What heros are made of--Tripp Roth

I have my serious hat on today.  I often write about how I have always wanted to be a superhero.  Oftentimes, I feel these huge labyrinths of guilt because I have not made an arresting difference in my world.  Yet, there are others who silently usher the world to its knees for a few moments to peruse itself.  Those are superheroes to me.  One of my superheroes passed away yesterday. His name was Tripp Roth.

If you don't know who Tripp was, I encourage you to google his name, but be prepared to cry.  He was only two and a half years old and he and his family lived in a town called Ponchatoula, Louisiana.  He was born with a disease called epidermolysis bullosa, which is a disease in which any slight friction to the skin causes huge blisters.  He fought from day one.  He played a little drum, had an Elmo...and he changed the world.

His mom, Courtney, blogged his entire existence of struggles and triumphs on her blog.  In the end Tripp won and the world lost, because sometimes superheroes are made up of stuff you and I can't even possibly fathom and he has moved on to a place where superheroes go when their job here is done.  Tripp had inside of him a will and a desire to be everything he could to everyone he could around him in his short life.  He was compassion, zest, and tenderness wrapped tightly in love.

Anyone who looks close enough can see that I am nowhere near good enough to be a superhero, but when and if I become one, I can only hope to be half of the blazing torch that Tripp Roth was.  Heroes don't have to fly or run into burning buildings.  Everyday heroes treat those around them with an amazing sense of mercy, kindness and forgiveness.

And some, but not all, hold in their hand a little drumstick and beat out a little tune that will stay in our hearts forever to remind us how short and sweet and beautiful this life is and why we are here.  Thank you, Tripp, for being my hero...

Tracie