Revering the smallest of us …

I saw a young girl standing on a large rock amongst a group of boulders in Central

Park today. She pirouetted down the side of it’s easy slant, her pink sundress fluttered around her. She was maybe 7. She proudly popped her feet onto the ground, only to spin and scramble back up. As she again reached the crest of the stone, she extended her slender arms out and threw her head back. She shouted something, but the sound of other children playing nearby prevented me from hearing her. I could see her smile as she closed her eyes and shouted again. The sun peaked out from the overcast sky above us and lit upon a pale curl as she again turned and skipped back down, only to perform the rock-climb and shout routine again. I lost sight of her after another go of it. Just as I assumed she had gone off to find other rocks to conquer, she emerged again, holding the hand of a small boy, maybe 4 years old, urging him to the top. When she made sure he was steady at the rounded edge, she flung her arms out, nodding for him to follow, which he did. She again threw her head back, glancing over to make sure he did as well. They laughed and this time I heard their celebratory cry, “FREE!” they shouted, “FREE!” A cloud arrived, softly shading their upturned faces as a breeze ruffled their sweaty little heads. I saw their mama come around the crop of boulders with a baby in a stroller and a scruffy dog. She called to them and the girl helped the little boy carefully down the stone by holding onto his shirt. She grabbed his hand again as they followed their mother, the baby, and the pup down the path and out of my sight. I wished I had complimented the mother on her family as women my age often do with young mothers, but in silence, I admired their sweetness as they went about their Sunday in the city. And when I could no longer see them, a sob I felt building escaped. They were so beautiful and perfect in their joy.

I am a Texan and it is the summer of 2025. The summer of gut-wrenching, tragic Hill Country floods. While I did not lose a loved one personally, I grieve alongside the families experiencing the unimaginable. Sadly, I have dear loved ones who lost children in the past and their courage and faith have always floored me. I know from their experiences that for parents, the loss of a child is beyond words, so I beg your apologies, because I can only imagine the very edge of that agony. And just the imagining has me gutted. It has me desperately looking for glimmers of hope, like little kids on a boulder in Central Park, heads thrown back, shouting “FREE!” It has me in deep reverence and appreciation for the smallest of us.

“Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life." Joan Didion