In the end, it was exactly where we needed to be, but when you have been using something as your ‘light at the end of the tunnel,’ it’s hard to see when you are finally illuminated.
When everything is, finally, illuminated.
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In the spring of 2007, during a course I took at the University of Colorado called, “Writing After the Holocaust,” I was introduced to my favorite author, and my favorite book: Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated.
It was through this book, and perhaps more so, through the way that our professor taught us to examine the text, that the seed was planted for what it would mean to write as a survivor.
What does it mean to carry forth the narrative thread of those who don’t make it?
How do you write your story knowing it represents all of them, yet also can never detail a single other one?
It was during the course that I was introduced to the concept of survivor’s guilt.
It means much more than mere guilt over having survived, though it’s that too. We spent a semester unpacking what it means to use the feelings of guilt over your survival as a creation tool to give voice to a group of voiceless people.
What does it mean to have a voice that is your own, but also everyone’s?
It was the most impactful college course I completed, though as if often the case, I didn’t realize it at the time. My relationship to survivors guilt was a connective thread I didn’t even know was being woven into my life’s story.
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Everything is Illuminated, By Jonathan Safran Foer is my favorite book, full stop. I don’t recommend you read it, per say. I mean, if you want to, go right ahead. But as anyone who has had this experience can relate to- it’s my life story that makes it my favorite book. You may feel quite differently about it. No matter.
I hope you have a book that does the same for you, though.
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We had been holding Make-a-Wish out in front of us as a beacon for so long that when it was finally time to start planning it, it was hard to imagine what to do.
In 2019, Beau wanted a Disney cruise, in 2020 it was an African Safari, then COVID canceled all international wishes and MAW protocols made traveling without vaccination impossible. For a while, we understood MAW may not be in the cards for us.
Then relapse. At that point we didn’t care about the idea of making any wish, other than the desperate wish for mere survival. We don’t want to see baby sea turtles in Hawaii, we want him to live.
But then 12 months post HuCART came, then 18months, and finally it felt like maybe MAW was something we could consider.
Maybe this was, indeed, surviving.
So we started to noodle all the things we could do. Vaccination protocols had been dropped, but international travel was still off the table. Did Beau want to spend the summer in Alaska, or tour the Nentiendo facility in Washington? Would it be better to go to Disneyworld or Times Square? The options were endless. Beaudin landed on Hawaii and we made plans to go in October.
For details which I will share in detail later, Hawaii became a moot point (surprise: We moved to Costa Rica instead.) But this change in plans also created a short time line. We had to make a MAW happen within a couple weeks or it was off the table.
Our MAW coordinator suggested a list of local things, all of which didn’t seem a fit.
A day at the zoo? No.
A meeting with the governor? Boring.
An over night at the aquarium? Nah.
Beau couldn’t decide on anything. It was feeling rushed and like a forced event. It wasn’t like the exhale I had hoped it would be. The light at the end of the tunnel we had held in front for so long was feeling like something we were merely trying to fit in.
But then our MAW coordinator suggested a trip to Coors Field, a day with the Rockies.
Beau’s eye lit up, illuminated.
So simple, and so clear. This was it.
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Go ahead and read Make-a-Wish Part 2 here.
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