Monica had been battling cancer and every member of the family was helping this 15 year old girl in the struggle for her life. The musicians in the family were playing. There were raffles and silent auctions. Restaurants brought food. I was serving pizza by the slice.

I reached back to my Renaissance Faire hawking days to pimp the pizza. “Cheese pizza by the slice is extra nice.” And so on.

Monica walked around the fairgrounds wearing her headscarf and her teal volunteer shirt. She was tired from the therapies, but she was walking up to every volunteer to gently say ‘thank you.’

My mother was there, enjoying the day in spite of herself. Joy did not come easily to her. Most days she stayed holed up in the house, watching CNN and getting angry. She aproached me and launched into a diatribe about the election.

“Today is about Monica, Mom, not DC.”

She tore away in tears. I had to leave my sis with the pizza and make amends. Sis understood.

Mom had a beer and won a raffle without smiling.