I still mother them….

Every time we try something new for Face the Facts Delaware, I get the same feeling.

What if nobody comes?

This Thursday is our very first Music Bingo fundraiser. We’ve planned it, talked about it, invited people, shared the posts, and checked off all the little details. But if I’m being honest, there’s still that little voice in the back of my mind asking, What if it’s just us?

The funny thing is, this isn’t new. I have this same conversation with myself every single year before Overdose Awareness Day. We spend months planning. We line up speakers, vendors, volunteers, resources, memorials, and activities. Then, as the day gets closer, I wonder if the parking lot will stay empty.

It never does.

People come.

Families come carrying stories they never thought they’d tell. People in recovery come to celebrate another day. Community partners come because they believe in what we’re building. Friends show up. Strangers become friends. Hope quietly walks through the parking lot one person at a time.

You would think after all these years I’d stop worrying.

I haven’t.

Maybe it’s because this work isn’t just another event on a calendar for me. Every fundraiser, every meeting, every Narcan training, every awareness event is another chance for someone to find hope, connect with resources, or simply realize they are not alone.

When your heart is wrapped up in something, it’s impossible not to care. You don’t worry because you’re chasing numbers. You worry because you want every opportunity to reach the people who need it most.

I’ve started to think that maybe worrying isn’t the opposite of faith. Maybe it’s just proof that I still care deeply. If the day ever comes that I don’t wonder who will show up, that’s probably the day I should hand the keys to someone else.

So over the next couple of days, I’ll probably check registrations a little too often, wonder if enough people will come, and second guess whether we did enough to spread the word. That’s just part of who I am.

Then Thursday night, the doors will open. People will laugh, sing songs they forgot they knew, support a mission bigger than any one of us, and remind me once again that hope has a funny way of showing up… usually right after I’ve convinced myself it won’t.