“Cheers!” he exclaimed.
“Mitchell! Where did you get that?” I scolded.
“I just walked down to the grocery store. They have boxes and boxes of the stuff! And it was only two euro,” he replied happily.
I never saw Zach’s face, but I heard him echo, “Cheers!”
I sat back in my chair on the patio, lifted my glass, and shrugged; Sam was eighteen, and Mitch and Zach were sixteen, old enough to drink in Italy. “When in Rome . . . why not?” There was no assurance Zach would have the opportunity to enjoy a glass of wine on a balcony in the heart of Rome as an adult. Parenting a teenager with a deadly disease is fraught with decisions about the usual boundaries. Within the context of limited time, sometimes experience trumps protocol.
While in Rome, we visited all the usual sites: the Colosseum, the Vatican, and the catacombs, but one unusual stop we decided to make was to the Capuchin Crypt. It is a six-room crypt that was decorated with the bones of Capuchin monks that had been moved from Jerusalem to Rome in the 1600s. We were reminded by the ticket taker as we entered the crypt that this was a holy place and there was to be silence as we walked through.
The bones lined the walls in peculiar and intricate patterns, each room with its own theme. One room was decorated with skulls, another with pelvises, yet another with leg and thigh bones. One room had various bones arranged around a picture of Jesus as He commanded Lazarus to come out of the tomb. This room was known as the Crypt of the Resurrection. A sign on the wall read “What you are now we used to be, what we are now you will be.”
For some reason, I hadn’t considered what effect entering the crypt would have on Zach. For a second I had a flash of worry that the experience would be too morbid. I was wrong. Zach reacted to the experience the same way we all did, with fascination mingled with horror and more than a little humor. Still, I stayed close to him as we walked down the hallway and gazed into each room. There were a couple of times he nudged me to point out a chandelier made of pelvises or a delicate ceiling design made from vertebrae.
“So, that was creepy,” Zach exclaimed as he exited the crypt, the bright light of day hitting his face.
“Yeah. Strange way to decorate,” Sam replied. “I wonder how they got started. I can just see these monks moving all those bones up from Jerusalem and pulling into Rome. ‘So, what do you think we should do with the pelvises?’ And the head friar points to a room and says, ‘Why don’t you start decorating that room over there? It could use a little brightening up.’ ”
We all laughed. “Did you see all that dust?” Mitch asked. “Think about it. We were breathing that in. We were breathing in dead human dust.”
“Yeah. I guess I’d rather think about the dead in a spiritual sense rather than have them laid out and in my face like that. That was just weird,” Zach responded.
“Okay.” My sister Lee clapped her hands together to rally the troops. “That’s out of the way. Now let’s get back to the land of the living and have some fun!”
We thanked the dried and dusty bones for their morbid reminder. But for now, we would shake the dust off our shoes and leave the dead where they lay. Our time hadn’t come yet, so we would fill it with the wonder of life that awaited us.
AFTER LEAVING ROME, WE SPENT TWO DAYS NESTLED IN THE Pyrenees Mountains and the town of Lourdes. The shrine was open year-round, but the official season, when all the daily Masses and processions took place, wouldn’t begin until the first week of April, two weeks after our visit. So as we stepped off the train onto the platform, I felt as though we had stepped from a chaotic and busy street into the tranquility of a beautiful church. Or . . . a ghost town.
“It feels like we should expect zombies to come around the corner at any moment,” I joked as we walked around the town the first evening, but I couldn’t deny how cool it was to have the whole town practically to ourselves. It was perfect.
The summit and main purpose of our visit to Lourdes was to dip into the healing waters at the baths. They were fed by a spring that had been miraculously revealed to Saint Bernadette in a vision. Mary, the mother of Jesus, appeared in a vision to Bernadette several times in 1858. In one of the visions, Mary directed her to dig, with her bare hands, at a place where Mary indicated. Bernadette obeyed, and as she dug in the mud amidst the mockery of her fellow villagers, water bubbled up from the ground. Since that time, people from all over the world have come for various reasons to wash in the healing waters of Lourdes. The miracles associated with the spot are too numerous to count.
The day we visited was a gorgeous, unseasonably warm day. The sky was clear and the air was crisp, but the sun was strong and warmed us as we walked from our hotel to the Grotto. Before we made the trek down the steep road to the Gave de Pau River, we stopped at a bakery that had the most decadent pastries I’d ever seen and bought some, along with coffee. We walked a short distance along the narrow river until we reached a bridge that would take us to the Sanctuary of our Lady of Lourdes and the Grotto.
Mitch and I walked leisurely behind the rest and stopped for a moment to lean against the rail and watch the river roll by.
“I love this place,” Mitch said.
“Why? What is it that you love?” I asked.
“It’s so peaceful,” he said as he rested his chin on his hand. “I just love the sound of the water, and the air is so fresh and clean. It’s perfect.”
Mitch was a restless soul who had questions and wasn’t afraid to seek answers. He wasn’t interested in organized religion, and he was ambivalent when it came to matters of faith. But there was something about this little town nestled in the mountains, with a river that flowed through it, that soothed him.
“Yeah. It is a beautiful place,” I agreed. “It feels like a place to heal.”
We lingered for a moment more, then continued on to catch up with the group.
Outside the baths were two locker rooms, one for men and another for women. A nun gave each of us a cape to drape over our shoulders and a large blanket to wrap around our bodies for modesty. There were several helpers at each bath to aid and direct, and there were signs posted in several languages that explained how to prayerfully prepare for the experience.
This was the primary reason we had traveled thousands of miles, so I really wanted to savor the moment. I spent the time waiting in line remembering those at home for whom I’d promised to pray. And I prepared my own heart to ask fervently for my own request. The one I’d been so afraid to ask for so many years.
I wanted Zach to be healed.
I was next in line. The moment I had planned for, waited for, and prayed for was here. I entered the anteroom and read the sign posted on the wall. It advised each person to take a moment on the first step down into the water to prayerfully offer up all the deepest desires of their hearts. I had decided I would take my time and really pour my heart out to God. I stepped through the curtain and into the bath room—a small room not much bigger than a walk-in closet with stone steps that led down into a deep, square tub and sparkling clear water. A nun took the cape from my shoulders and instructed me to make the sign of the cross. Another attendant held out her hand to guide me down the step and into the water.
I imagined this moment would be like stepping into heaven as the soothing water enveloped me in God’s grace. I couldn’t wait. I took a deep breath as my foot submerged into the water, and all I could think was . . .
It’s.
So.
COLD!
The water took my breath away and turned my feet into blocks of ice. Two women grabbed my arms and dipped me backward, up to my ears, and then immediately stood me up. It was all they could do to unwrap the wet blanket from around me and get the cape back on before I was sprinting out of the water!
One by one, we all met in the warmth of the sun, mysteriously relaxed and dry. We each had our own embarrassing story to tell. Jon had been offered a jug of water before he entered the bath. Because of the language barrier, he wasn’t certain
what he should do with the jug, so he took a swig of water. Only after a more seasoned man stepped in did he realize the water was for washing faces, not for drinking.
There had been a little confusion in the women’s baths as well. As each of us removed our bras and hung them on a hook, a helper (mine was a portly French matron) grabbed them off the hook and shoved them back in our hands, then hid our hands—bras and all—under the folds of our capes. What were we supposed to do? Take them in the baths with us? It turned out, the bras were taken along with the cape by an aid before we each entered the water, and “re-braing” was a part of their service. It was all a bit stressful but made for great storytelling.
Despite all the comical errors, we shared one thing: we were all left feeling more relaxed and tranquil than when we entered. Afterward, I walked with Zach back toward the Grotto.
“How was it?” I asked.
He’d already told his own step-by-step story of his dip into the water, but I wanted to know if he felt anything beyond the cold, beyond the physical. There had to be a reason we’d come all this way. His knowing glance told me he understood what I really wanted to know, and he took a moment to reflect.
“Peaceful.”
I closed my eyes and turned my face to the sun, then took a deep breath of the clean, fresh air.
“Good,” I replied. “Peace in the storm.”
I cupped his face with my hands and pulled it down to kiss his forehead. Whatever God chose to give us, peace was the real miracle.
As Zach and I watched the sunlight glinting off the water, Mitch joined us on the bridge. “We should do that more often,” he said. I couldn’t agree more.
WE LEFT THE SERENITY OF LOURDES AND HOPPED A TRAIN TO PARIS. After six hours, we rolled into the Montparnasse train station in the heart of the city.
We spent a few days walking the city. On the third day, as we crossed the Pont Alexander III Bridge, Zach and I took a moment to admire the bronze statues of lively cherubs and nymphs lining the bridge.
“Well, is the trip everything you hoped for?” I asked Zach. I hadn’t seen him much over the past few days. We had allowed the boys to have some freedom and go off by themselves. It was important they make the experience their own.
“Yeah, it’s been a perfect trip. I loved Rome. It was so cool to see how the past intersects with the present,” he started in. “And Lourdes was so amazing. I didn’t really know what to expect, but it was just so peaceful. I thought the baths were the best part. It was so weird how I just felt like my whole being was clean and refreshed afterward. If I lived there, I would go in the baths every day.” He lifted his gaze from the water and panned the city. “The culture in Paris is so different,” he said. “It makes me want to be more refined.” He straightened the collar of his plaid flannel shirt and ran his hands over his sleeves as if to remove the wrinkles, a look of mock sophistication on his face. Then his expression became thoughtful as he turned his gaze to the city. “I got everything I came for, and I’m ready to go home.”
I regarded him for a moment as he looked at the water that churned below us. I was grateful to have this chance to see a little piece of the world through his eyes.
We continued across the bridge, then headed down the Champs Elysees toward the Louvre on our way to Notre Dame Cathedral. Stephanie joined me and we fell back, leisurely walking as we enjoyed the sites and conversation. Zach, Mitch, Sam, and Grace marched on, determined to get past the Louvre (they’d had enough of museums) and back to our hotel. I looked up to catch a glimpse of them; even though they’d surged far ahead of us, they were easy to spot. But something wasn’t right.
Zach’s usual hobble was suddenly more pronounced. He glanced over his shoulder at me. His eyes held a familiar shadow of pain.
My heart sank.
Fifteen
WE RETURNED FROM EUROPE RENEWED. THE EXPERIENCE HAD satisfied Zach’s restlessness and had allowed me the peace and satisfaction that comes with knowing I’d provided what my child needed. I also came back with a new sense of hope. Our visit to Lourdes had been a taste of heaven in our hectic and frantic battle against cancer. It left me knowing that no matter what was ahead, God would be there too.
Alli returned as well and had exciting news. During an evening walk along the deck of the ship, Collin had gotten down on one knee and pulled out a ring. Alli was elated! She was getting to marry her best friend. They set the date for May 31, 2013, a little over a year away, and she was excited to start planning the wedding. I wondered how I would manage giving her the attention she deserved while being at the ready for whatever cancer threw our way.
I called Zach’s orthopedic surgeon the day after we got home and told him about the pain Zach experienced toward the end of the trip. He thought it was likely caused by all the walking Zach had done and encouraged him to rest for a few days. The pain eased, and by April Zach was feeling pretty good.
Spring had made an early appearance. The buds on the trees came almost a month early; winter already seemed far away one evening in mid-April, about a month after we returned from Europe. Zach was playing Ultimate Frisbee with a group of friends at a park across from his friend’s house a few miles from home. He reached to grab the Frisbee out of the air when he slipped on the wet grass, fell on his left side, and heard a loud pop. By the time Rob and I got to the park, he was in extreme pain so we took him to the nearest emergency room to have his hip X-rayed. The X-ray showed the prosthetic was in place and the joint looked good. The ER doc sent us home but told us to follow up with the orthopedic surgeon.
The pain persisted so I scheduled an appointment with the surgeon the following day.
“It could be that the cup needs to be replaced, though we don’t usually have to do that for at least five years,” the surgeon said after looking at the X-ray. Zach had the head, neck, and about six inches of his femur replaced, but not the cup that the head fits into. “It’s hard to know what is going on without proper imaging; an MRI would be difficult to read given the distortion to the image the hip prosthesis will likely cause. At this point, I would recommend a lidocaine and steroid injection to help ease the pain, then see what happens.”
Zach was looking forward to a weekend spent with friends. His birthday was coming up, and given his newfound interest in Frisbee, I’d ordered a set of Ultimate Frisbees he mentioned he wanted. Now I wondered if he would have to wait until next summer to get the chance to use them.
We scheduled an appointment for the injection to help with the pain, but on the recommendation of the doctor we had seen in Houston earlier in the year, Rob insisted that we also do a PET scan of Zach’s hip and pelvis. PET scans offer a more definitive picture of what is occurring on a cellular level than an MRI, and given that the MRI would be almost useless anyhow, Rob thought it best to try something new. He had a gut feeling something more was going on.
“How are you doing?” I asked Zach as we headed home from the meeting with the orthopedic surgeon.
“I’m okay. The pain stinks, but whatever I need to do I’ll do. I just want to get on with life and have a fun summer,” he said in a nonchalant, almost distant way. I’d noticed he’d seemed preoccupied lately, and I wondered what was going on. He wasn’t down, just distant.
Eventually, the last weekend of May—a couple of days before Zach was scheduled for his regular three-month CT scan of his lungs and the PET scan—I found out where his mind had been. Zach had confided in Sammy that he was interested in a girl named Amy and asked her to find out if the feeling was mutual. Whatever was going on with his hip, Zach had decided romance wasn’t taking a backseat.
ZACH HAD ALWAYS BEEN A BIT OF A FLIRT.
He would tease and charm everyone he met with his wide, toothy grin and mischievous looks. He’d had a few girlfriends throughout his high school years. All of them started as friends, and somehow they all remained friends. I was never sure how things transpired. He didn’t tell me much. I suspect each relationship simply ran its course and, in th
e end, the decision was made that they made better friends than a couple. There never seemed to be any real heartbreak on Zach’s part, and based on the fact that the girls all stayed in his life, I assumed the same was true for them.
Zach hung out with a core group of about ten friends. Amy was close with some of the same kids who traveled in his circle. She ate at the same lunch table as Zach, and they had a few classes together. But they hadn’t spent much time together outside of school.
Amy had attended the benefit thrown for Zach and our family the previous fall. Though she didn’t know Zach very well at that time, she came with a few of their mutual friends to support him and celebrate all he’d overcome. As she was dancing on the packed dance floor, she began to feel a little sick and had a sharp pain on her right side. In fact, she barely made it home she was so ill.
Early the next morning she ended up in the ER having her appendix removed. Zach was worried about her and wanted to cheer her up. And he didn’t mind being on the other side of a hospital visit for a change. Since Amy had already been released from the hospital, he and Mitch, along with a few other friends, visited her at home. They all dressed in big blue Forever Lazy adult onesie suits and danced around the living room until they made her laugh. It was the start of Zach and Amy’s friendship.
In the weeks before we left for Europe, during the spring of their junior year, Zach, in his teenage boy way, began to show signs of his interest in her by showering her with his affectionate and incessant teasing.
But as with so many things in Zach’s life, the two realities of being a teenage boy and being a teenage boy with cancer would somehow have to intertwine.
Sammy, ever the loyal friend, told Amy of Zach’s affection and interest. Amy had picked up on the heightened teasing over the past several weeks and figured Zach had taken an interest. She liked him and how she felt around him, but she had a hard decision to make. Should she enter into a relationship with a boy who had been through so much? Or would it be better for her to step away and protect herself from possible heartbreak? It would not be until much later that she and her mother, Mary, would tell me their stories of the remarkable beginning of her relationship with Zach.
Fly a Little Higher Page 11