As I slid the key into the ignition, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw Madison smiling at me. “Thanks, Poppa,” she said. “It was the best day ever!”
My heart melted away the sharp pains in my torso. “My pleasure, sweetheart. Now let’s go home and add a few pieces to that puzzle.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
For a few weeks after, we stayed close to home and did just that. I doubled up on the massages, practiced more deep breathing, and when I wasn’t drooling from a medication-induced coma, we worked hard on the puzzle. There was great comfort in the familiarity of home and family. I told the kids, “When I was not much older than you, I remember some of the puzzles had a different picture on each side, so we had to figure out which side of the piece went to the puzzle we were working on. When we got one side done, we’d tear it apart and work the other side. That’s what got me hooked on jigsaw puzzles.”
I couldn’t have been more pleased. The closer the kids and I got to finishing, the more we could see the big picture. We’d gotten so much accomplished that we were almost done. It was sadly amazing how fast the time had flown by. It scared me beyond explanation.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I still had some good days, but when they were bad, they were really bad. In fact, for our first wedding anniversary, I couldn’t get out of bed. Believe me, I tried, but it was no use. I was in too much pain and beyond exhausted. “I’m so sorry,” I told Bella. “I was hoping to take you dancing.”
“Will you stop,” she said and fed me vanilla pudding so that the medicine wouldn’t completely eat away whatever remained of my stomach lining. “We’re together and that’s all that matters to me,” she added. “There’ll be time to dance.”
“You better believe it,” I promised.
Chapter 16
Something came over me – an unexpected surge of will power – and I suddenly felt compelled to volunteer some of the time I had left with people who were even worse off than me. By giving something back and lending a helping hand, I knew I would enrich my life and maybe even make a difference in someone else’s. Although I’d never needed her permission for anything, this was different. There were so few moments left. I asked Bella what she thought.
“I think it’s a terrible idea,” she said, her smile threatening to crack her face in half.
“Good,” I said. “I thought you would.”
I researched the Make a Wish Foundation and was humbled by their incredible mission. Since 1980 – after a little boy realized his heartfelt wish to become a police officer – the foundation had enriched the lives of thousands of children who suffered from life-threatening medical conditions. Through its wish-granting work, it offered miraculous experiences to children and their families, eventually blossoming into a worldwide phenomenon. A network of more than twenty-five thousand volunteers – serving as wish granters, fundraisers, and special event assistants – enabled the foundation to serve children with terminal illnesses.
I was most interested in participating in the wish experience. Thanks to hardworking volunteers helping to “share the power of a wish,” more than one hundred twenty-seven thousand children had experienced moments of hope, strength and joy.
There were four types of wishes: wishes to go somewhere, to meet someone, to be someone or to have something.
Some had gone to Top Gun School, Disney World and the Super Bowl, while others had even gone swimming with dolphins. I got choked up when I read that one of the children spent her wish on a shopping spree for homeless children. Another seven-year-old little boy lived in a neighborhood where most kids couldn’t afford ice cream. His dream was spent dressed as the ice cream man, driving around, ringing a bell and handing out free cones.
There were children who’d requested and met movie stars, famous musicians and professional athletes. There were others – if only for a few precious moments – who became princesses, pro wrestlers and commercial actors. One young boy asked to be a worker in a pickle factory. He got his wish and performed every job they had. Aspiring maternity ward nurses, lighthouse keepers and even superheroes realized their dreams.
My refrigerator list paled in comparison to the miracles this foundation had performed. I just have to get involved in this, I decided.
I placed a call and a pleasant woman on the other end named Nancy explained what it took to get involved. She said, “We should have something in two months and…”
“Time is a rare commodity right now,” I politely interrupted and briefly explained my situation.
“Then how about The Tomorrow Fund?” Nancy asked. “You could donate money to help support terminally-ill children and their families.”
I took down the information. “That’s great, but I’d like to do more than send money.”
“There’s another organization called the Chemo Angels. They send cards and gifts to those undergoing treatment for cancer. Believe me, they’re a real ray of sunshine to those who deserve to be pampered.”
“They correspond with cancer patients?”
“They sure do. In fact, many Chemo Angel volunteers are also people who have been affected by cancer in some way. Each one of them has a desire to brighten the lives of cancer patients.”
“That’s great and I plan to look into it, but I was thinking about giving my time…maybe something more up close and personal.”
Nancy thought for a minute. “How about volunteering at a children’s hospital?”
“Yes.” It was the answer I’d been looking for. “Yes, that’s it! Thank you, Nancy.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The state’s premier pediatric facility was designed in collaboration with doctors, nurses and other health care professionals, as well as parents and children. Earning worldwide recognition for its family-centered environment and expert staff, it also had the area’s only pediatric oncology program. They provided diagnosis and treatment to kids, ranging in age from newborn to eighteen years old.
Comprehensive treatment was provided for infants, children and adolescents with cancer and blood disorders. Special expertise and programs existed for children with leukemia, brain tumors, lymphoma, hemophilia and sickle cell disease.
Volunteers had to submit an application with references, provide an updated immunization record, agree to a tuberculosis test, complete an orientation to hospital policies and procedures, and commit to a minimum of four hours each week for at least four months. I wasn’t sure about the last requirement, but decided, if I don’t meet it, I’m not real worried about being sued.
It was a cold morning when I arrived for my orientation. Though I expected to be joined by others, it was just me and Carissa Kennedy, my bubbly guide. “On behalf of volunteer services, welcome,” she said, with a brilliant smile. “We appreciate the time you’re taking from your personal life. I hope you gain as much from the experience as the patients do.”
“I have no doubt.”
“Our volunteers are a talented group of people who make a huge difference in the kids’ lives and there are lots of opportunities to make that difference. You could greet visitors and patients, be a liaison for patients and families, or even assist in the emergency room. Some volunteers like to deliver flowers and mail.”
“I was hoping to do something more directly with the kids.”
“We have many volunteers who visit with patients or hold the hand of a chronically ill child. Some read to the kids and others assist those with disabilities.”
“I’ll take it,” I said.
Carissa looked at me. “Which one?” she asked.
“All of the above.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was a child-friendly atmosphere, including a life-sized playhouse. We were at the end of a corridor when I spotted a plaque on the wall. It read “Everybody can be great because anybody can serve. You don’t have to have a college degree to serve. You don’t have to make your subject and your verb agree to serve. You only need a heart full of
grace. A soul generated by love.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.
“I like that.”
“Me, too,” she said, “but my favorite quote is, ‘We cannot always return an act of kindness to the person who bestowed it, but we can pay back the debt by helping others.’”
“Nice.”
As we marched up one corridor and down the next, Carissa filled me in on my rights as a volunteer. “Just so you know, you have certain rights when you’re giving your time here.” She began counting on her fingers. “The hospital promises you a clear volunteer assignment, fulfilling work, training, informed involvement, supervision, respect, your time put to best use, safe and healthy working conditions and recognition of your service.”
“Wow, good for you. That’s a lot to remember,” I teased.
She giggled.
“Recognition?” I asked. “Are people really concerned with that when they volunteer?”
She shrugged. “Nobody that I’ve met yet.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Upon completing my week of training and orientation, I started spending time with the kids. At first, I read to two of the older ones – sixteen and seventeen, respectively – who were near their end. Both were sedated and submerged in hospital-induced comas. After each page I finished, I looked up for a reaction. There was none. Through my own ungodly suffering, I kept right on reading, hoping that on some level my presence brought them some comfort.
I went whenever I could physically make it, which wasn’t nearly as often as I would have liked. For the first time since being diagnosed with this evil and greedy disease, my will was no longer as strong as the bad cells that multiplied inside me.
It’s difficult to explain the symptoms. I’d suffered from the flu a few times in my life; times when body aches, cold sweats, fever and chills made me want to lay down right where I was and curl up into the fetal position. With cancer, this would have been a good day. Cell by dying cell, my body was shutting down.
Two weeks had passed before I was introduced to some of the younger children by the nursing staff I’d grown to care for. These honest little people asked me some of the strangest questions. “Why is your nose so big?” one small lad inquired.
“It was a gift from my father.”
“Do you like candy canes better than candy corn?”
“I’ve never met a candy I couldn’t get along with.”
“Why are you really here?”
Even though I knew the answer, this was a tough one. “To make you smile,” I said, but the truth was a bit more selfish than that. Deep down, I knew I was there to face my paralyzing fear of death and to make peace with it. It seemed reasonable enough. These children had just come from heaven and were already returning home. Who could be closer to God than that?
Each time I stepped into the hospital, I nourished my soul, all the while wondering why I hadn’t been walking through that same door for years. And each day was different.
I met a ten-year-old girl suffering from an inoperable brain tumor who wore a rainbow-colored clown’s wig given to her by one of the Shriners. “If people are going to stare, then let’s give them something to look at,” she told me.
I’d never felt so much pride in the strength of another person’s spirit.
The very next day, I passed a small boy who was crying. “Please, Mommy,” he begged, “don’t let me die.”
I felt my knees start to give and caught myself.
Nurse Pynaker came out of the room and looked at me. “He’s not ready,” she whispered.
“I guess not. I’m fifty-seven and I’m not even ready.”
“Age doesn’t matter,” she said, “The soul knows when it’s time.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was a random Thursday morning when I stepped into a little girl’s radiant smile. She was sitting at the end of the day room, playing with a doll. When she saw me, her big blue eyes lit up. I could feel my heart melt. The shading on her scalp told me she’d once had dark hair. The paleness of her skin told me her life was fading too. I approached and extended my hand. “I’m Don,” I said. “And what’s your name, beautiful?”
“Sophia,” she said and put down her doll to shake my hand. We sat for a few moments when she turned to me. “I have cancer,” she said.
“Me, too.”
“Mine is called lymphoma.”
I nodded.
“Are you scared?” she asked.
I hesitated, unsure of how I should answer; whether or not I should be honest. But she saved me by putting her hand in mine.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she promised. Her eyes were penetrating and wise beyond their years. “We’re not alone, ever…none of us.” She had a sense of her own power and shared it selflessly.
I had no choice but to believe and fall in love with my new friend, Sophia.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As knowledge is power, I conducted my usual research and discovered that Sophia was fighting a vicious monster. Lymphoma – sometimes referred to as blood cancer – was either categorized as Hodgkins or non-Hodgkins. In Sophia’s case, the cancer cells were most prominent in her marrow before spilling over into her blood where it quickly spread to the lymph nodes. Though non-Hodgkins lymphoma was the sixth most common cancer in the United States, at Sophia’s age, she’d had a one in one hundred thousand chance of getting it. And she’d hit the lottery. What luck.
After a few visits, Sophia confided in me. “The only thing that bothers me is that I’ve lost my hair,” she said, the sorrow in her voice apparent. “It used to be curly, you know.”
I nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. I’d never received chemo or radiation treatments, so my brown locks were still intact. I made my decision right then and there. I haven’t been bald since serving in Vietnam, so it might even feel good, I figured.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Just as I finished the job and unplugged the clippers, Bella and Riley stepped into the bathroom. Riley shook her head. “You really are a beautiful man, Dad,” she said, her eyes misting over.
I shook my head. “I’m not sure about that, but I do have a beautiful daughter.”
Bella stepped up, rubbed my head a few times and then kissed it.
“And a beautiful wife,” I added.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The following day, Sophia watched me walk into the day room, but didn’t say a word. I approached her and smiled. “You didn’t know it was me?” I asked.
She nodded. “I’d recognize you anywhere,” she squealed, her eyes sparkling. “But what did you do?”
I winked. “It’s only hair, right? Who needs it?”
She jumped into my arms for a hug.
“Looks like we’ll both save money on shampoo,” I told her, trying not to cry.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
While still at the mercy of my own death sentence, for some of the finest days of my life, I visited with Sophia whenever I could. Most of the time, we didn’t talk. We just held hands. Though I hoped I was helping her, I knew better. The healing power of her touch was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
I contacted my lady friend at the Make a Wish Foundation and told her Sophia’s story. I had no idea I’d called too late.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was a Wednesday evening, just past dusk, and though I didn’t realize it, Sophia and I were about to speak for the very last time.
“If you had one wish that could come true, what would it be?” she asked.
The hair on my arms stood erect. I’d just contacted Make a Wish for her and I never did believe in coincidences. I thought for a second and said, “On the day I stand before God…that He’ll smile at me,” I answered. “What if you had one wish that could come true, what would it be?” I reciprocated.
She looked into my eyes and without hesitation said, “That your wish will come true.”
I almost chuckled until I saw she was serious. We sat th
ere holding hands for a long time – or at least a long time for us.
Finally, she asked, “Do you doubt that God will smile at you?”
“I’ve done some things in my life I’m not proud of,” I admitted.
“But God forgives everything, right?”
“I guess that depends on which path you take in life.”
She shrugged. “But how can there be a wrong path…as long as you’re trying to get home to Him?”
I looked at her, but had no answer. Such wisdom for a little girl…
She yawned twice and I summoned the nurse to help her back to her room.
“Sweet dreams,” she told me, as I left for the night.
“Sweet dreams, beautiful. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said and kissed her tiny forehead. I’ll never forget the miracle in her smile.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In all my fifty-seven years, Sophia’s funeral was the cruelest experience I’d ever endured – and from the pain in Bella’s eyes, she clearly felt the same.
Chapter 17
For obvious reasons, Bella and I began attending church on a weekly basis again. Although the services were very grand, I had the real sense – an intuitive knowing, maybe – that God was not only present at the altar or within the pews. Like the air we breathe, God dwelled within me, outside of me, all around me. I found God’s love in nature, my grandchildren’s laughter, and the sound of crashing waves near Flo’s Clam Shack. God is the sum of ALL things and there is nowhere and in nothing that His love cannot be found, I decided.
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