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Thousands Gather At Fairfield Hills For Walk To End Alzheimer's

Published: Nov 10, 2026 7:00 am

On Saturday, October 24, the Western Connecticut 2026 Walk to End Alzheimer’s took place on the grounds of Fairfield Hills. The $149,000 fundraising goal for the event was surpassed and to date $163,190 has been raised. Hundreds of participants turned out for the walk.

While there was not a registration fee to walk, all participants were asked to contribute to support the fight against Alzheimer’s and to participate in a personal fundraising effort. Participants who reached a fundraising goal of $100 were to receive an official Walk to End Alzheimer’s T-shirt.

During the event a “Promise Garden” was created comprised of different colored flower shaped pinwheels. Every participant who registered was able to select one or more pinwheels that reflected their relationship with Alzheimer’s. Orange flowers represent those who support the cause and the Association's vision of a world without Alzheimer's and all other dementia. Purple is for those who have lost someone to the disease. Yellow represents someone who is currently supporting or caring for a person living with Alzheimer's, and blue is for someone living with Alzheimer's or another form of dementia. The flowers were placed in the Promise Garden. Prior to them being placed, event organizers had representatives of each colored flower come onto the stage and tell their individual stories, during which time audience members held up their respective flowers according to the story being told. The stories were very moving and at times members of the audience were either crying or cheering. A final white flower was held up, symbolizing the flower that will eventually be raised when the disease is finally conquered.

The event was led by Carolyn DeRocco, vice president of programs and education; Christy Kovel, government relations director; Caroline Kachmar, Central & Western Connecticut development manager; and Madison Norton, field marketing and communications manager. A group of seniors from Maplewood of Newtown known as The Treble Makers began the official opening of the event with a beautiful rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” One of the singers was “99 years young.”

Hundreds of people gathered at Fairfield Hills for the Walk to End Alzheimer’s on Saturday, October 24.—Bee Photos, Glass

The Treble Makers from Maplewood of Newtown sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” at the opening of the event.

Participants are seen holding up pinwheel flowers. As each presenter on the stage explained their relationship with Alzheimer’s, the audience was asked to hold up the appropriate colored flower if they had the same relationship.

Once the purple ribbon was cut, the participants started the walk on the grounds of the Fairfield Hills campus.

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To the children and their parents: I have delayed this message for eight months because I was in a dark place following the last two of my nine surgeries, in December and February. I apologize for the lack of clarity that resulted. Now again in the light, I want to express my sincerest and deepest gratitude for the life you have given me. For the honor and privilege and indescribable responsibility you have bestowed upon me, as your children’s pediatrician. Twenty five years ago, I was brought to Sandy Hook to practice alongside a friend and colleague. We built something together. And then life, in its stark and brutal efficiency, took that away. A spinal cord injury following the first of those surgeries almost broke me. Just months after that, our community also fractured. The deaths at Sandy Hook Elementary School occurred soon after my paralysis. I learned to walk again—or rather, I had accepted that I would never walk normally, when the loss of life—the only lives I have ever lost in my career as a pediatrician—brought me to my knees. This is what I learned. Three decades of pediatrics have taught me to Live—Love—Learn—Laugh—Listen—Lead. Not in the order you may think or that we may have learned, but in the order we actually come to living a meaningful life. You cannot learn if you don’t listen. You cannot listen if you cannot laugh at yourself—as I have many times in an exam room acting and being ridiculous. You cannot laugh unless you feel free to love—and I truly loved your children, not as abstractions, but as the specific, irreplaceable persons they are. You cannot love without living fully in the present moment. And living fully allows you to lead. Leading requires understanding what you can control and accepting what you cannot. Everything else simply follows. To chase what you cannot control, to chase what follows, is to run behind, never catching what the moment brings. Babies still make me cry. After nearly thirty years, they still make me cry. Two cells become a living human with infinite potential. There is something inexplicable and unknowable in that transformation. I have never grown past that, never wanted to. It is the source of my own personal faith and spirituality. Physics teaches us that energy is never lost. I believe the energy instilled in a child—the force that makes them who they are—is forever. It never truly vanishes. It changes form. It is unique to each living creature. It moves through us, between us, around us. You can feel it in a newborn’s grip. You can see it in a child’s eyes when they recognize you and smile. You can sense it in a room when a family holds their baby for the first time, or says goodbye for the last time. Whatever that energy is— life, spirit, potential, love—it persists. Changed by time, expressed differently by each person, but it remains around us, if not part of us. Anyone who has loved and lost has felt it. Perhaps, unexplained, it is simply accepted as a feeling. I believe it is more complex and never knowable by us, at least not now, not here, as we know space-time. No pediatrician or parent in this community could ever fail to acknowledge how the school shooting tore our community apart. Forever grieving, I will not be defined by that darkness. Instead, I have chosen to be defined by my love of the color purple. I choose butterflies, horses, and whales. I choose kindness and neurodiversity. I choose the memory of our children as they lived and as they were, not by how they were taken. I remember them. I have spoken out and will continue to act. But I will not be imprisoned by that day. I choose laughter as it is the best and sometimes only medicine; and I choose to laugh and lose rather than win and want. We started out on Mount Pleasant Road with a vision. When my health and our community fractured, our practice fractured with it—we separated paths and I moved on. My respect for our shared practice of pediatrics could never be questioned, however; nor would I ever question it’s success. I never felt that I was on my own; many followed, many stayed. My appreciation never wavered. I owe a debt of gratitude to Peggy and Charlene. Together, we would not be diminished. We moved forward and we adapted. I learned that separation is not defeat; it brings clarity of vision and reveals your path and what you are meant to do. We rebuilt the practice on a different foundation but never weakened. We moved from Queen Street to the little blue house on Church Hill Road. Then when it made sense—when the weight of carrying on alone grew too heavy, we merged again. When Danbury Hospital’s pediatricians and nurse practitioners were left without positions, we opened our doors welcoming their practice and their families. We moved, yet again. Almost instantly, the pandemic came. We adapted. The practice grew, but it would never outgrow me. Because I also grew. I grew older because of it; but, as many already know, I will never grow up. Each separation, each merger, and every move reminded me that you do not stay by staying still. Kristen originally joined me as an LPN with a quiet competence. As an LPN, then obtaining her RN and BSN, then becoming an APRN. She became the soul of the practice to Peggy’s heart. Though I name only a few of those with whom I had the honor to work, to employ, and to work for, the unnamed are not—nor ever will be—forgotten. Each of you has left an indelible mark on my soul and every patient has filled a portion of my heart. The practice continued to grow because, together, we were able to move forward—not from weakness, but from a commitment to each other. Not from certainty, but from a willingness to listen and respond. Not from darkness, but to brightness. After two and a half decades, I entrusted the ship to Kristen—not because I relented or because I was weakened by my circumstances, but because the work was bigger and more important than I, as an individual, was; and the ocean was too vast that I could no longer navigate. While I stepped back from daily practice, I am not stepping away from pediatrics. I remain accessible to families who seek counsel. I will be writing a book, because parenting— like pediatrics—is not a destination but a practice; and every parent and every child deserves to know that they are not alone in their uncertainty. I will be teaching. I will be writing. I will be here, even if not physically. I will be listening. I have lived because I was able to listen to you. Laugh with you. Learn from you. Love your children—not perfectly, not without doubt or as you do, but genuinely. And you gave me the extraordinary privilege of helping to lead you and teach you, while being led and taught by you in return. I have held your fear. I have tried to remain steady during uncertainty. I ask you to remember that laughter and love are sometimes the only bridge across those unbearable moments. I learned this with you. I learned this from you. I came here the same way I leave here. I will continue to live, love, learn, listen, and lead—and most importantly I will definitely continue to laugh. To the families who trusted me: your children have forever changed who I am as a physician and as a person. The responsibility you gave me shaped not just my career, but my character. That is a debt that can never be paid; though it will forever be honored and cherished. Thank you. Babies still make me cry. I still hold them in awe, and I will always be inspired by the children and adults they have or will become. That will never change. Be kind. Be present. Be well. Forever grateful, Rick Auerbach

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For the record, my sons; Matthew and John, know how proud I am. While they were both once brilliantly moronic, they have developed into amazingly bright young men who have the capacity to change the world and mold future generations. I thank Sandy Hook Elementary for part of that, the rest of my appreciation goes to my wife, Julie Auerbach.

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