Espen for Orlando

Orlando hit me hard. Tobias and I were in Sonoma on a romantic getaway to reconnect when it happened on our last day. I thought about the family members getting texts and calls from their loved ones as they watched their lives getting closer and closer to the end. I felt heartbroken at the helplessness to do anything to stop the killing and angry that there was still no reasonable action being taken by Congress to limit people's abilities to obtain weapons whose only purpose is to kill other people. The frustration at knowing that one crazy person at odds with themselves and their dominant culture could wreak so much havoc on so many people out to enjoy themselves. It was just too much. All the shootings and senseless, preventable violence. And now a particular group of people being targeted for decimation because of being born with a particular orientation.

The LGBTQ community holds some of my dearest friends and family members. People who have inspired me to be better, smarter, more creative and involved. That they should be singled out and killed made me want to do more than howl. It made me want to kick ass and take names. Lovingly, of course.

So when Tobias informed me that there would be a vigil for the Orlando victims, we immediately decided to go and show our support of the LGBTQ community.

As part of our preparations, Tobias worked going to a vigil into Espen's nightly bedtime story. These stories change every night and feature a "little boy" as the protagonist. He gets into many adventures and scrapes and manages to emerge ready for another night of story-telling every time.

On Thursday, Espen woke up and said, "I want to go to the vigil!" Throughout the day, we revisited the theme of attending the vigil and when Tobias arrived at home, Espen was raring to experience this mysterious vigil.

I, however, was bone tired from chasing said toddler around. The words, "If it were any other event besides this, I would stay home and sleep." may have crossed my lips, but I was resolute. We were going, tired or not.

And so the long journey began, during which, I may also have completely lost it with Tobias for failing to properly consider the logistics of getting food, parking and attending the vigil in an organized and timely fashion. With me in my diminished state, I was in no mood to wrangle the fickle opening hours of food carts and on street parking at an event that was supposed to have thousands in attendance.

We arrived, egos bruised, but resolve intact. Espen, in particular, was consistent in his advocacy of vigil attendance. "Vigil first! Then food carts! Vigil FIRST!"

Of course, the vigil started at his bedtime and went two hours past so we held the parental line in the order of progression, but I was still feeling mighty riled.

There is, however, nothing like a massive showing of solidarity and a galvanized community to completely change one's perspective.

The streets were filled with LGBTQ community members and their allies. Everyone seemed sad but also, resolute. Appropriate in their mourning and ready to organize for change.

Espen was transfixed. He kept beaming lighthouse smiles to everyone in the crowd and hugging Tobias and I over and over. Never once did he yell or behave out of turn. He witnessed with full attention.

And as we left, he looked back and said, "Mama, I want to go back to the vigil. I love those people so much."

I just wanted to mush him up and eat him.

"Where did the lost people go, mama?" he wanted to know. "Were they old and worn?"

"No, they weren't old. They passed away and we are all sad about it."

"Who are they, mama? What are their names?"

So I read him the names of all 49 of those beautiful souls that moved beyond the veil. He sat and listened quietly until I finished.

"Oh. Are they with Farmor Mimi?"

"Yes, they are."

"Alright, mama. I love them."

Hope for the future right there.