Yesterday morning was Rafi’s Run, an event organized to raise much-needed funds to support little Rafi and other children suffering from the dreaded disease that is EB. It began at 10am in Riverside Park. And I wasn’t going to go. I wasn’t going to go because I didn’t think I could. I wasn’t going to go because Big Girl had a dress-up birthday party on the Upper East Side and because it conflicted with Little Girl’s morning nap.
I wasn’t going to go, so in the morning I logged on and donated a certain amount to the cause, an amount reflective of all the generous comments you left here Friday, an amount that was indeed more than the comment-raised-amount. And then I closed my computer. It was almost 9:30am and it just hit me: I am going to this run no matter what. It’s that important.
And so we scrambled. Dressed the three girls. I told Husband he would be taking his eldest to a party across town. He helped me into a taxi with the little girls and our enormous stroller. And as we pulled up to the race, the runners – in their matching Rafi’s Run t-shirts, seams worn on the outside in solidarity – were about to go. The day was glorious, but it was bitterly cold by the water and we Rowleys were all woefully underdressed.
But we stayed as long as we could. Middle Girl ran around with friends. Little Girl gnawed on a bagel. I talked with parents and teachers from the girls’ school, from Rafi’s school. And when the tears began, they were legendary. Little Girl was freezing cold and bone tired and mad, and we made our way out of the park toward home as fast as we could which was not very fast to be honest. And on Riverside, I tried to get us a cab, but many passed us, presumably not wanting to deal with a harried mom and two crying children.
But we made it home. Chilled to the bone, we stumbled into our warm home. And Little Girl settled in for her much-delayed nap, and slept for three hours. Middle Girl watched as I loaded the dishwasher and then we read a book about a Butterscotch Bandit which made me think of Dad because he loved butterscotch sundaes in summertime. And then Big Girl came home with Daddy raving about how she dressed up like Rapunzel and ate a tiny cheese sandwich.
And soon it was just another Sunday. And I realized as the afternoon slipped to evening, how fortunate we are, how wildly fortunate we are that often our biggest concerns are the weather and naps and the simple exhaustion that alights at the end of a good, long week.
Rafi’s Run. I’m so glad I went. And I hear rumblings that the event raised an enormous amount of money. Isn’t it amazing what we can do when we stop, and feel, and act?
Do you ever stop to realize how fortunate you are? Do you ever appreciate the routine and mundane aspects of your existence that others might not get to experience?