Eight years old, and learning one of life's universal lessons, of losing a loved one. My grandmother is going to leave us, and for the first time Christmas is feeling bittersweet. There is love all around and yet I feel so alone, nobody can really explain to me what is going on and their sadness just seeps into me. In Santa Fe, New Mexico, I'm far from home for the first time. The incredible colorful beauty of that winter made a permanent impression. The ever changing light in the sky embraced me.
I'm at a children's holiday party at the local university, and there is a pinata that exploded candy all over the floor and I freeze. Mobs of kids run for their loot and I cannot make my move. One of the college kids, guy with long blond hair (it was the 70's) makes eye contact with me and understands what's going on. Not only that I can't go grab candy, but really sees me and all my pain. My personal angel, he reassures and holds my hand and helps me get some candy. Thirty years later I am still so grateful to him!
Scary for me about life is that small gestures can be monumental depending on their timing. Someone can be on the brink of despair and it can be all the difference to them.
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