Fly a Little Higher

by Laura Sobiech

  Zach was so focused on the summer he had regained that I knew he didn’t understand things had taken a sharp turn for the worse. And I knew it was time that he start facing that reality. He needed to start preparing to die.

  I hated what I had to do.

  “The numbers aren’t good,” I started out slowly as I turned the last page over.

  “Yeah. Well, I’ll just deal with stuff as it comes,” he replied nonchalantly as he flipped through a worn copy of Car and Driver he’d already read a couple of times. His only other reading choice from the rack that hung on the wall was The Potty Book: For Boys.

  “Zach,” I lowered the collection of packets to my lap, “this stuff won’t get rid of the cancer. It will only delay it from coming back for a while. If we’re lucky.” I looked him square in the eye to hold his attention. “Honey, you’re not invincible.”

  He finally set the magazine down and looked at me. I held his gaze and watched as the understanding played out in his big green eyes. He was silent for a moment, then sighed.

  “Okay. Well, it sucks that I just spent two months being sick for nothing. But I’m glad I don’t have to waste any more time in the hospital.” He was doing it the best way he knew how. He confronted the future, then left it there and came back to the present where he had a life to live and enjoy. I really loved that about him. As his mom, it made me proud. As a human, it inspired me.

  Twelve

  ZACH HAD HIS SUMMER BACK. IT WAS LATE JULY, HE WAS FEELING great, he wasn’t in the hospital all the time, and he was living as carefree as he possibly could. The new outpatient treatments, which he started several days after we’d found out the previous chemo wasn’t working, were a dream in comparison to the excruciatingly long hospital stays from earlier in the summer. His friend Mitch often came with us to help the time go a little faster.

  The first time Mitch accompanied us to the clinic, he and Zach wore Forever Lazy adult “onesies”—huge, blue, fleece suits that made them look like Teletubbies. We received more than a few strange looks. Mitch proceeded to grill the doctor about his knowledge of cancer and the various biological failures that happen when a cancer forms. A very serious conversation ensued between the man in the lab coat and the teenage boy in a onesie. Zach looked on with a huge grin on his face.

  For Zach’s second infusion, Zach and Mitch filled rubber gloves with water and drew faces on them to create a family of water glove people. (One exploded all over me on the way home.) I put a stop to things when Mitch pulled a syringe and tourniquet from a drawer and threatened to give one of the water glove people an IV.

  For the third infusion, they brought their instruments: guitar and cello. A little three-year-old boy, whose six-year-old brother was receiving an infusion in the next room, stood in our doorway, mesmerized as he watched them play.

  Another day they got jars of bubbles out of the toy cabinet. They walked down the hallway, Zach pulling his IV pole behind him, and blew bubbles into each room as they passed. When they got back to our room, they were both excited to tell me that after several attempts, they had gotten a teenage girl to smile at them. She had been lying on an exam table, looking very ill. To them, her smile was a victory over cancer.

  August 2011

  IT WAS THE WEEK I HAD DREADED FOR A COUPLE OF MONTHS. WORLD Youth Day in Madrid was all over the news, a constant reminder of what Zach was missing out on. Pictures popped up on Facebook every day as his youth group traveled through Rome, Italy, and then Madrid with a little “Flat Zach”—a picture of Zach they brought out for group photos to assure him he was with them in spirit if not in person.

  The last day of the event, I overheard Mitch and Zach talking. They were having a lazy day hanging out downstairs. Neither one of them had the energy to motivate the other to go out and do something.

  “So, who do you think was the first person to be on this land where your house is right now?” Mitch asked.

  “I don’t know,” Zach said, pausing for a moment. “Probably a Native American. It’s close to the river, so I’m guessing they hung out in this area.”

  They both got quiet for a while as they let their minds travel to other places and other times. It was the kind of thing they did often.

  “We should just go,” Zach blurted out.

  “Where?”

  “Rome. We should just plan a trip to Rome ourselves. Think about all the people who walked around that city for thousands of years. All that history. It would be so cool to walk the same streets as those people.”

  “We should plan it,” said Mitch. He pulled Zach’s computer off the coffee table and sat down on the floor. “Where should we start?”

  “Well, Rome, obviously. I’d like to see Paris too.”

  They spent a lot of time this way, fantasizing about the what-ifs of life. But this time the tone of the conversation sounded as though they thought they could make it happen. An hour later, when they plopped down on the stools at the kitchen counter, I had a pretty good idea of what was coming.

  “Mitch and I want to travel around Europe,” Zach started right in. He knew I was just as devastated by the lost opportunity to travel with his youth group to Madrid, and he played on it.

  “And where do you think you will get the funding for the trip?” We hadn’t been financially devastated by the two years we’d spent battling cancer, but we didn’t have the disposable income we had before Zach got sick. I looked out the window above the sink where I stood and washed dishes from the night before. A bee lumbered from one blossom to the next on the shrub outside.

  “We’ll figure out a way,” he replied, then turned to Mitch. “Let’s go figure out a way to make some money.” And the two of them made their way back downstairs.

  I wanted them to go to Europe. And I wanted to take them. In fact, a few days earlier a strange thought had popped into my head that we should take Zach to Lourdes, a place in the south of France where Jesus’ mother, Mary, appeared to a teenage girl named Bernadette in the 1800s. I don’t know where the thought had come from. It wasn’t the sort of thing I was usually interested in, traveling across the world to visit a shrine in search of a miracle. I figured God had His reasons for allowing Zach to get cancer, and if He wanted to heal Zach, He would do it wherever Zach was. I had quickly dismissed the thought and moved on with my day. But it kept coming back.

  I began to think about how we could actually make the trip happen. Where would the money come from? We didn’t have the funds to work in a trip. If God wants us to go, He’ll send us, I thought.

  One month later while I was at a Bible study, a woman I had not met before approached me and asked, “Have you ever thought about taking Zach to Lourdes?”

  “Actually, the thought just popped in my head about a month ago,” I answered.

  “My husband and I have been following your CaringBridge site for the past two years and have been very moved by your story. We would like to send you, Rob, and Zach to Lourdes,” she said. “Would you be willing to accept?”

  I was stunned. I had prepared all sorts of answers to other questions, but not this one.

  “Okay,” was my brilliant response.

  We were going to Lourdes.

  Later that evening I told Rob about the offer. Rob was not one who liked to receive help from others, but this was Zach we were talking about, and even though it was hard to accept the help of another family, he would do it.

  A week later I met my lifelong friend Lisa on a warm, sunny afternoon on the patio of a restaurant that sits on the bank of the St. Croix River. We hadn’t been together in a while, and she wanted to see how I was holding up.

  “I was thinking,” Lisa said. “I have really wanted to do something to help you guys for a while.” She lifted her glass to her lips and took a sip of her mojito. “I know that you have people bringing meals, and I know you keep saying you guys don’t need financial help, but I think it would be really fun to throw a big party. A benefit that could raise a little money for Zach to d
o some things he’s always wanted to do.”

  I took a long draw from my own drink. Rob would have a hard time with it, especially right after accepting the trip to Lourdes. We had resisted offers to have a benefit in the past because we hadn’t really needed the help. But now that we had been fighting the disease for two years and I had quit my CPR job and had taken periodic leaves of absence from my dental office job, the extra money would ease some of the financial stress . . . and a party could be fun. Since it looked like that “we kicked cancer’s butt” party wasn’t going to happen, this could take its place.

  “Let me talk to Rob about it. But I am open to the idea,” I said, setting my glass on the table between us.

  I wasn’t sure how to present the idea to Rob. We hadn’t talked much the past several months, two proverbial ships passing in the night. With the exception of the Lourdes trip offer, I’d gotten into the habit of keeping things to myself, and I’d taken Rob’s silence as confirmation that he wanted it that way. But he needed to be part of this decision.

  “It might allow us to take the whole family to Europe, and maybe even Mitch.” I laid out my way of thinking to him. “And we could use some of the money to give to other families who we know are in need as well.”

  “Yeah,” Rob said after a few seconds of thought. “I think it sounds like a good idea. If it will allow Zach to do some things that he wants to do, I’m all for it.”

  Lisa was elated, and the benefit planning began. I was apprehensive but excited. People had been so generous to us over the past couple of years, and it would be so wonderful to have them all together in one place. And I knew Zach would love the idea of throwing a huge party. He loved a good celebration.

  November 5, 2011

  OVER SIX HUNDRED PEOPLE FLOODED THE HALL. THE ROOM WAS full of high school girls in party dresses with full hair and makeup that must have taken hours. High school boys walked through the room with plates heaped with pasta and salad and squeezed in together at tables to carb load before heading out to the dance floor. Lanky middle school boys dressed in their best dress pants and colorful shirts with snazzy ties hung in packs out on the patio until they gained enough courage to join the much older-looking girls who stood in a circle in the corner.

  Families from our church, coworkers, fellow firefighters, family, and friends filled the room, having come from all over the Twin Cities to join us in the celebration. As I stood by the door and greeted them, I was overwhelmed and humbled by the outpouring of love.

  “We are so grateful to finally have a way to support Zach and your family,” I heard over and over again. The room was buzzing with excitement and a spirit of joy as it filled with people who were genuinely happy to be there.

  I saw Zach flitting around the room greeting people, a huge smile on his face as he doled out one hug after another. Grace had found her pack of friends, all decked out in their finest dresses and shoes with heels so high I was certain they’d had to beg their mothers to wear them outside of the house. Alli and Sam hung out with their cousins who’d come up from Indiana for the occasion. They all sat at a table together, laughing and catching up with one another, and Rob sat at a table talking with a group of coworkers.

  When the band started, a couple of the high school boys jumped up from the tables and formed conga lines that snaked their way through the hall, inspiring the little ones to fall in line. The dance floor filled, young and old rubbing shoulders it was so packed. There were lines of enthusiastic bidders walking the tables of silent auction items that had been donated from people and companies from our community. The place was buzzing with conversation and laughter. Then the room went silent as Zach, Mitch, and Zach’s lifelong friend Sammy Brown, who was the daughter of my best friend, Anne, were introduced and took their places onstage.

  Zach and Sammy loved music. Sammy had been singing for several years, and Zach had become a skilled guitarist. They found their styles complemented each other, and they enjoyed collaborating in their love of music.

  The crowd on the dance floor came to a halt, and those on the periphery of the room pulled in to listen. I stood toward the back of the room and proudly watched as Zach stepped up to the microphone.

  “Before Sammy, Mitch, and I play a couple of songs for you, I just want to thank you all for coming out tonight and supporting me and my family,” Zach addressed the crowd. “Your support means the world to me.”

  Sammy stepped up to the mic as Zach slung his guitar strap over his shoulder. When he was ready, he glanced back at Mitch, who was seated with his cello, and then looked up at Sammy and gave a little nod. She gave him a wink, and Zach began to play. They sang Jeremy Messersmith’s “A Girl, a Boy, and a Graveyard” (ironically a favorite of hers and Zach’s), as well as the Beatles’ “Blackbird.” It was only the third time I had seen Zach play for a big audience; the others were high school affairs for an audience a fraction of the size. All that time spent in our basement practicing over and over again paid off; they sounded amazing. The smiles on their faces showed a sort of comfort they had with one another. They trusted one another. After the songs, Sammy turned to Zach and gave him a fist bump. She turned to Mitch and gave him a high five. The crowd was alive again, people jumping and clapping, whistling and cheering. It was an explosion of love.

  I felt a hand rest on my shoulder and I turned, hoping it was Rob. I wanted to be with him at this moment, soaking in the spirit of the room.

  “You must be so proud of Zach.” It was Lisa. She’d been standing in the back near me taking in the show. She’d spent practically every waking moment of the last several weeks (along with the help of several other wonderful women) putting this beautiful night together.

  “I am,” I said, a little disappointed it wasn’t Rob but incredibly grateful for this woman who had managed to throw the party of the year for my family. “He has a lot of people who love him,” I said, motioning to the crowded room. An iPod had been plugged in, and thirty preteens had taken over the stage dancing to Maroon 5’s “Moves Like Jagger.” The dance floor was overrun with teenagers and their mothers, all of them pulling out their best moves. I spotted Rob standing with a group of friends across the room.

  The night was a giant success. Our family had been loved and supported by all these people over the past couple of years, and having so many of them in the same room was overwhelming. It was a night of pure blessing. There was only one thing about the whole night that wasn’t perfect. I was worried my marriage was falling apart.

  Thirteen

  I SOMETIMES LOOK BACK AND WONDER HOW ROB AND I DID IT. HOW did we manage to go through our all-out war with cancer and come out together? There were so many different battlefields on the cancer front, some trickier than others. Marriage was one of them, and cancer almost left us in ruins.

  I started seeing the signs two years after Zach was diagnosed, but I ignored them. It was August 2011 and Zach had already had two recurrences of cancer in his lungs that required four thoracotomies on top of months of chemotherapy and a hip replacement. Zach had been through so much, but it hadn’t been enough. We’d just found out that the most recent chemotherapy he’d spent half the summer enduring hadn’t worked, the cancer was still growing, and we were running out of options.

  Our family was participating in our local American Cancer Society Relay for Life fund-raiser, held overnight at the high school. It was Zach’s first year participating; the previous year he had been in the hospital recovering from his first thoracotomy. He was thrilled to be there and was having a fantastic time with his closest friends and about thirty other kids who had joined the team. They had set up a little commune of tents earlier in the day and planned to take turns walking the track throughout the night. Between shifts they tossed a football around and played Frisbee, some dressed in ridiculous costumes for various theme hours. They were all having a great time enjoying life, enjoying one another, and enjoying being sixteen.

  As Rob and I walked the track, we stopped occasionally t
o look at the different decorated paper-bag luminaries that had been set up on either side. Each bag had been dedicated to someone who was fighting cancer or in memory of someone who had died from the disease. It was overwhelming to see all those faces of people from our community who were affected by the disease. But even more impressive were the numbers of people who were there either walking or running the event. I was especially moved to see all the bags dedicated to Zach. There were whole stretches of the track with bags decorated with Zach’s name and picture. I was beginning to see how many people truly cared for Zach beyond our family and friends. It was a profound and humbling thing to take in.

  The sun was setting and a pink glow cast on the field. The smell of freshly cut grass hung in the warm and humid air. I looked up from the luminaries just as Zach ran across the field, arm stretched out to catch a Frisbee. His pronounced limp from the hip replacement more exaggerated as he ran—his left leg would swing out and his upper body would bob back and forth. But it didn’t hinder him at all. He was just another carefree kid having a great time. The huge, signature smile spread wide across his face and the sparkle in his eyes could be seen from where I stood several feet away.

  And he was running. Running!

  I hadn’t seen him run for over two years and hadn’t dared to let myself hope to see him do it again. It was another one of the things we had lost that I’d closed up tight behind the door of the closet tucked in the back of my mind where things to be mourned were put to be visited at some later time.

  Complete joy filled me to bursting as I stopped dead in my tracks and soaked it in. I filled my lungs with the sweet evening summer air and watched with a smile on my face as this boy, who eighteen months earlier could barely walk without crutches, ran across the football field! He was happy and full of life. Tall and tanned from the summer sun, he looked so healthy. So miraculously normal.