Vicki’s story touched me on so many levels; some of the parallels between our sons’ situations made me feel an instant kinship with her and a deep, abiding affection and admiration for Evan. Like my own son, Evan overcame some incredible odds to share his spirit with the world.
I found myself often looking to Vicki and Evan for some insights about how to handle something with my own son. Sometimes, I simply turned to them for inspiration when things seemed tough. With each post, each email exchange with Vicki, or each beautifully crafted column she would write for Literary Mama —I became enthralled. I felt a closeness to Vicki —we have some commonalities in our past, but I fell in love with her beautiful boy.
Each day, thanks to Vicki and Evan, I try in some small way to remember that the “other” moms —the ones who may be watching in the grocery line as my son begins to bark like a puppy and clap his feet in a rhythm opposite from his hands —may not be judging us. Rather, they may simply be curious but afraid to ask; we special needs moms can be a bit on the tetchy side if you catch us unawares.
Each day, I will remember the indomitable spirit of Evan Kamida and I will draw strength from the pain and uncertainty; it is what Vicki and her family would would want us to do. To do anything less would diminish the memory of Evan and all that he gave us in his too-brief life.
Today, at 11:00 a.m. Pacific time, I will light a candle in honor of Evan’s bright and beautiful spirit, I hope you will join me in honoring and celebrating his life and gifts.
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If you’d like to express your support of Vicki and her family in a more visible way —or if words simply elude you right now, I hope you’ll contribute to our photo tribute on Flickr. Just take a picture of flowers at the swings and post your own.
Evan loved to swing; I imagine he is soaring now.
