The Lighthouse Children’s Party

We are a few days before Christmas. It’s raining like Halloween. It hits hard. It’s bad timing, too, because today is the holiday parade at the Lighthouse, the palliative care home for children. Everywhere else, the activity would have been postponed. At the Lighthouse, we don’t put anything off until later. Later does not exist. We are in the present moment. Living is urgent.

Dozens of red and blue flashing lights flash on Mont-Royal Avenue East. Police trucks, fire trucks, ambulances, police cars and even police officers mounted on their high horses are heading towards Le Phare.

Normally, you might think there’s a terrible disaster in town. During the holiday season, for the children of the Lighthouse, the alarm lights become Christmas lights.

Joy alarms.

David, Eliot and Marilyn watch the parade in the music room, whose large windows overlook the street. Manolo looks at him through the large glass door. Ali is outside, under a small marquee. He’s getting a little windy, but he wants to be in the front row. Ali is not staying at the Lighthouse at the moment. He has already stayed there for some time. He came back this morning on purpose to see this festive convoy, with his father Omar and his sister Yara, who always wants to be with him.

Hartlyn, in a separate room, away from the noise, listens to Antoinette, the palliative care clinical nurse, as she describes the action. Hartlyn doesn’t see. Her illness left her blind. The description fills his heart with images that amaze him.

Outside too, there are toddlers from the neighboring CPE who have come to join the party.

This annual event, which began in 2020, we owe it to Marco Cerroni, who at the time was an aspiring police officer from John Abbott College. He was touched by the cry from the heart of little Noah’s mother, launched in the newspaper. Suffering from brain cancer, his son, aged 7, spent his last Christmas at the Lighthouse. In the middle of a pandemic, Karine doesn’t know if her Noah will have the opportunity to see his entire large family for the holidays. To make this time still special, she asks people to send her lots of Christmas cards. Noah likes Christmas cards, it makes him smile.

In the photo which illustrates the article, we see Noah, in front of the decorated Lighthouse tree, in a police costume. Noah dreams of becoming a police officer. Marco Cerroni, who will soon become one, decides to make Noah’s Christmas very special. He mobilizes his future colleagues so that they parade in front of the pediatric palliative care home, in a grand display worthy of a president. The initiative has been repeated every year.

Police officers, firefighters and paramedics park their vehicles in front of the building’s large windows. Accompanied by Santa Claus and the fire department mascot, they enter the Lighthouse to deliver gifts to the young people, in the large room where Ayoub has been waiting for them for a while.

Such a delegation entering somewhere is usually noisy and a little noisy. Not here. There’s only one way to enter the Lighthouse, and that’s smooth. Everything here is sweetness. The staff, the visiting families, the environment exude inner peace. Police officers, firefighters and paramedics, with watery eyes, slowly hand over their gifts. Santa Claus doesn’t laugh with big “ho!” ho! ho! », he smiles tenderly. And when the children ask him, it’s to receive a hug. Quite simply.

The dog Dipsy walks between all these people, calmly. She’s the puppy of the house, the distributor of affection. The children feel a little better in his presence.

THE party is finished. Visitors return to their assignments. Enforce order, put out fires, save lives. This morning, their only mission was to make people dream. She is successful. The parade did them as much good as it did the little residents. Police officers, firefighters and paramedics are grateful to have had the chance to realize their childhood dream. Which Noah couldn’t do.

In his armchair, Eliot sleeps with his mouth open. The teenager saw practically nothing of the event. Too tired from a night of watching movies in his room. At the Lighthouse, everyone lives their life. We know there is nothing more important.

I speak with Lyne, the general director, with Ariane, the director of care and services, and with Gabrielle, the communications advisor. They are all inhabited by the same will. As Ariane says so well: “The end of life can be beautiful. » And everything is beautiful here. The dedication of the people who work there, the love of the parents, the strength of the children, the rooms, the relaxation rooms, the corridor of the enchanted forest. Even the food is good, that’s to say.

Le Phare offers children a full range of pediatric palliative care and services and, parents, support, respite and bereavement monitoring. In short, Le Phare offers support for life. Bereavement support extends the bond. And God knows, during the holiday season, families need it when absence is more unbearable than ever.

The last time I came to the Lighthouse, I noticed as I was leaving, behind the reception counter, a large hook attached to the top of a wall. It was explained to me that when a lamp is hung there and its light is on, it means that one of the inhabitants of the house has trouble breathing. When the lamp goes out, it means that a too short life has gone too.

There was nothing hanging on the hook this time.

Today there is a lamp out. Three days later, a child died.

Christmas is the feast of the Nativity. The celebration of children who are born, live and grow. Children are not supposed to die. The cycle of life doesn’t work like that. And yet, there are some who die. Christmas is also the celebration of children who face this fate. Thinking about them, thinking about them, gives meaning to the holiday season. We celebrate life. The life that remains. Life gone. The life that seeks a beacon to find the path to its destiny. Ours like theirs.

Sweet celebration of life to all.

For Le Phare to continue to shine, we need donations, we need money. If you ever feel like it, go here.