the flying geeks

There’s been a family missing here in the Oregon wilderness for the past week. It’s one of those ongoing searches where officials keep talking about not losing hope, and everyone is afraid the outcome will be bad. Things like this happen fairly often and the tragedy and heartbreak of it is overwhelming.

So overwhelming that Stu and I won’t actually acknowledge the news reports or talk about the event together. I think the struggle to comprehend and absorb something like this has to do with Parental-Compassion Phenomena, but that’s a theory for another post.

When Stu and I heard two nights ago that the mother and two small children were found alive and safe, we were pretty excited. I was watching the late news and Stu was asleep. I woke him up and whispered, “They’re alive. The mother and kids were found. They’re OK.” Then, when it sunk in that the father was still missing, Stu muttered, “Oh, no. He can’t leave them.” It made me cry a teeny cry.

Then yesterday afternoon, I was driving around running errands with the girls. We were playing the Raffi Christmas CD my sisters and I used to sing along to when we were kids. There’s this new song on it that Raffi wrote himself called A Child’s Gift of Love. I never wanted to like it because it’s, you know, about Jesus and stuff. But it’s actually a beautiful song with a nice melody and tender lyrics.

We got to a verse which goes like this:

All around are those who are hurting and hungry
And those without a home or family
We pray for the children, alone or afraid
Near where we live
Or half a world away

Of course my own heartstrings were pulled listening to this verse, thinking about the family and their still missing dad (no, he can’t leave them, for pity’s sake). Then Cassidy asks, incredulously, “Hurting and hungry?” probably thinking it strange to sing about stuff so horrible. I realize, this is a great opportunity to talk about the most important thing during this psychotic, frenzy of a holiday. Giving.

But before I could dispel my vast, experiential wisdom, I became too choked up to utter a word. I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. Admitting to my daughter that this precious, magical world can hold great tragedy and heartache was terrifically difficult.

Not that I was going into some dissertation about the failings of humanity. After blinking back my tears, I simply told her, some kids don’t have everything they need. They don’t have enough food, or a home, or parents who love them enough. Some grown ups don’t either. So, it’s very important for us to give some of our extra food, or money, or toys away to other people who need them. Naturally, she thought that was a really great idea.

About the kids who are out there hurting and hungry, she didn’t have any questions or need to talk about it more. Then later, she explained the whole situation to Riley, who had been asleep.

Update: I wrote this yesterday morning before hearing the final reports on James Kim, the missing father. He did not make it. His body was discovered yesterday afternoon » jamesandkati.com