Now the media blitz would end, and we would fall back into our routine. I smiled as I nuzzled into my pillow. It would be nice to have a week of normal life ahead. I drifted off to sleep, completely oblivious that people across the globe were about to hear the story about a kid named Zach Sobiech and how he wrote a song to say good-bye, and that our lives would never be the same again.
THE NEXT MORNING ZACH AND THE REST OF THE KIDS HEADED TO school, and Rob and I went to work.
“So, that was amazing,” my coworker Traci said as I walked into the office. The ladies in the office, five besides me, had listened to the radiothon and heard “Clouds” played several times over the course of the two-day event. “Your live interview was great! And I think we all cried a little when we heard the recorded interview.”
The office ladies had been through it all with me. They’d been there when Zach was diagnosed and for each recurrence and surgery after that. And they were privy to all the latest news and excitement of what we were doing with CCRF and what was happening with Zach’s song. They were nice cheerleaders to have in my corner.
I sat down at my desk, turned on my computer, and pulled out the stack of claims I needed to work on. Zach’s party was coming up in a week, and there was still a lot that needed to be done, so I checked my e-mail during my lunch break to see if I needed to follow up on anything urgent. As the e-mails began to load onto the screen, I froze. What was happening? Fifty. One hundred. Two hundred. Where were all these e-mails coming from? They just kept coming!
I began to scan the subject lines; most of them said things like “Zach’s song,” and “Thank you,” or “Alternative Treatment,” but there were a couple that were different and gave me pause.
I opened one with a subject line that read something like “Stop chemo,” and skimmed through a rather lengthy rant that started with, “You need to wake up and stop poisoning your son.” It went downhill from there, eventually ending with an accusation of Rob and me being brainwashed by Zach’s doctors.
There were several more e-mails from people who suggested I take Zach to various clinics across the country, or out of the country altogether. Some were kind in their approaches, others, militant.
Over the years I’d developed a distaste for thoughtless recommendations for various treatments from people who were not educated on Zach’s disease or condition. In the early months of our battle, they left me questioning the decisions we’d made. Should I really spend three hundred dollars on a bottle of algae? Would it do any good? Maybe we should take him to that clinic in Houston . . . Eventually, after months of doing my own research, I was confident Zach was receiving the best treatment available for his disease. And that no spice, vegetable juice, mushroom, oil, or special diet was going to cure him.
Another e-mail looked a little suspicious. It was a long story by a man who claimed to have died and come back to life seven times. He begged me to please tell Zach that he should not “go into the light” when he died because it was a trap. That the light was really the gateway to hell, and that he would see images of his dead relatives who would beckon him to come, but it was all a trick, a way of trapping him. I was horrified and felt sick!
An audible gasp escaped my mouth, and I reached up to cover it with my hand.
“What’s wrong?” Traci asked.
“I don’t know what’s going on. I just got a bunch of e-mails, and this one is creepy. It’s making me sick.” My heart sank as I read through it again, holding my head in my hands. What if Zach or one of the other kids saw something like that? We had worked so hard to teach our kids about death and dying and how it wasn’t something to fear so much as to prepare for. We wanted them to know that when the time came, they would be at peace.
Zach was a teenager forced into a reality that most don’t have to deal with until much later in life. He didn’t have years to build his faith before he had to face death. There were times he wondered if God existed at all. In a letter he wrote to Amy he said, “I’ve been questioning if there is a heaven. Often times I’ll ‘threaten’ God, saying, ‘You better be real!’ I’m sure He’s just shaking in His boots.”
He’d had conversations with his friends about what death would be like. They asked Zach to give them signs of his presence when he was gone. He said he would do his best.
He and I had talked about death on occasion, when the moments would present themselves. I’d shared my belief that we spend our lives preparing for it, making choices between good and evil, choosing the narrow path or not, every day. And that we can either enter eternity with the same grudges and angst that we have chosen to hang on to in this life, or we can enter eternity with the peace and holiness that a lifetime of grace and following Christ’s narrow path can achieve. We choose.
And now, this person, likely mentally ill, was trying to reach Zach and plant some very strange ideas in his head. I went to the restroom and sat for a moment trying to get on top of my emotions. If this was the kind of thing that a little “celebrity” brought with it, I wanted nothing to do with it. Zach had been through enough, and he didn’t need crazy people making things murky for him. I wanted so desperately to stuff the genie back in the bottle, but I had no idea how.
When I got back to my desk, a few new e-mails had popped up. One was a request for an interview with a radio station in Seattle, Washington. They wanted to talk to us about Zach’s song and the story behind it. I looked through a few more and found that the overwhelming majority of them were from kind-hearted people who simply wanted to tell me how much they loved the video and the song. As I kept reading, I began to feel a little better. It was like anything else in the world, I supposed. Most people have hearts that are in the right place, and some people are just messed up.
As I finished my day at work, the picture had become clearer. Dan from KS95 texted me that Ian Punnett from the syndicated radio show Coast to Coast had made an appeal to his audience to visit the “Clouds” video on YouTube and had challenged them to share the video with everyone they knew in an effort to obtain a million hits by Christmas as a present for Zach.
People had also visited our CaringBridge site, which at that time had no restrictions, and my e-mail was clearly displayed. That explained the flood of e-mails from across the country. I guessed this genie wasn’t going back into its bottle. We would just have to ride it out and see where it would go.
I WAS PREPARING DINNER THAT NIGHT WHEN ZACH WALKED UP from the family room and took a seat at the counter.
“I’m getting, like, hundreds of friend requests on Facebook,” he said as he held up his phone. “And this old guy wants to know if I’ve been saved by Jesus Christ.” He handed me the phone to show me the message.
I was irritated. Really? It was just like the militant, alternative-medicine people, but with religion! Why do some people think it’s their job to swoop in without bothering to get to know a person and push their own agendas? Sure, I’m all for sharing your faith, just like I’m all for sharing a sure treatment, but build a little bit of a relationship first. I knew in my heart this man meant well, that he was simply concerned for Zach’s soul, but had he even bothered to listen to the song? Had he even read our CaringBridge site? If he had, why were his ears so closed to the message? Of course Zach knew Christ. You had to be wearing a blindfold not to see it.
“Okay. No more friending people you don’t know,” I said as I handed the phone back to him. “And you can ignore messages like this. If these people don’t know you well enough to see that your faith has gotten you this far, they have no business telling you what you need to do. You owe them nothing. If they’d bothered to really listen, they would already know your soul is just fine.”
“Okay.” He looked at me, relieved.
Was I overreacting? Maybe. But I’d seen what this poor kid had been through, and I knew if there was anyone who should be giving guidance on how to live the faith, it was Zach. He hadn’t passively waited for someone to come along and save him. He had spent years
working out his salvation, sometimes with fear and trembling, but always with hope. It was his understanding that to suffer patiently and with hope was to be a channel of grace, and to serve others in the midst of it all was a more effective example of faith than any number of words, no matter how true or profound.
Twenty-Three
December 11–14, 2012
IT WAS TUESDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 11. I HAD THE DAY OFF WORK and had planned to run some errands for the party that was on Saturday. Things were coming together, but I still needed to tie up a few loose ends. The house was in disarray, and we had out-of-town company coming on Friday, so I had a lot that needed to be done. I mentally mapped out my day as I made a cup of coffee and turned on my computer. As I was about to sit down, the phone rang. It was Kris from Children’s Cancer Research Fund.
She told me that a woman who was familiar with CCRF and their mission had heard Zach’s story during the radiothon and was so moved and impressed by Zach’s song she decided to get in touch with her brother, Adam, who was a producer at CNN.
Adam liked what he heard and was interested in spending a day with Zach and our family for a story they wanted to run on Friday, December 14. I was excited that CNN was interested in doing a story about Zach, but I was also apprehensive about agreeing to do the interview without first checking with the rest of the family. Given all that was going on with party preparation and the media attention we’d already had, along with the tension that was already running high, I told Kris I needed to talk with the rest of the family first. She agreed, but we would have to give Adam an answer that evening because he wanted to do the interview the next day.
I called Rob at work to tell him the news.
“Are you serious?” he asked in a tone of disbelief. “They want to do a story about Zach?”
“I know! Crazy, isn’t it?” I had a hard time wrapping my head around it too. “I think we need to talk with the kids about it. We need to decide as a family how to proceed.”
We all knew how precious our time with Zach was, and we needed to decide how much of it to sacrifice and for what purpose. This wasn’t all just about Zach; it involved all of us.
Later that evening, after we’d eaten dinner and were gathered around the kitchen table, we called Sam, who was at college, and put him on speakerphone. He would transfer to a college close to home at the beginning of the next semester so he could live at home and be close to Zach, but he had a couple of weeks left in North Dakota.
“CNN wants to send a crew to do a story on Zach and the song,” I explained. “We need to decide if we want to do this because once CNN picks up the story, others will likely follow. So do we move forward with this, or do we stop it now?”
Alli, who was studying journalism and was well aware of the power of media, was apprehensive. What was the point of it? Grace was more relaxed; she didn’t really care what we did as long as it didn’t intrude too much on her life. Rob and I could see the value in the publicity. When it became apparent that Zach’s story and his music had the potential to raise awareness and thereby a significant amount of money, the folks at CCRF set up a separate fund in Zach’s name called the Zach Sobiech Osteosarcoma Fund. We were thrilled that all the money Zach helped raise would go specifically for research that could one day help eradicate his disease. Rob and I figured an interview with CNN was a good opportunity to raise awareness and money. Zach was pretty quiet about the whole thing. He knew it was about more than just him, and he seemed to want guidance from the family.
Sam was the one who chimed in with a reasonable plan that pulled everyone together.
“If it’s just about Zach, then I don’t see the point. But if we use what Zach’s been through to help other people and the media attention ultimately has the point of raising money for the fund, then we should go ahead with it,” he stated with certainty.
For the first time we all had a common understanding of what we needed to do. Sam, who had been away at school and out of the tempest that had kicked up around us, could see with clarity and was able to articulate our mission in a way that made sense to all of us. This wasn’t about Zach and it wasn’t about “Clouds”; it was about using his story and music to help others. Period. God had laid the groundwork for a plan to unfold, and we were beginning to see the bigger picture. All we had to do was take one step at a time.
We all agreed that we would do the CNN interview, but any other interviews, should there be interest, would have to wait until after Christmas and New Year’s. We needed Christmas.
I called Kris and told her we would do the interview. I’d never had a television crew in the house before, so I had no idea what to plan for. Zach had interviewed with the videographer for the newspaper, but that was pretty casual. This was CNN. National news was a whole other ball game.
The next morning I called my sister Lee and my mom and asked them to come over and help me clean. We ran around the house picking up, dusting, and vacuuming. It was a mad dash of activity. As usual, Zach had papers, notebooks, instruments, and clothes lying everywhere in his room and around the couch where he would lounge. It was a disaster!
“I’ve got the garbage picked up, but where do you want all the miscellaneous stuff that’s lying around downstairs?” Lee asked.
“Just shove it into Zach’s room. Let’s focus on the living spaces and kitchen,” I said as I tossed a roll of paper towels to my mom who stood at the ready with a bottle of Windex in hand. “Can’t have the nation thinking we’re big slobs.”
The plan was that the crew would spend the afternoon following Zach around at school, then come to our home afterward and set up lights for the interviews they would do after Grace’s basketball game and before we ate dinner. It was mid-afternoon, and the house was looking good. Everything was dusted and polished, the floors were washed, the carpets vacuumed, and the windows sparkled. Zach texted me that he, Amy, and the crew were on their way to the house. As Lee and I carried out some finishing touches, rearranged the books on the coffee table, and wiped down the kitchen counter, Zach pulled into the driveway with the crew right behind him.
I watched out the front window as Ed Lavendera, a reporter and familiar face on CNN; the producer, Adam; and the cameraman hopped out of the SUV and began to unload the equipment. For some reason the garage door had been left open and that was the first place they headed. The garage was a mess! I popped out the front door.
“Hello,” I called out. “Welcome to our home, but you can’t go in the garage. It’s the only place we haven’t cleaned for you.”
The crew turned from the garage and walked up the sidewalk to the front door. Lee ran up the steps from the family room with a tissue in her hand. “Daisy pooped downstairs!”
“Are you kidding me?” I said through the smile plastered on my face. “Toss it in the garbage! Quick!”
Ed and the guys stepped into the house; Zach and Amy followed. We made introductions and chitchatted about how things had gone at school. Then I invited them to choose where they would like to set their cameras up. Ed turned to Zach.
“So, Zach. Let’s go check out your bedroom.”
Seriously! Of all the places, it had to be the room we’d just used as our dumping ground. Gah! I busted up laughing and explained what we’d used Zach’s room for and told them that, truly, the rest of the house—aside from Zach’s room and the garage—was available. Having a news crew in your home can be a humbling experience.
They decided to set the cameras up around the kitchen table and down in the family room. (Right where the dog poo had been. Thank God Lee had done a once over.) It took about an hour, then we headed to Grace’s school for the basketball game.
After the game I had a moment to talk with Adam and Ed as they loaded the camera and other equipment into the SUV. I asked them what angle they thought the story would take so I would have some idea what kinds of questions I should anticipate for our interview once we got home. They were thinking the focus would be on the relationship between Zach
and Amy and how he’d written a beautiful good-bye song for her.
I had spent a good portion of the last several days doing my best to field the fallout of hurt feelings from the perceived neglect that came after Zach dedicated his performance of “Clouds” at the school event to Amy and the video that focused on their relationship. It had come at me from all different angles, and I had to explain that it wasn’t Zach or Amy who was pushing the story. It wasn’t even the reporters who were at fault; it was simply one true part of a bigger story that needed to be told.
“No. You can’t do that. Amy is an important part of Zach’s story, but she’s a fairly new part of it,” I explained. “That song, while inspired by Amy, was really written for more than just her. If you focus on Amy, it will cause problems, and we just don’t have time to waste on hurt feelings.”
“How long have Zach and Amy been dating?” Ed asked.
“Only for the past six months. His other friends, like Sammy and Mitch, have been by Zach’s side much longer.” Ed nodded his head in agreement; he understood what I was saying. I sensed that Adam was a little resistant. I’d just thrown a bit of a wrench into the plan, but once he understood the situation and that this wasn’t some petty request, he agreed.
At home, the crew set up in the kitchen, and Ed interviewed each family member as we sat around the table. He asked questions like, “How have you handled dealing with cancer?” and “What does Zach’s song mean to you?”
I was stumped. How could we adequately wrap up in a sentence or two how we were dealing with cancer or what the song meant to us? It was like the radiothon all over again, trying to stuff a huge answer into a couple of sentences. There was so much I wanted to say about how we had to wrestle with the agony of losing Zach while still trusting that God was with us. Or how the song made me want to smile and cry all at the same time. It can be a difficult thing to explain hope.
Fly a Little Higher Page 17