Torch song
Boston, Massachusetts
I AM STANDING in the December cold in Boston along the route of the Olympic torch relay. My flight attendant friend, Mel, a woman in her mid-fifties, has been chosen to carry the torch for 200 yards, a torch lit in Athens, Greece bound for Salt Lake City, Utah. Delta has brought the Olympic flame from Greece to the United States onboard a 777, the flame housed in a special lantern, secured in a first class seat.
I watch the torchbearers carry the 3’ long torch, some breathing hard, some struggling to keep their arm upraised, some sweating and panting. Others run fast and confidently, everyone dressed alike in blue and white, a matching cap on their heads, that magnificent torch housing the Olympic flame held high. Mel has been battling breast cancer for 2 years. I wonder how strenuous this will be for her.
Suddenly Mel appears. She is smiling and laughing, twirling around in circles, her torch held firmly aloft. She is dancing! She is having a wonderful time carrying the Olympic torch for her portion of its long journey to Salt Lake City. The torch held above her head seems weightless in Mel’s hand. Her hair is perfect under her torchbearer’s beanie, her makeup beautiful, red lipstick defining her exuberant smile. This is her moment.
After the relay, Mel’s family hosts a luncheon for everyone at the Union Oyster House, a famous restaurant in Boston, the oldest restaurant in the United States. We all touch the torch, lift the torch, take pictures with Mel in her torchbearer’s outfit. Mel tells us she is able to buy her torch, a memento of her small part in the XIX Olympic Games.
Three years later, Mel’s daughter moves up the date for her big church wedding and gets married in the chapel at Massachusetts General Hospital. “Your mother has two weeks to live,” the doctors say, “maybe.” I see the hospital wedding photos, a big white dress, a tuxedo, a beautiful bride, a handsome groom, red roses, a priest. There are only two guests and the bride’s mother, Mel, pale, frail, small, sitting in a wheelchair, smiling tenderly at her daughter and new son-in-law.
Nine days later, Mel died.
