Last weekend, I had several occasions to look at my kids as they went about their business and marvel at the people that they have become. Not wanting to make any sappy, stupid comments that would be immediately taken down by my daughter, she of the snappy, smart ass tongue, I smiled to myself and filed the moments in the back of my mind. Hopefully when I am riddled with dementia (probably in about 2 years), and screaching at my nurses in the home that was featured on 60 Minutes for having all those bodies in the basement, I will surface from my fog for the slightest moment to remember my kids. (And the longest sentence in human history).
And the next day, I found out about a friend's baby who has just been diagnosed with cancer.
A mutual friend and I were discussing what we can do to help. Everything is sort of up in the air right now and we'll find out more in awhile, but right now we're just holding our breath. We feel helpless to make the situation any better, intrusive if we call to much, neglectful if we don't. We're the painfully nerdy boys in the corner at a gathering of beautiful women. Everything we say feels wrong. Everything we do feels inadequate.
This little girl is less than a year old. Before she was born, her brother passed away after being born far too early. The parents are two of the most wonderful people I have ever met and I can't even begin to imagine what sadness has been visited upon them in the last two years.
So, we wait. We hope. We wish we knew what to do. We wish we could make it better.