Traffic is moving smoothly this foggy morning in Los Angeles, after what the journalists have termed the “fiery inferno“ that, sadly, happened on a rainy Friday evening in the truck tunnel near Santa Clarita. I breathe a collective “whew” listening to the report of all lanes open, but for different reasons than the masses who are in their cars and on their ways, traversing the open roadways two days post inferno. Postscript thanks in advance, once again to the heroes of the helping professions. Big things seem to happen here in our neck of the valley and it takes big people, doing big things in a big hurry to repair big damage.
I really do try not to be the person that worries, when it rains in LA, but, if you are my friend, and you are late when it is raining, I sometimes battle with my thoughts about you. Sometimes, I postpone a day’s errands when it rains on the roadways here in Ca, not because I don’t want to go, but more so that the braver, stronger and the more determined and controlled of you, will have little to no addition of time or tension on the fast driving, multi laned concrete pathways and passages of LA, because of me. You can be on your way, with one less car, mine, in your way.
In fact, if truth be told, I don’t do freeways-not unless I have to…for, I can’t stand them. So, when I heard about the accident, I spent a good deal of thought time facing the daunting idea of a possible delay, of hours, merely passing through our valley corridor. All my girl scout preparedness of the past, all my Mom/ Plan B-Version 346 mentality couldn‘t fathom, for a brief time this weekend, how in the world I would traverse the broken roadways, sick child in tow, for the tunnel had gone bad and the side passageways were now the congested freeways. How would I make it to my destination in time?
This weekend was the echelon of personal tests in my newfound role of caretaker- of my ability to think positively and to stay in the moment at hand, which by the by, was full of laughter, love, pumpkins and less than normal values, when the idea of a need to travel was troublesome. This weekend, the proud ‘little old lady from Pasadena‘, who tootles along the side roads at a mere top speed of 55, had to face the thought of some 254,000 others would be on “my sideways and by ways” when I could very possibly, very probably, simply need prompt emergency passage.
What’s a Mom to do, given the fire situation, if she has an acutely ill neutropenic, fevering child who simply must traverse this tunnel of mayhem… to ‘the’ hospital/ not ‘a’ hospital… some many miles away… in one hour. Thoughts like these gave new meaning to the term sig alert, as it nearly caused my heart to stop.
When it comes to freeways, I prefer to glance off to my left and see them. Give this part southern, part northern, country-music, loving ,claustrophobic Mom a two lane road or a country mile and you will find me choosing happily to go there. I like the sideways and byways of LA; I really do. I can get anywhere I need to go…slowly and calmly and with much to see and great conversation, even in the midst of a crisis.
But this weekend, the effects of the fiery inferno on my thoughts and on the roadways and the potential effect on my child made great gains on some of my fondest memories as a child, in the back end of a woody wagon of a car, sans seatbelt looking at the rain. The beauty I have seen since I was a child, in the rain and in raindrops paled for a moment in time and in thinking that there might not be suitable passage for a Mom, in the rain, with many roads closed.
The rain and the wreck and the battle to repair this weekend is much like my world. Think about it. When you look at raindrops, each single one, refracts, much like the world of leukemia…microscopic and multifaceted are your thoughts and the cells and your world view. 
One drop of rain, refracted, multifaceted, microscopic and multiplied by the pitter, patter of more, is an entire world view, encapsulated and encased and is really not all that different from leukemia cells and the limited world view you take on when it hits.
Once you discover refracted raindrops or leukemia, or any kind of cancer for that matter, you will never see the road or the rain or the world in the same way again.
Once you have a sick child who is home but for the grace of God you will never take passage for granted. Your world will become refracted in ways you never dreamt possible.
Evan loves refracted raindrops and he loves the feel of rain on his face, especially when the raindrops hit him squarely in the eyeball. Next time it rains in sunny California, try standing outside, in the rain. Look up, eyes wide open. Let it hit you. Stick your tongue out. Taste the rain. Smell it. When the storm passes, look to find a country road. Drive it. Look for refracted raindrops on the petals of the flowers and on the shiny nourished leaves. Look at the rain drops on the wings of a butterfly. You might like what you see driving down this country road and you will definately be changed by the seeing. Clinic is later this week, with a forecast, thankfully, of sunny skies and a report of all lanes open with traffic flowing freely.
et? 
