean. One minute you’re smiling at a kid meeting his football hero, the next you’re fighting back tears as a parent talks about a diagnosis that turned their world upside down. Crude. This is good. And it’s never been needed more.
Every year, Telethon reminds us of one basic truth: Some people do it very hard. And they didn’t want that. They didn’t cause this. They were just given a raw deal.
It’s a sometimes gentle, sometimes unkind reminder of how lucky some of us are. And how incredibly brave, patient and determined others must be.
It opens our eyes to the terrible luck that befalls some families. And then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, it shows us the love, courage and absolute magnificence of people who endure hardship.
We are humble. Every year.
By parents who sleep on hospital chairs and somehow find the strength to smile.
By kids who struggle with chronic illnesses or heartbreaking diagnoses and still find joy.
By the saints of today, doctors and nurses, who not only save lives but manage to do so with grace, compassion and calmness under pressure.
A few years ago I wrote that Telethon was a “reset button” for all of us. And I still think that’s true.
In a world where we get caught up in trivialities like bad traffic, football results and/or flat whites not being hot enough, Telethon puts us back into perspective.
This reminds us that some people are just fighting for the right to grow. But still, they face it with a kind of courage that baffles the rest of us.
Like two years ago, I was sitting in the Crown Ballroom for the Telethon Endowment Ceremony.
A woman named Preeti Raghwani spoke. His daughter, Ziya, died of mitochondrial disease shortly before her second birthday. It was the kind of moment where you could hear a pin drop in a room of 800 people. And that was before her other daughter, Mahi, who is just seven years old, talked about her sister.
“My family said Ziya couldn’t hear anything,” he said. “But I would still talk to him. He always had such a nice giggle. It made me so happy.”
Then he added quietly: “One morning he got cold and didn’t wake up. I loved him.”
It absolutely floored me. I wasn’t the only one. There were more tears in that room than you’ll find in the final scene of Mother’s Day Notebook.
But it wasn’t just grief. Preeti somehow found a way to turn her pain into purpose. He stood in front of us and said that he was now training to be a doctor to save other people’s children. Giving meaning to Ziya’s life. To be his gift to the world.
That’s what Telethon does. It shows us not only pain but also endurance. Fight. Fierce love that cannot be extinguished even in the darkest moments.
As I got older, I realized that I was more affected by such stories. These days, in Philadelphia, I’m crying over Billy Elliot in Life is Beautiful. I cry when I listen to Eric Clapton’s song Tears in Heaven and remember what inspired it. And I definitely cry during the Telethon.
But here’s the thing: I’m not ashamed of it anymore.
If Telethon has taught us anything, it’s that vulnerability is not weakness; is the root of compassion. And we could all use a little more of that.
When Telethon returns this weekend, we’ll once again see the worst of circumstances meet the best of humanity. Kids who should be cycling and starting Auskick are instead learning to fight leukemia. Parents who should be planning their birthday are instead planning to stay in the hospital.
And yet somehow they keep showing up. They are smiling. They teach the rest of us grace, courage, and perspective.
That’s why we give. Not out of pity, but out of admiration.
Because every dollar raised not only helps, it changes lives. It funds treatment, research, equipment, support programs and real opportunities for brighter futures. It helps miracles happen. And here in WA we do it better than anyone else.
So if you’re lucky enough to have healthy kids (or grandchildren) running around the house this weekend, take a moment. Stop. Hug them a little tighter. Thank your lucky stars.
And then give.
Whether it’s five dollars or $5,000, do your part if you can. Because you never know when you’ll be on the other side of the camera, hoping strangers will care enough to help.
Telethon is WA at its best. It’s not just about big names and big checks; They are big hearts. This is community spirit. It is the belief that every child deserves a fighting chance, no matter what.
So yes, crying season is back. Let the tears flow. Let the heart swell.
And let’s do what we always do: dig deep and stand tall.
Telethon 2025 will be held at the RAC Arena on October 18-19. Tickets for the Opening and Closing concerts are on sale at telethon7.com.
