One little boy said, “Can I hang a card on the tree?”
I said, “Do you know anyone who has cancer? Maybe someone at your school? The purpose of the tree is to add the names of someone who has had cancer.”
The boy responded, “My mailman died of cancer. Can I write his name?”
While a young teen was hanging a Hope Card to express her love for a friend battling cancer, her mom came up and whispered, “Sweetheart, Debi died.”
The young girl burst into tears and ran into her dad’s arms.
“Thank you,” her mom told me, “for providing an opportunity to tell our daughter what happened to her friend. We didn’t know how to tell her.”
The family quietly embraced until the teen’s tears had diminished. When the initial wave of grief had passed, both parents turned and waved a solemn “Thank you.”
A strongly built man held up his bracelet that said, “Cure 4 Carriers.” Then he told me, “My buddies and I rented a bus and took our friend with stage 4 cancer on a guy’s day trip.” Restraining deep emotions, he relayed his last words to his friend as they were getting off the bus, “Same time, same place next year.”
“My hands are shaking so much,” an elderly woman confessed. “I can hardly hang this card on the tree.”
I asked, “Whose name did you write on the card?”
“My son’s.”

One of the magical moments at the Braving the Wind exhibit was when a woman with one leg read the quote on the back of my gallery card. It read: “The miracle isn’t that I finished; the miracle is that I had the courage to start.”
There was a long pause as she looked down. Then her penetrating eyes met mine. She spoke without saying any words. She understood. Our silent conversation made my hard work worth it.