'Have joy! Dawn'

My love for the band Duran Duran has brought me many things since my cousin Kelly introduced me to all things Duran in 1983 at age 16 — endless hours of enjoyment from listening to their music, good-natured teasing (and sometimes even outright derision) from non-fans, and singing and dancing at live shows with fellow Duranies who “get it.”

One of those fans is Dawn Saunders, a vibrant and full of life lady from Tallahassee, Fla., who I first met several years ago online on the band’s official fan club message board, DuranDuranMusic.com. Saunders wasn’t a prolific poster as I was, but still always smiling, upbeat and genuinely nice to everyone she came in contact with. Each post bore the same sign-off: “Have joy! Dawn.” Having grown up with the band like 99.9 percent of the other members, Dawn loved traveling and meeting up with Duranies at various shows across the country in addition to her work with the blind for the Florida state government. She was loaded with joy and it showed.

And everyone absolutely loved her.

Even though the website’s message board isn’t set up like a chat room, we’ve made parts of it our own little private haven, safe from Internet trolls since there is a $35 per year membership fee. Within that haven we are free to be ourselves, use real names when addressing each other instead of our screen names, and in the process build very close friendships. There are a few guys who are members, but the vast majority are females around my age from across the country and the globe … with husbands, kids and a love for Duran Duran that never died.

That love is the common bond that initially made our paths cross, but the universal life experiences we all share from growing up as teens in the ‘80s are the glue. Five are now my closest friends — Shannon from Texas, Stacy from New Jersey, Joy from Arizona, Lori from Pennsylvania and Ceri from Wales. Yes, Wales.

So now when the guys are on tour, what makes it a blast are the countless Duranies meeting up at various shows, sharing hotel rooms, getting all “prettied up,” letting loose for two hours while the guys are onstage and then hanging out afterwards until sometimes 4 a.m., squeezing every drop of fun that we can from the night. In July 2008 at a pre-show party at Chastain Park in Atlanta, I finally got to meet Dawn. She came up to me, pulled me into a big hug and then we chatted for a while and posed for some impromptu pictures.

The next time I heard from her was last October when she reached out to me after learning of my breast cancer diagnosis. Much to my dismay, Dawn shared that she had spent the last six or eight months fighting her own battle with the same disease. However, hers had spread somewhat, to the point where her surgery had been postponed several times while the doctors tried to treat each new area. I never did call her, though, because I didn’t want to bother her.

Two months later — unbeknownst to me — Dawn learned the cancer was in her liver. In late February she posted that she was getting better and was ready to start living life and having fun again after a year of hell. She also posted that she was happy to hear my mastectomy was a success and advised me to rest and heal, saying, “We’ll be here when you get back.”

I, as well, was ecstatic things seemed to be going so well for her. I continued with my treatment, finishing radiation three weeks ago. Not long after that, my doctors told me I was in remission and doing exceedingly well. I had a future. Then last Thursday night I learned that Dawn had died earlier that day. The spots on her liver came back with a vengeance and treatment didn’t help.

Immediately I thought of her reaching out to me in the midst of her own battle and wondered why her and not me? Why was I spared and her bright light (which touched so many people) snuffed out? She didn’t deserve to die. It wasn’t fair.

My friends and parents rallied around me and reminded me that Dawn would “have joy” that I had made it and not to feel guilty. And I thought, “You know … she would want nothing more than for me to start moving forward again, getting on with my life and dancing until I drop at a Duran Duran show.” So that’s what I plan on doing in her memory.

Rest in peace, my dear friend. And save me a spot on the dance floor.

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