Fly a Little Higher

by Laura Sobiech

  The next day Zach didn’t leave his bed until the late afternoon when he was scheduled to visit a couple of church youth groups. One was a local church, St. Lucas, where his grandpa Jim belonged; and the other was our home church, Church of St. Michael, or St. Mike’s for short. He and Sammy went to both churches to talk to the kids about their experiences as a band and about their faith. The kids at St. Lucas were a bit starstruck.

  “Zach was eating it up,” Sammy told me when they got back to our house. “It was pretty funny how the little girls were swooning for him and asking for his autograph. I just stepped back and let him do his thing.” She went on to tell me how he spoke to each and every child that approached him and left that child feeling special, like he or she had been the only one in that room with him.

  “How? What would he say to them?” I asked.

  “Oh, it was nothing big or profound. Just in little ways. Like this one little boy came up to him and just blurted out, ‘I have a brother!’ He so badly wanted to connect with Zach. It was so cute. Then Zach bent down and said, ‘Really? That’s awesome! I have one too!’ ”

  The kids at St. Mike’s were a different kind of crowd. Zach and Sammy were there to talk with the ninth-grade Confirmation class about their faith and how it had gotten them through some tough times. Most of the kids had known Zach and Sammy for a number of years (Matt, Sammy’s younger brother being one of them), so they weren’t so much starstruck as they were interested. They knew Zach’s story, that he had been diagnosed with cancer when he was their age. And they knew that cancer would end his life.

  Zach got up in front of the group of about fifty kids to talk about his faith. He chose the same gospel to inspire them as he had chosen for his funeral: Matthew 25:14–30, the gospel about the talents that had been given by the master of the house to the servants before he’d left on a long trip. Each was to use his talents in a wise way that would be productive. Two of the servants had done well and increased what they had been given. One, however, had been afraid of the master and rather than use his talent and take a chance at increasing it, instead buried it.

  That gospel reading resonated with Zach. He had seen so clearly how it had played out in his own life. He had taken something that God had given him—a love of music and a story to write about—and turned it into something beautiful. It wasn’t an easy thing, but it wasn’t a terribly difficult thing either. He simply took that first step without fear. God did the rest.

  I wasn’t there that night when Zach got up in front of those kids. But I am told they listened. Perhaps it was because he had written a song they could relate to or perhaps it was his charisma. But I like to think that Zach was a vessel who allowed God to fill him up and spill over to those around him, and that his love of God and gratitude for what God had given him was what spoke to their hearts.

  He was a boy who understood that although the door to eternity was close at hand, he already lived in the kingdom of God. Through all that he suffered, he still retained a childlike wonder for the world around him. He sought joy wherever he was, whether it was onstage in front of twelve hundred people or in a hospital room all alone. He saw the good in people because he chose to look for it. To Zach, it was all very simple: use what you have to make another person happy, and joy will be returned to you.

  Thirty-Four

  THE PAIN IN ZACH’S HIP HAD INCREASED SIGNIFICANTLY. WE HAD A hard time keeping on top of the pain, and he hated the medications he was taking for it because they made him sleepy.

  “Maybe it’s time to think about a palliative care team,” Melissa, our nurse practitioner, recommended again. I thought I had been ready when we talked about it a couple of months earlier, but in the end I hadn’t been able to resign myself to it yet. “They are really good at managing pain and keeping ahead of it.”

  “You’re right. I think it’s time,” I answered, resigned. It wasn’t that the idea caught me off guard; I’d been thinking about it since we’d spoken of it. I just didn’t want to be there yet, that place in time I’d saved for another day. I know some people get angry when the doctors recommend end-of-life care. They feel somehow like it’s giving up. But I was grateful that there were people ready to help us with the transition. Zach was dying, and he was dying now. Placing him on hospice didn’t feel like giving up; it felt more like being prepared.

  “Let’s go ahead and set up an appointment,” I said. “We need help with this.”

  Alli came in the room after I got off the phone with Melissa.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. She’d picked up on parts of the conversation.

  “I set up an appointment with hospice. They will be sending a nurse out tomorrow to talk to us and Zach about how he wants the end to be.”

  She broke down and cried.

  “I just can’t believe this is all going to happen right now. The wedding and Zach dying . . . it’s all going to happen on top of each other and there’s nothing we can do about it.” She looked at me through tears. “How are we going to do this, Mom? How are we going to get through this?” She curled up on the couch and let the tears go. “I wish Collin were here. At least I could find comfort in him. It’s just so hard doing this on my own, planning a wedding and watching my brother die. I feel guilty every time I find myself excited about the wedding.”

  I waited before I spoke and let her cry it out. Months of agony poured out of her. The wedding was less than two months away, and every thought of it, every bit of excited anticipation, was matched with equal amounts of guilt. We had decided not long after the engagement that we would keep the wedding date despite what cancer had thrown our way. Years of life being tossed and turned by cancer had taught us to hold steady and trust that God would take care of us. But like Peter walking to Christ on the turbulent sea, sometimes it was hard not to look down at the waves crashing at our feet. The countdown to the wedding paralleled the countdown to Zach’s death. As time went by, it seemed the two events had fallen in step together.

  “Mom, what if Zach dies right before the wedding? Or what if he dies on my wedding day? I feel so guilty even thinking about it. I get so down when I think about having a wedding right after a funeral. I always dreamed of a wedding where I look out to see a church full of people who are so happy to be there. Zach and I have talked about the wedding a lot. I know he wants to be there and he keeps promising that he’ll make it, but I think we both know that’s not going to happen.” She pulled the pillow from under her head and hugged it. “How can any of us be happy at a wedding without Zach? All I can picture is a church full of people who are heartbroken and somber.”

  I sat silent for a few moments to collect my thoughts. I’d been through the same scenarios in my head, all the what-ifs that could happen. What if we had a funeral just days before the wedding? What if Zach was on his deathbed while the wedding was happening? Where would Rob and I choose to be? I’d played all the scenarios out over and over in my head.

  One Sunday afternoon a few weeks earlier, while Zach slept on the couch downstairs and the rest of the kids were out of the house, I lay down next to Rob on our bed. He’d just woken from a nap.

  “I’m wondering what we’ll do if Zach is in his last hours on the wedding day.” We lay on our stomachs, our faces turned to each other. “What do we choose? Being there for Alli and Collin to witness them getting married? Or being there for Zach when he dies?” The choice seemed impossible to make, but I needed a plan, and I needed Rob’s wisdom.

  “I’ve been thinking about the same thing.” He sighed with a sort of relief. We had learned over the past couple of years how much we really needed each other to shepherd our child safely to death while still taking care of the other children. And we had learned that there was so much we didn’t have control over. We knew that we could only do our best to work together, praying that God would give us the grace we would need to make the right choices.

  “It’s hard to believe that we have to do this, decide whether we attend our daught
er’s wedding or our son’s death. How can we miss either one? Should we split up? One stay with Zach and one go to the wedding?” I asked.

  He thought for a moment and then said, “I think we need to go to the wedding.”

  “Why? What’s your thought process?”

  “Alli and Collin will remember that day for the rest of their lives, and I think it’s important that they be able to look back on it and know that we were there for them,” he said. “If we did our job right, Zach will be ready when his time comes to die. At that point there won’t be anything else that we can do for him. While I would hate not to be here, I know he would understand our decision. He gets it.”

  Rob’s clarity in difficult circumstances was one of the things I loved about him.

  “I think you’re right. I think we should ask Amy and her family to stay with him if it should come to that,” I said. Zach had become close with Amy’s family. He loved Amy’s brothers, Tony and Joey, and her parents, Mary and Vic. I knew he would be comforted by their presence. “If he dies while we’re at the wedding, do you want to be called?”

  “No,” Rob answered. “Let’s wait until we get home. It won’t change anything for us to know sooner.”

  Once Alli was done crying and dried her eyes, I finally answered her. “Dad and I have a plan, Alli. We will have Amy’s family stay with Zach while we are at the wedding.”

  She sat up and held the pillow in her lap. “Really? Are you sure that’s a good idea? He’s going to need you here, Mom. I wouldn’t blame you at all if you were at home with him.”

  “I’m sure. Your wedding day is important, and we need to be there. Of course, we hope we don’t need to worry about it, but we do have a plan that I think will work for everyone.”

  “But what if he dies before? I can’t see how we can have a joyful wedding without Zach there. It just makes me so sad to think of us at our wedding and all of us just so sad.”

  “Alli, this is what we do. Our family has always taken hard, awful things and turned them into the most amazing memories. Remember the day Uncle Dave died last summer? We had the big camping party planned with all your aunts and uncles and cousins that night at Grandma and Grandpa’s house?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “That was a good night. I’ll remember it always.”

  “That’s right! We could have canceled it and all stayed home to mourn Dave in private. But we didn’t. We got together and mourned together. It was sad and there were tears, but there was also a lot of laughter. Because that’s how we do it. It’s actually what we do best! During the worst times, the hardest, most agonizing times ever, our family gets together to have a party.”

  She grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table and wiped the tears from her eyes.

  “Yeah! We are good at this crappy hard stuff, aren’t we?” she said, laughing.

  “That’s right. There is none better,” I agreed. “Al, whenever I think about your wedding, I don’t imagine some sad and somber event where people are standing around with cake and talking in hushed tones to each other. I picture everyone with a beer, the DJ is playing the Proclaimers’ ‘500 Miles’ song, and all your aunts are in a conga line dancing across the room.”

  She grabbed another tissue from the box. The tears had started up again.

  “Thanks, Mom. I needed to hear that so badly. I felt so selfish wanting to have a fun wedding. I just assumed you thought it would be horrible and that you weren’t looking forward to it at all, like it was just this huge burden on everyone.”

  “Oh, honey! Not at all! I’ve always thought of your wedding like the light at the end of a long, dark tunnel,” I assured her. “It’s going to be a beautiful wedding, and you are going to be a beautiful bride.”

  I pulled her into a hug and held her close. This poor girl had been through so much. All the emotional turmoil of watching her brother dying while being separated by thousands of miles from a fiancé in the navy and having to plan a wedding and finish her degree—it was a lot for one person to have on her plate.

  “I just wish that Collin could have some time with Zach. He’s only met Zach a few times, and I hate that the next time he will see him will likely be when Zach is gone.”

  “Then let’s bring him home. Why wait? Even if Collin has to forfeit leave for Zach’s funeral later, I think it’s more important for him to be with Zach now. And you need him here now,” I said. “A man got in touch with Mindy from CCRF and offered frequent-flier miles if we need them. I think bringing Collin home would be a worthy enough cause.”

  Collin came home a few days later.

  Thirty-Five

  Mid-April 2013

  ZACH’S DECLINE HAD SLOWED SOME. THE RADIATION HAD HELPED alleviate the discomfort from the lung tumors, and the hospice team had him on a pain regimen that had worked well. The pain was managed without making him feel so loopy. He had a system down: sleep until ten o’clock in the morning, shower, watch The Price is Right, eat a snack, then nap until Amy came over at one o’clock. Amy would stay until he fell asleep, then she would head home. A few days a week she would have dance practice. There was a competition coming up and team Topaz would be competing. She also had something new she’d been working on, a solo.

  One night in early April, Zach went with Amy’s mom, Mary, to watch her perform the solo she’d been working on for months. It was a dance dedicated to Zach and their love, and it was her way of saying good-bye, her “Clouds.”

  I hadn’t been able to go with them that night; I’d fallen ill with a serious bout of vertigo that had me bedridden for over a week. As I lay there wondering about God’s timing—why now, when Zach was so sick and had so little time, did God choose to allow this illness?—I realized I wasn’t panicked by it or even angry about it, just curious. I was truly learning to trust in all things.

  Zach didn’t say much about the dance, but Amy’s mom, Mary, told me about it and Zach’s response. He had been deeply moved by it, openly crying as he watched from the bleachers.

  Amy shared with me what she wrote about the day in her journal:

  April 3rd

  On Wednesday, April 3rd, it was Zach’s and my 10-month anniversary. I was performing my solo for the first time. Throughout the day it was all I could think about. I was nervous about performing it, but I was also nervous that Zach might not be able to go.

  After school I texted him and asked if he was going to be able to make it. He said that his mom was sick and he would need a ride. Luckily my mom was able to give him one. When they arrived, I was so relieved. I knew Zach would be able to see the dance at least once. He and my mom greeted me with flowers. I gave them each a hug before I went backstage. They wished me luck and took their seats.

  Backstage, I brought my iPod and listened to my song over and over again. When I had only two dances left before mine, I went into a back hall, sat down by myself, and listened to the song Zach wrote for me, “Our Souls.” I began to cry thinking about my dance for him and how it could be the only time he would ever see it. Knowing he was out there watching me, I felt ready to perform. As I waited backstage, my teacher Katia gave me a hug and we started to cry. She said, “Do it for Zach.”

  Already crying, they announced my name and I walked on stage. Dancing for Zach and knowing he was watching felt so good. I performed like I never had before and let all my emotions take over. After I was done, I walked offstage still in tears. I got myself together and went to find my mom and Zach in the lobby and I could tell they had been crying. I was overwhelmed as Zach limped over to me, tears running down his face. My mom stood back, allowing us space, tears running down her face as well.

  Zach pulled me in and hugged me tight. As we stood there against the wall crying in each other’s embrace, he said in my ear, “I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

  “What did you think of my dance?” I asked as our tears subsided.

  Tears welled up in his eyes again. “It felt so surreal,” he said. “When you ran across stage holding y
our arm out, I knew it was like you were trying to pull me along, like you wanted me to keep going—to stay with you. I felt connected to you and I understood everything you were trying to tell me.”

  It was an amazing feeling to know it meant so much to him because it is so important to me. It was a night filled with so much sadness, but at the same time I was so glad Zach got to see my dance for him. I will cherish that day for the rest of my life.

  “YOU SHOULD PROBABLY LEAVE IN ABOUT TEN MINUTES,” I SAID AS Zach walked up to the kitchen to grab an energy drink from the refrigerator. “If you’re supposed to be on the air at three o’clock, you never know how traffic is going to be. Are you okay to drive? I can drive if you need me to.”

  “No, Mom. I’m fine. Besides, that would be totally lame having my mom with me when I ask my girlfriend to prom,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  It was the happiest I’d seen him in days. His meds had been working but the pain had gotten worse, and now he needed to bump up the dose almost every other day. And he was just down. Fighting pain has a way of doing that.

  He hobbled over to the coat closet, grabbed his crutches and keys, and headed out the garage door. I watched as he expertly maneuvered around a fallen rake and a bag of old clothes that lay in his path. Why didn’t I move those out of his way? I scolded myself.

  “Good luck! Hope she says yes, or that could be very embarrassing,” I called out cheerfully. I did my best to fuel the good mood he was in.

  “Yea. Thanks, Ma.” He opened the door to the car, tossed his crutches over the backseat, and lowered himself into the seat. He winced in pain as he pulled his legs in. “Hey, Ma, could you grab the handicap tag off the desk? I don’t see mine in here,” he called out before he shut the car door.

  I ran over to the desk and scrounged around for it. I finally found it tucked between the “Wedding Songs and Readings” and “Funeral Planning” booklets we’d gotten from church. I ran it out to him, kicking the rake and clothing bag off to the side as I passed them.