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told us how easy it would be for them to add Jack to their pack. They were happy to take him on vacations or entertain him for weekends or any time we needed.

      When spring came around, Mia’s friend Dawn emailed me: “I know Mia usually takes care of Little League sign-ups, so I thought I’d let you know that sign-up is due this week if Jack wants to participate. Let me know your preferences and I’ll help with this.” She also ensured that Jack was put on a team with a family that could help us with transportation since we didn’t know how available I would be to drive. This was despite a reasonable league policy against requesting specific friends for teams.

      At one point, Mia started craving processed cheese products as a side effect of chemo, and when our friend Jon visited from Boston, he came bearing bags of Cheez Doodles, jalapeño-flavored Combos and packages of freakishly shaped and vividly colored products I’d never even heard of (and we both hope never to taste again). It was a welcome surprise, injecting some pleasure into what would otherwise have been another monotonous day of treatment. Jon ended up visiting regularly, even when we told him it wasn’t necessary, and he never made it sound as if the trip from Boston to Philadelphia had been anything but a breeze.

      At another point, Mia expressed concern about losing her eyebrows and eyelashes. She was fine with losing her hair, but this was a different thing altogether—you can’t hide missing eyebrows and eyelashes with a wig. When my cousin Andrea heard this, she took it upon herself to exhaustively research the market and send a large box filled with things like eyebrow pencils, markers, gels, powders, brushes, liners and shapers. There was also a product called Lashes to Die For, which gave us a good therapeutic laugh. (We guessed the manufacturer doesn’t typically market to cancer patients.)

      And then there were our parents. When they asked how they could help, I never knew what to ask for and put them off. Of course, most parents aren’t big on being put off, and ours would simply arrive in Philadelphia from Seattle and New Jersey bearing the gift of their time. They’d stay as long as several weeks and entertain Jack, cook, do laundry, and stay positive.

      We also had a long list of friends and family members who would pick up Jack after school when I was at the hospital or at chemotherapy with Mia. Not a single one ever mentioned any logistical challenges they may have faced. Instead, they all told us how happy they were that we’d asked and that they could help.

      And amid it all—amid the nonstop comings and goings, the trips to the hospital, and the increasingly challenging task of preserving normalcy—I checked the mailbox one day and found a Ziploc full of packages of something called Wikki Stix. On the bag, our neighbors had written, “We love making things as a family. See what you think! XO.” I took the bag inside, and Jack and I promptly proceeded to connect the wax-coated yarn to make cars, spaceships, and anything else we had the urge to create. It was a blast, a much-needed port in the storm.

      That isn’t the half of it. Not even close. So many people did so much for us that I hesitated to mention any of them here because I’d have to leave out far more than I could include. Their gestures ran the gamut from simple notes of support sent by people we barely knew, to meals dropped off by friends, to my cousin Dave’s offer to move into our house and help keep things going during Mia’s treatment. Here’s the email he wrote me:

       Brad,

       I’m sorry to hear the news but Davida has told me this is very beatable and you are with the BEST doctor. If you feel you need a second opinion I’m happy to call relationships in New York as well.

       In the meantime, please, please, PLEASE use me. I have done some thinking and I’m the willing and logical choice to be your first call for every little errand or Jack-related need.

       Firstly, my job is super easy and requires very little of my time, which can be covered by my dad or one of our workers anyway, so I can be ready at a moment’s notice or for regular events like picking up Jack at school or tennis.

       Secondly, I’m local. I am in Philly every weekday and Davida and I discussed it and she wouldn’t mind (in fact she suggested it) if I moved to Philly for the month Mia is in the hospital. I would be at my parents’ place, so I’m very convenient and could be there for Jack full time if necessary. I could even stay over for a night or a month if you need an overnight sitter.

       Thirdly, I’m the logical choice. I have no important responsibilities.

      •Richard is a single dad and low man on the totem pole at work.

      •My sister Betsy has Charlotte, is pregnant, and also helps my mom.

      •My dad is focused on my mom and building the house for her.

      •My sister Katy has four kids and lives far away.

      •Rob and Tippi live far away as well as have their own kids.

       Fourthly, I’m responsible. I can be relied on and I follow directions exactly to the letter. You or Mia can write out anything you want done and know I’ll follow it out exactly as it’s written (even grocery shopping or cooking for Jack . . . I follow recipes very well). I may not have refined parenting skills yet, but I can certainly step in and follow your orders well.

       We love you and Mia, and both Davida and I are completely ready to help in any way possible.

       Best,

       David

      We didn’t take him up on his offer to move in, but we did recruit him for Jack’s team of chauffeurs.

      Dave’s email sums up the no-stone-unturned approach that the people in our lives took to our situation. They anticipated every possible need of body and soul, and they all played a role in getting us through our all-consuming ordeal. Suddenly, our lives were full of slack—things that needed to be done that Mia and I didn’t have time for—and friends, family, and veritable strangers picked up all of it. They saw every crack in our armor and rushed in to fill it, and looking back, the result reminds me of the Japanese tradition of filling cracks in pottery with gold, which produces something that’s more beautiful than it was before it cracked. Others might not have been able to tell, but even though Mia was sick, we knew our lives were more beautiful because we’d received that love. In the end, we knew that even at the darkest moments, we’d never really been alone. And never will be.

      There’s never been a lack of opportunity to have that kind of effect in the world by helping others. Least of all now. Just look around— there are needs to be filled everywhere. In schools, in soup kitchens, in homeless shelters, in disaster zones. But if you do look around, you’ll also see something else: all the people who are stepping up to pick up the slack. Yes, it can be paralyzing to think about the level of need out there, but if we do what we can, that will be enough. No expression of love is wasted, and even the smallest gestures tend to go much further than we think they will.

      Remember how far Jon’s gift of junk food went. It didn’t cost him much time or money to pick it up at a grocery store, but the thought he put into it—the effort to empathize—meant everything to us. When it comes to caring for others, don’t underestimate the power of the most modest investment. There’s nothing modest about the results.

       A VILLAGE TURNS OUT

      There really is strength in numbers. The concept is sort of like a patchwork quilt made by many hands. Each person provides a single patch, and when the pieces are assembled they add up to something capable of providing comfort and protection. Stephanie Welter witnessed this phenomenon when her community came together on behalf of her son, Joe, who has autism.

      When Joe gets upset, he hurts himself. He’ll slam his head against the floor, a brick wall, a door, or anything else that’s nearby. “I can’t describe how terrible it is to fear that your seven-year-old child will hurt himself and to see it happen before you can stop it,” Stephanie says. “Joe also runs away from us when we’re not looking, and my husband and I are always fearful that if we turn around to do something

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