Empty Spaces

It wasn’t until the little white decorated paper bags were lit up that I really noticed it, even though I had been walking by it all day.

The empty space…..

It had been a long morning, as our team set up the canopy, tables, barbecue and decorations for Dinuba, California’s Annual 24-hour Relay for Life event, sponsored by the American Cancer Society.  Our Relay event’s theme this year was color, with a particular color having been tied to varying forms of Cancers.  Our team wanted to play off of a theme of the recently-ended Winter Olympics, so we, of course, chose Olympic “Gold,” which in turn was used to emphasize childhood Cancers.  Given that we were a school team, it was quite appropriate for us.

By the time we had set up our canopy, draped snow-white sheets replete with fake ski slope trees, planted skiis and poles, erected half-size Christmas trees and placed white tinsel everywhere, we were tired.  Then came the tables, barbecue grill, boxes of provisions for our team members, lawn chairs and more, and soon our feet were very sore.

All was completed just in the nick of time, as we were alerted to the 9 a.m. opening ceremonies by the flicker-whine of a nearby microphone.  Along with all of the other teams, we turned our gazes to the small stage at the closest end of a football field that would become our temporary home, our volunteered gathering, our combined walk, our conjoined battle against a merciless foe.

This is not my first Relay for Life, but each time I hear the first speech tearfully thanking us for our participation, it happens.  I begin to become painfully aware of those standing around me, of who they’ve lost, of what some of them have gone through (and continue to go through each day.)  I forget my pains from the morning ministrations, knowing my burdens go away as soon as I flex my feet on the track surrounding the field, while those dealing with Cancer’s effects have no refuge.

With the completion of the opening ceremonies, everyone walked onto the track and began the official first lap, pulled together from all over town to this spot, moving forward alongside each other with a common goal.  You can’t help but smile at the children, so full of energy, bounding ahead of their teams, carefree in mind and spirit, many unknowingly harnessing their energies to pull others through painful times…

Throughout the day we all took our turns walking, passing our team numbers off and thanking each other for the chance to seek shelter under the canopy, to open a soda and rummage for an overly-grilled hot dog.  What would otherwise be a monotonous day was often broken up by fun-filled themed laps.  We were ready, pulling out boxes of crazy hats, western clothing, Disney costumes, super-hero capes, purple and gold outfits, red, white and blue items.  We raced cardboard cars (ours was a bob-sled, in keeping with our Olympic theme.)

We take Relay for Life seriously, my fiancée Nadira and I.  It’s not just because we know people who have suffered through Cancer, or have lost someone to it.  It has hit home for us, too, as it has for so many.   At the school Nadira teaches at, the students had an enormous “Penny War,” raising over $3,000 in two weeks, an astounding figure for a school of only 450 students.

Later in the afternoon, men and women quietly began hanging up strings of lights around the football field, in preparation for the Luminaria.  It’s impossible to miss the groups working through the corner of our eyes as we continued our now-slower paths around the track.   As soon as the lights were strung, box upon box of decorated white bags began to appear, lights pulled through them and stapled firmly in place, decorations facing the walkers.

Every year, more and more little white bags appear around the field, adorned with the names of those lost to Cancer, those still fighting a form of the disease, and those who have won the fight.   Many of the Luminaria are personalized, colored by the loving hands of children, crayon marks doing their best to draw some sort of re-connection, some form of aid and comfort, some measure of victory.  It is the sight of the Luminaria that remain with me throughout the year, pushing me to volunteer again and again.

When dusk arrived, the kleig lights were turned off for the official Luminaria lap, a lap where we are all to walk completely in silence, reflecting on the day, on our purpose.  And that’s when I saw it, truly saw it for the first time that day — the far end of the field, where no bags are hung, a wide open space between the rows and rows of lit-up names on the left and right.  And I got hit with it like a ton of bricks…

I miss him terribly.  My Dad was a friend to me, the architect of my sense of humor.  He was wonderful to me, quick witted and hard-working, always taking care of things around our home and lives, even though his little aluminum boat and fishing rod (and the fish in nearby lakes) were calling to him.  I lost him to Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma in ’98, just months after having been told of his condition.  I soon found myself left in my own wide open space too, the name of my father all around, lit up in multi-colored memories.

On that field, on that very night, I looked around me, at the walkers silently stealing glances at the bags.  I felt the combined weight of loss, pain, triumph and thanks on that field, moving in a semi-circle of Hope, spelled out on the stands and in our faces, in the prayers that rose from the very soles of our shoes.

I realized that we all had to do this, to spend this day walking, to do what little we could to raise funds toward research.  Because if we didn’t, slowly and surely that empty space at the end of the field will get taken up as well by those little white bags with names and crayon marks.

Relay for Life has me, year after year, because I need to see them, those little white bags.  I need to know that wide, open area still exists, and is not filled in, not yet at least.  It is an annual reminder to myself that my time with my father was a blessing, to be cherished.  That the people reflected on those colorful little bags were all blessings.  And that the empty spaces in our lives can be a blessing, too…

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Posted by Steve on Apr 16 2010. Filed under Causes. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry