Joedance Film Festival

Benefiting Rare Pediatric Cancer Research
Art Appreciation In Our Local Community 150 150 Joedance Film Festival

Art Appreciation In Our Local Community


“Why a film festival?”

It’s a question that arises almost any time I’m meeting with a new supporter or giving an interview.

Joedance started with a promise I made to Joe. I knew that I would raise funds and awareness to find a better way to treat childhood cancer. I didn’t know what that would look like but I did now it would not be a 5K, a gala or a luncheon.

Now, almost 12 years later, it’s very clear that our decision to host a film festival was one of the best choices we’ve ever made! In addition to raising funds and awareness for pediatric cancer research at Atrium Health’s Levine Children’s, we’ve developed an enriched love and appreciation for the arts.

Our filmmakers help fuel Joedance.

Every year they share their talents by submitting films for the festival. Each film is unique, creative, and a true reflection of the filmmaker’s skills. Though I’m never a part of the judging process, I can say that I truly appreciate every film that’s submitted.

Joedance has given me a deeper appreciation for the arts- especially here in our community.

Arts+ and Studio 345

Charlotte is a city rich in art and culture. There are so many wonderful museums and programs that keep art alive in the Queen City. One program that has a special place in our hearts is Arts+. It’s a program that provides outstanding arts education to students of all backgrounds and ages. They help students tap into their artistic potential, plus access the many other irreplaceable benefits of an arts education.

At our 10th Annual Film Festival, we invited students from the Arts+ program to play live music during the reception and we were blown away! Now, Art+ hosts a wonderful program called Studio 345. Studio 345 is a free, creative, out-of-school youth development program for Charlotte-Mecklenburg high school students.

Studio 345 uses digital media arts to educate and inspire students to stay in school, graduate, and pursue a college or career path. Students come out of the program with tangible skills they can market such a graphic design, photography or film editing.

“Partnering with local companies and organizations provides access and opportunities for students to understand how those skills apply to the workforce,” said Angela Grauel, Director of Studio 345. “Joedance Film Festival provides professional real-world experiences for our students. Studio 345 is grateful for the opportunity to expose students to programs such as this, especially those who are seeking a career in film making”, she said.

We’re thankful for all of our community connections! We look forward to keeping the spirit of the arts alive and well in the Queen City in 2021 and beyond.

A Place To Gather 150 150 Joedance Film Festival

A Place To Gather


Despite everything my family went through with Joe and his cancer, despite the endless days and sleepless nights and the anxiety that chewed through my insides and the whiplash of never being able to stomach anything and always being hungry, there were positive things that lingered.

I find it easier to let the little things slide off like water down my shoulders in the shower.

I don’t let differing personal beliefs detract from another’s worth, both to me and in their own life.

I find bliss in the monotony of the everyday.

Going through treatment there were many things Joe, and all the rest of us by extension, could not do. When he could he was off like a bullet, tearing through life. But between those moments were months of us sitting around and watching movies. Laughing at movies even when we should be crying. Watching them again, noticing things we had no idea how we missed the first time around. Escaping in them, into them, always.

When we started Joedance we decided on a film festival because it was what our family did– we watched movies. But it was more than that. Movies were, at a most difficult time in our lives, a reprieve from what was always hovering at the front of our minds. A safe harbor of sorts. It was this that we wanted to share with people.

None of this would be possible, of course, without the filmmakers who submit their work for us to showcase. They are the backbone of Joedance, and we are grateful for their continued support.

This past year, more so than any year before, we are truly honored that they continued to support us doing a very fast and sudden transition from a live film festival to a virtual event. The filmmakers bravely took a step with us, took this rapid change in stride, and helped us make this year more successful than ever before.

We at Joedance will never be able to express what their continued support means to us. Their films allow us to do what we do year after year: create a place where people can come together, laugh together, and maybe find a bit of reprieve in films just like my family did all those years ago.

A Fixed Point In Time 150 150 Joedance Film Festival

A Fixed Point In Time

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Across the country it will be, without a doubt, a strange holiday season.

In the midst of the Coronavirus pandemic, families are looking around them asking similar questions of how they will celebrate this year, what it will look like, will it be the same as before. There is no easy answer to these questions.

Do you emphasis that nothing will change them?

Recreate the traditions to the best of your abilities to bring a semblance of structure and stability in these uncertain times. Do you swing the other way, upend the traditions to better fit the circumstances?

There is no one right answer.

This year, for the first time in 28 years, our boys will not be home for the holidays. It is a choice that we made together, but that doesn’t make the choice easy either. I see it as a stop-gap. I know, that regardless of this year, our Christmas will still look similar to how it has always been. Just shifted slightly, to make space for the adjustments.

Our family, like all families, gathered traditions over the years. Routines both large and small that dictated our holiday season, and even the rest of the year. We always picked up our Christmas tree on Christmas Eve and decorated it the same day, a holdover from when Mike and I first got married and we were both so busy that buying a tree had slipped our minds until it was almost too late.

We went to the beach every year for a long weekend, right before school started. We made sure that Thanksgiving and Tony and David’s birthday were always separate celebrations, even on those odd years the two fell on the same day. We had dinner every night together as a family, a conscious decision we made when we had kids. No matter how late, the five of us would gather around the table to eat and talk about our days and poke fun at each other.

When Joe was going through treatment, we clung to those traditions even tighter. We made sure we could still go to the beach in the summer. We bought our tree the morning before Christmas. We would sit at our table with five chairs squeezed around it every night, no matter what, and talk about our day.

Traditions, when repeated, become a fixed moment in time.

They exist outside time, beyond a calendar year. They reach back into the past, stretch towards the future. I was so sure, for so long, that I would have years of Christmas eves picking up trees with the boys, of Thanksgivings watching them argue about which side dish was the best, of the long weekend at the beach watching Joe failing to body-surf and Tony tripping in the sand and David getting knocked over by even the smallest of waves. Of our five chairs, waiting for all of us to be home to fill them and to eat and to be happy.

For so long, Joe was dying. Five years, though we didn’t know it at the time. There is a comfort in dying, because it is an ongoing process. When Tony and David were told of Joe’s decision to forego further treatment, he told them bluntly “I’m dying now” to which David replied, “Aren’t we all?” It was supposed to be a joke, something they did to each other around that table all the time. It was something they always did around our table, joke at each other to disguise their opinion. The joke tugged at Joe’s lips but otherwise fell flat. Most jokes after that conversation did. Then, despite all the warning we had. Despite thinking we were preparing ourselves, he was dead. All our traditions, all our fixed points in time I could rely on, didn’t work anymore.

I kept making too much food for dinner. The fifth chair kept getting in the way. Our Christmas tree was too large, empty space that extra ornaments use to fill. We filled it with ribbons tied in bows instead. I couldn’t stomach turkey for Thanksgiving.

People always say that after a tragedy, given enough time, things go back to normal. What I now know they mean is that the after becomes your normal. You edit your life to fit what is in front of you. Even on the rare occasion we gathered together for Thanksgiving, we don’t have the traditional meal. We branch out, try something different. There was one memorable time where we settled on Cornish game hens, only for them to go bad in the fridge before we even had the chance to cook them. That year we just ate sides and drank too much wine. We still buy our tree Christmas eve, but smaller. Less ornaments mean less need real estate. The last trip to the beach was to spread Joe’s ashes there. It was later in the year than usual. There was a winter sun in the sky, sharp but not warm; the wind was biting, and we haven’t been back since.

Our table only has four chairs now.

Building Community Through Spirit: Spotlight On Creative Player Foundation 150 150 Joedance Film Festival

Building Community Through Spirit: Spotlight On Creative Player Foundation

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Building a sense of community is a pillar of Joedance that has a deeply rooted meaning. One of the final revelations Joe shared in his speech at McCallie was about community. He spoke about the importance of community while fighting a disease so powerful. Joe used his community to regain strength time and time again.

Over the years, we’ve gained so much strength through the support of our Joedance community! Now, 11 years later, we continue to honor Joe’s legacy by growing our community through valued partnerships. This year, we’re excited to announce our partnership with the Creative Player Sports Foundation in Charlotte, NC.

Building Community Through Spirit

Cultivating a strong sense of community is also an essential part of the foundation at Creative Player. Their goal is to use soccer as a tool to enhance the lives of children in need by engaging them in educational opportunities. By building community through soccer and leadership training, they seek to remove barriers by bringing children together from different ethnic, racial, and socioeconomic backgrounds.

For over 10 years, Creative Player Sports, Inc. has reached thousands of young soccer players in the greater Charlotte, NC area with its highly acclaimed soccer learning system. The Creative Player Sports Foundation was originally founded in an effort to bring this training system to children from lower income families. Their goal is to provide access to sports and educational programming, removing the socioeconomic and cultural barriers that prevent children in at-risk urban communities from participating due to high costs. They aim to use soccer as a motivational tool to encourage children in impoverished areas of Charlotte to succeed in different aspects of their lives.

Moving Forward Together

Building a strong and supportive community is something that’s important both personally and professionally. Joe reminded us of the value of community during his battle. Now, as we continue to move forward through these challenging times, community is more important than ever.

We look forward to our partnership with the Creative Player Sports Foundation as we continue to grow. It’s wonderful to be a part of such a strong community here in Charlotte, NC. Together, we can all move forward in strength and support for a better tomorrow.

Flower In A Sidewalk 150 150 Joedance Film Festival

Flower In A Sidewalk

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This reflection was written in 2010 by Joe’s mom Diane Restaino in a blog she created called “Flower In A Sidewalk

One year ago we were in Chattanooga on the eve of Joe’s last chapel talk.

HIs final goodbye to the students, faculty and the school he had loved for four years.

We packed him up between two cars, each carrying twelve oxygen tanks, along with his beloved Brooks Bothers navy blazer passed on to him from his father and his tie from graduation. The trip was slow and arduous, with us side stepping every bump in the road. Having that much oxygen in your car can be very scary. Joe slept most of the way waking only to tweak his talk.

We never looked at each other but at times our hands were drawn together in a tight grip. A grip only a mother can feel as her child is slipping away.

The night before was a routine of calling doctors to regulate his pain and his oxygen and having dinner with the Phillips who graciously provided food for us. In the morning Joe was so weak Mike had to dress him. Chat Phillips took on the job of the “protector of the oxygen tanks”. The effort for Joe to walk from the car to the chapel caused a horrendous coughing fit. The incredible strength it took for him to walk out to his chair on stage and start his talk would be like a healthy man running up a mountain.

He delivered his talk, the pages flying into Billy Faires hands, and in the end he weakly walked off stage only to fall into another coughing fit. We were there along with his bothers and grandparents. But also so many others made the effort to be by Joe’s side. It was Jonny who could only take one “no questions asked” leave from at the Air Force Academy; Michael, Stu and Frank who drove all night from Raleigh, Chris who drove in from Kentucky with his parents Susie and Robbie. And included in the group were Josh, Elliot and Kentucky, each of them driving for hours to see Joe. Mary Kay and Chat made the trip from Mississippi.

Our breaths were taken away by the support.

September 30, 2009 was Joe’s farewell to those he loved. October 1, 2009, as we drove back to Charlotte, the conversation was about his funeral.

The Reach of Long Shadows 150 150 Joedance Film Festival

The Reach of Long Shadows


Criteria A: Stressor – a person is exposed to a traumatic event, such as death or the threat of death.

Joe’s first round of treatment lasted months; two weeks in the hospital, one week at home. Lather, rinse, repeat.

In the hospital, we’d watch box sets of shows we loved on my laptop. The twins and Mike would come by every day we’d have dinner together. Joe would vomit, more often than not, and we’d clean him up and then help him eat a little bit more until he pushed the food away. The sharp smell of bile cut through even the tang of disinfectant. The constant beep of his infusion pump a steady beat signaling his continued plod through life.

At home, we sanitized everything: the door, our hands, the bathrooms, our hands, food from the store, our hands. I didn’t have the sound of the infusion pump, so I kept Joe within sight as often as possible. I watched his chest expand with each breath.

In and out, week after week. Then, as quick as a summer storm, it was over. His treatment was finished. Joe was packed up in the car and we drove home from the hospital. It was 2 a.m. I sat outside while Mike helped Joe into bed. The house was dark. The street was quiet. Yet all I could hear was a steady, plodding beep. All I could smell was vomit.

Criteria B: Intrusion Symptoms – the event is persistently re-experienced in various ways.

Joe’s doctor told us to come back in three months for his first scan. I asked what we were supposed to do in the meantime. Were there precautions we should take to decrease the chance of recurrence? Should he avoid certain foods? ‘Nothing,’ he answered. ‘Just go about your life as usual.’ Mike woke me up multiple times following the end of Joe’s treatment. He would tell me I was tossing and turning. I always woke up tired. Joe would drift away, unaware, rubbing at his scars under his clothes, in the middle of conversations. He’d come back, tensing, only realizing he had gone away after the fact. Mike found himself accidentally driving towards the hospital after work, even though there was no one there for him to visit.

Criteria C: Avoidance – concerted effort of avoidance of distressing, trauma-related stimuli after the event.

Joe’s first scan was clean. When we found out, Tony immediately threw out all of the hand sanitizer in the house; he said he hated the smell. David stopped watching TV; at least, what he used to watch. Instead, he watched reality shows. Joe yelled at him once, saying it was garbage. David replied, ‘It’s all garbage.’ Joe, who used to sleep in a worn pair of boxers, slept in sweats and a shirt, his scars always tucked away. We started taking longer routes across the city, keeping a wide berth from the hospital.

Criteria D: Negative Alterations in Cognition and Mood – i.e., negative beliefs about yourself or the world, inability to experience positive emotions, sense of alienation.

I got an email from Tony and David’s school the fall after Joe’s diagnosis. They were being difficult, it said. Not so straight forward, but that’s what they meant. They sent another, saying Tony was being argumentative with his teachers; David wasn’t participating in class. I got called to the school. In the meeting I asked if their grades had suffered, knowing they hadn’t. I asked how they should be acting following the year we just had. I thought, ‘What a waste of time this is.’

My thoughts circled for ages when the tumor was discovered, and for a long time after. I thought back to before he was diagnosed and wonder how I missed it. What clues had I brushed off as inconsequential? As his mother, how could he have not told me he was in pain? How did I not notice?

Criteria E: Alterations in Reactivity – i.e., sleep disturbance, reckless behavior, hypervigilance, lack of focus, irritability.

Mike has always been a good company man, because the repetitive minutia doesn’t faze him, and he has always been naturally friendly. He has an innate skill of creating a welcoming atmosphere. Nothing throws him off-balance. That steadfastness is one of the things I love about him.

He came home one night, after Joe’s cancer recurred for the second time and he decided against further treatment. We had dinner with the boys and then they left to watch TV. We slipped out back and had a glass of wine. He told me about his day, about a staff meeting they had. He couldn’t remember what it was about but remembered it as being grating.

‘I cut the guy off in the middle of his report,’ he said. ‘I asked him if anyone was dying. He looked confused, but said no, so I told him “then why the hell does it matter?” I ended the meeting soon after.’ Mike finished his wine. ‘I just lost it. I don’t know what’s happening.’

I thought of Tony, who had always been so focused, but now was struggling to concentrate long enough to finish his math homework. He was always stopping, getting up, starting something else. I thought of David and how he was watching everyone. Cataloging our moves across the house, how many cars drove by in the afternoon. Making note of every random gesture of the hand, a twitch of the eye, as if it was all adding up to something greater. I thought about how none of them were sleeping, which I knew because neither was I. I looked at Mike and said, ‘I don’t know either.’

Criteria F: Duration – persistence of symptoms (in criteria A, B, C, D, and E) for more than one month.

In the last ten weeks of Joe’s life, he died six times. By which I mean, he thought he was and said goodbye to everyone. Then, he would cuss us all out the next morning when he woke up.

We had Thanksgiving six times that year as well. Joe kept forgetting it had already happened and would demand we celebrate it saying, ‘It’s Tony and David’s favorite.’

We didn’t have Thanksgiving the year after. Just the thought of it made me nauseous. I can’t remember what we did. We might have ordered Chinese food and watched a movie none of us had seen. We might have done nothing at all. I remember Tony being more irritable than usual; David kept getting distracted. I remember, still, that none of us were sleeping well.

Criteria G: Functional Significance – significant symptom-related distress or functional impairment (i.e. social, occupational).

We kept in touch with David mostly by email his first year at university. In one he wrote, ‘People think it’s strange that I always have a small bag packed and ready to go.’ The nibble of information was sandwiched between how windy it had been in Scotland that week and how boring his English lectures were. I didn’t know what to say in response. The idea seemed reasonable to me at the time.

Criteria H: Exclusion – disturbance is not due to medication, substance use, or other illness.

We haven’t celebrated Thanksgiving as a family since Joe died. We spend it differently. We mark the occasion by celebrating with friends and neighbors instead. Or, on one memorable occasion, at a wedding.

Most nights, one of us still has trouble sleeping. It’s not unusual for messages to ping into our family group chat at 2, 3, 4 in the morning. Mike is still steadfast, but there’s a crack there that wasn’t before. Tony is as whip-smart as he has always been, but sometimes it takes him an afternoon to slog through work that would have taken him a couple hours before. David finds it easier to be alone some days, not as much as before but every once in a while. I sometimes can’t help thinking what else I could have done when Joe was still alive. On those days, we lean a little bit harder on one another.

[Full diagnosis is not made until at least six months after the trauma, although onset of symptoms may occur immediately]

Cancer is a prolonged and protracted illness. It stretches far across both its patients and their families even well after treatment. Like a deep shadow at the height of summer threading behind your feet, we are forced to live with the memory. Of what we witnessed and what we experienced. It is a process to learn how to position those memories in a way that doesn’t consume you entirely.

20 Years Passing By 150 150 Joedance Film Festival

20 Years Passing By

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Slow and steady wins the race,’ said the tortoise. 

Patience is a virtue,’ wrote poet William Langland circa 1360.

‘Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day’ – a popular, but paraphrased and greatly simplified, quote from House at Pooh Corner by A. A. Milne. 

All of these are true, I guess, but irrelevant when your son is told he’d be dead within a year’s time. Then, you just feel like hitting any tortoise you come across with your car while driving. You pretend poetry never existed. You strongly consider donating your full collection of Winne the Pooh that you read to your sons to the local library, just so you don’t have to look at it ever again. 

At least, those were my reactions. My son, Joe, however, dropped out of college. No point in an education you would never benefit from, he pointed out, and I found that impossible to argue with. He did the things he always put off for later, thinking he’d have more time. He went on a road trip. He backpacked through Europe. He visited friends and laughed at stupid things with his younger brothers. All the while he whittled away his time till we all turned around and it was suddenly gone. A flash in the pan. A quick blink of a camera’s shutter. The silence after flicking off a light and dropping a room into pitch black.

When I started Joedance, I naively believed it was a way to keep him alive. ‘Look at what he’s doing, even now,’ I thought while opening the festival those first few years or presenting a check to Levine Children’s Hospital. But it doesn’t keep him alive nor does it give him more time. 

His time is done, bookended by birth and death, wrapped like a present I carry around but am too afraid to unpack completely. What if I do and it all comes flying out and I am unable to get it back before it’s gone? 

Twenty years. So small in the scheme of things. I can cradle it in the palm of my hand. 

But it still has its use, the time he had. The time we had together. I crack it open, cup a sliver of it in my hand and pass it over when I can. Mostly through Joedance. 

I give it away every year at the festival. I hand it over when I present a check to LCH at the start of each year thinking, ‘Here’s another. Take some more.’ Those pieces get passed on as well, to where they are needed: sponsoring the annual summer internship, providing money for a lab technician, sponsoring clinical trials. Small things that add up. Pieces that build upon each other to make something new, something better. Building to a stronger life. 

I give his time away and it’s passed on from person to person and in this way, it continues to move forward. In this way, we can give it back.

Make a donation of $20.20 to honor Joe’s 20 years of life DONATE

The Baffling Experience of Running Joedance Online 150 150 Joedance Film Festival

The Baffling Experience of Running Joedance Online


Many things leading up to the Joedance Film Festival were the same as years previous, despite the new virtual platform in wake of the Covid-19 pandemic. We judged and selected the films. We stressed over the viewing schedule for the three days. We ran promotional material and participated in interviews and sent out press releases.

We had planning meeting after planning meeting.

We sold tickets.

Business as usual.

Despite the familiarity of the work, however, it was unnerving doing it during lockdown. Trying to keep the familial, community-based feel of the festival alive and thriving on a virtual platform is some sort of new, bizarre oxymoron. The juxtaposition of these two ideas was like trying to hang something upside. I found myself stuck on this point while recording my welcome speech I give at the opening of the festival every year.

I had to set myself up in our family room, which doubles as my office and my husband’s closet (he knew my problem with buying shoes when he married me; he should not expect that to change just because we downsized to a smaller apartment). I had to prop my laptop up on some books and take the video on armrest of my couch cause for some strange reason I decided that was the best place to make the video.

It took me forty-five minutes to record a two-minute speech. A good chunk of that was just me trying to get good lighting and trying to figure out which a side was my good one. How do people know their good side? What in their life had led to the necessity of that information? Did I miss a lesson on this at some point in the past?

It took me five attempts to make a usable version of the video.

The first one, I kept trying to figure out why I was having such a hard time reading my speech that I finally just gave up. Only then did I realize that I wasn’t wearing my glasses and in my scatter-brained state I hadn’t put in my contacts. The only good thing from that moment was being glad I wasn’t going completely blind just yet.

The second take failed cause my hair wouldn’t cooperate. That was it. That was the only reason. I was recording, and I couldn’t stop staring at the strand of hair twirling away from my head. Like it had decided it was done with this and ready for a drink. I didn’t disagree, but I needed it to fall back in line.

The third take went really well, I thought, until I played it back. Did I always do that flappy thing with my hands? Like those pigeons in the park that flutter their wings when you get too close but don’t ever actually take off from the ground. Just announcing, ‘I’m here! This is my space!’

The fourth take I didn’t even say a word. I simply stared past the green light of the camera and looked at where, on any other year, there would have been a crowd of people. I thought of how strange it was to be speaking to people who weren’t there about my son who was no longer here as well. A speech to ghosts about a ghost. A ghost Ted Talk. A Caspar Chat? I snorted at the absurdity of it all.

On the fifth take, I sat up straight, spoke clearly, and got it done.

Sometimes that’s all you can do…

Diane Restaino, Joe’s Mom | Joedance Founder & President

Thank You, Patron Donors! 150 150 Joedance Film Festival

Thank You, Patron Donors!

We’d like to take a moment to recognize our valued Patron Donors for the 2020 Joedance Virtual Film Festival. Your generosity and kindness truly are truly appreciated. Thank you for helping support our first Virtual Film Festival!

Charles and Mary Bowman

Kristina Burke

Betty Burns

Sherri and Kent Buzard

Kelly and Mike Crum

Sue and Jeff Dupuis

Frederick W. Eubank

Michelle and Steven Gassaway

Margaret and David Jackson

Fred Martin and Steve Shifton-Martin

Al McMillian, Jr.

Sheila Mullen

Ed and Madeline Munn

CJ and Van O’Neill

Nicole and Phil Orban

David and Deb Park

Mary Kay Phillips

Diane and Mike Restaino

David Restaino

Tony Restaino

Stuart Ruffin

Ross Saldarini

Sharon and Walter Sanders

Keith and Diane Wassum

Eve and Chip White

Susan and David Young

A Walk Down a Long Dark Hallway 150 150 Joedance Film Festival

A Walk Down a Long Dark Hallway

Uncertainty seems to be the unofficial theme of 2020. Uncertainty was definitely our family’s theme during Joe’s illness.

When my son Joe was diagnosed with cancer, it was like stepping into a long, dark hallway. Nothing had prepared me for it. It seemed like there was nowhere to turn, nowhere to go. Do we go with the traditional treatment? A clinical trial? Do we act aggressively with surgery or do we move cautiously? There was no clear answer, just more choices.

Joe died when he was twenty. Not even fully legal. He spent a large part of his life in and out of hospitals. He spent a full year dying. And when he did, my family and I thought that would be it. Finally, an end to that journey.

Yet, my son was gone, and I still found myself in that dark hallway. Nowhere to turn, like when Joe was first diagnosed. So, I did the only thing I could. I made a choice.

My choices with Joedance are ones I will always treasure, because they all led me here and to the opportunity to support programs at Levine Children’s. They led to funding the recurrent osteosarcoma clinical trial authored by Levine Children’s Dr. Javier Oesterheld, and they helped fund the Joedance Internship Program that made the Healios project possible, supported valuable research data collecting for inpatient vs outpatient treatments, Supportive Medicine and now brain tumors.

Most of all, though, each summer these choices lead me here, to all of you. To this festival and these talented filmmakers and I get to see, even briefly, all the things my son’s twenty years of life helped build.

There are times I am uncertain, and it is frightening; uncertainty always is. It is a shroud over your senses, a hallway in which you can’t even see the end. But it is also a moment, an opportunity, to make a choice. To take a step. To move forward.

Written By: Diane Restaino, Joe’s Mom