It was 2006 when Jillian, one of my closest friends, told me, “My father has been diagnosed with ALS.” Quite simply stated, horrible things happen everyday. But we are so estranged from them when they exist in their innocuous printed forms, or as images on a screen. But at that moment I was moved to utter shock and silence. It was in that moment that I knew without a seed of doubt that everything in her life would change — and that the vast majority of it I would never understand.

At that moment, I had to resign myself to the fact that I could be nothing more than a support. Be a big open heart. Gush with love. That is all that I could do.

Perhaps in my own little way, this column is a very big, public way of saying to my friend how much I do completely adore, support and love her. It was sometime while Major League Baseball’s ALS event in July was developing and transpiring that I had that thought — why is the Cornell community unaware of this unbelievably inspiring story about an incredible Cornell family? Why exist within a community of brilliant minds and scholars with access to cutting edge research and technology if we cannot help each other and our very own Big Red family?

Still, aside from this column being a sort of in-print declaration of affection and support for a very dear friend, as well as a very big question to the Big Red: What can we do to support the fight against ALS? It is also a place for me to say the one thing that has been left unsaid.

Jillian Goldsmith is one of the most courageous women I know. Since I know that Jillian has the kind of humility that makes her hesitant to let such an inspiring story be known, I will tell it for her. Because in a world where news is inundated with tragedy and pain, I want us not to forget the pure and wonderful goodness. This is for you, Jillian, Austen and Michael — thank you for being our very own everyday heroes and reminding us how powerful goodness really is.