Yellow Ribbon

#sol22: March 7th

     The sun was shining brightly that fall day.  We were dressed in yellow, to make a yellow ribbon for osteosarcoma, and the trees seemed to get the message.  Two schools came together, an elementary school and a middle school, both united to support an ill 7th grader.  Students with yellow shirts and yellow ribbons, pinned to their shirts.  Many asking, "Is he here?  I hope he sees us."  I just kept saying, "I'm sure he does."  

     That day, I didn't know my role in supporting our student, or our staff.  I had never personally taught him, or his sister, but he is still our student.  So, I came to stand with his classmates and his teachers.  It's all I could think to do.  I remember taking pictures that day, thinking that somehow commemorating the event would make some small difference.  Who knows it if it did, but I felt like I needed to do something.  

     That picture, above, is the perspective I had that day, me standing in the ribbon.  One of many, but all for one.  

     This weekend, the call came.  Teachers, filled with grief, sharing the news of his passing.  

     Once again, I feel like I'm standing there, not quite sure what to do, but feeling like something needs to be done.  All I can think about is his family, and our teachers as they welcome students back tomorrow with one less classmate in attendance.  What I wouldn't give for that fall day, when perhaps there still seemed like there was hope.  But, I think what we felt that day was united support, and possibly a hope for a miracle or perhaps a peaceful goodbye.  He had already fought so hard, and so bravely.

      A friend of mine posted a St. Baldricks fundraiser the morning he passed, so I donated in his memory.  She, her wife, and her son shaved their heads that same day, and I hope the money raised by them and many others helps find an end to losses like these.  But, in the meantime, I guess we must just stand together again, and support each other the best we can, as grief always presents itself differently.  Unlike the sun shining brightly that day, grief is all cloud covered and waits to cast it's shadow at unexpected moments.  But, when the clouds pass, Amadeo will still be with us in our hearts,  as we look towards the sun.