Light The Night

My daughters and I participated in "Light The Night" this evening. It's an event for the survivors of lymphoma, leukemia, and other blood cancers. I would have written about it earlier, but I forgot that it was tonight until about two hours before I was supposed to leave. *oops*

Usually I am all for heart filled occasions such as this. I used to be one of the first to get all teary eyed because I sometimes feel things from others quite deeply. I say "used to be" because things are waaay different now that I am permanently with child (in the literal sense, not the bun in the oven sense). It's hard to get all misty when you are being told for the thirteenth that "(her) balloon won't work, mama; it's broken." And then you are told by her little four-year-old accomplice friend that "(hers) is dead." Lovely, that. Anyway, I didn't get to hear any of the things were being said through the shoddy sound system because I was forced to be a mom.

It was a very nice way to spend the hours between the finishing of supper and bedtime. They had three different tables set up for kids and provided different crafts to entertain them. That was right on in my book because Grace is such a crafty little booger. I didn't have a problem keeping her busy, which was so cool. Mak was even cool. She sat in her stroller and took everyone in. Almost everyone who came inside her parameter commented on how adorable she was. "Thanks," I said, even though I knew that the comments came from the odd mixture of her big, which I just realized the other day was also her half, sister Grace and her dad's looks.

Note: How the hell could it have taken me a full year to realize that Mak and Grace are only half siblings? Where the hell have I been? Smoking in the bathroom during that session of mommy school?

So anyway...

I did catch the survivors who were called onto the stage. They were children. That fucked with me on so many different levels. "With the grace of God walk I" kept circling in my head. And it still is.

After the event was over, we returned home and C said to Grace, "They don't expect your friend J to be alive for long, Gracie. He has brain cancer and is in the hospital." Now why the hell he would say that to a four-year-old? I know you want to ask that because the same thing ran through my head, but remember that he was in a horrific accident that rendered him a bit...off in many ways. And Grace paid no attention to him or anything else in the room because she was elbow deep in her Disney Princesses "Happily Ever After" fill-little-girls'-heads-with- fairy-tales-of-Prince-Charmings-and-effortless-happy endings-so-they-have-the-option-of-becoming-jaded-later-in-life book.

Odd, isn't it, that we had just returned home from walking laps around a track with illuminated red balloons to show our support for people battling the horrid disease. You never know when The Big C is going to rear its ugly head.

I wish that I could fill this post with pieces of moving moments and recreate some beautiful and purpose filled night for you, but I can't because I was forced to entertain the girls while the moving moments were taking place. Even throughout the walk Grace was whining that she was bored. So that's that.

But it was important to take the girls because I want them to know that mountains can be moved when people band together for the greater good. I want them to grow up knowing that there is always something you can do for someone, even if it's someone that you have never met. I want them to know that the vibes they pick up from being in a crowd of hopeful people are real and that they exist everywhere, not just in groups. I want them to know that the power is in the people and it should be used for good and not evil.

So lucky for me I am able to be okay with the fact that the only thing Grace left with was a fish and an ice cream cone made out of foam, a temporary tattoo of ballerina slippers on her right hand, and a balloon with a light in it. Mak left with nothing but a new fear of people dressed like giant bunny rabbits who want to stop in front of her stroller, bend over and wave at her.

But I? I left with a sense that I was doing something for someone and the knowledge that I was planting something in my girls' heads and hearts. That's the greatest thing about tonight; I showed them that there are so many ways to care for people--all people. And that's pretty cool.