God touched me on Wednesday this week. He sent a 9-year-old boy to me when I arrived at the square memorial for the victims of the Uvalde tragedy. Dressed in my black, studded mariachi costume, I walked purposefully across the lawn, my eyes on everything but the memorial so as not to lose it. So I could stay professional. Then this boy approached, reached out his hand and handed me a small wooden cross. “God bless you,” he said to me. He wore a “Prayers for Uvalde” t-shirt. Thanking him, I pocketed the gift, took a deep breath, and finally turned to look. Finally, I allow myself to see the 21 white crosses among the flowers, toys, notes and gifts surrounding the central fountain.
This is how my experience – the most moving of my 45 years of performance – began in this sacred place of sadness.