The bravest person I have ever known.....
As a teenager, problems developed with my foot. Walking became exceedingly painful, the foot became swollen, there was a double staph infection, and several complications. Part of the process of figuring out all of what was wrong meant spending a lot of time with my Dad, driving back and forth to the Shriner's Children's Hospital up in San Francisco. The route up there for appointments became as familiar as driving to my much beloved Sequoias, or over the coast mountains to head to the beach. It was a road where every twist and turn, small town and major metro area became imprinted upon my memory, I think I could guide Charles through every turn even today, years later.
While my Dad isn't who this post is about, he did show remarkable courage on those drives. When your kid is sick and you don't know why, it must take great reserves to make such journeys with unfailing humor and gentleness; belting out old rock and roll songs, stopping for fresh fruit at your kid's favorite point of the journey, and meeting doctor after doctor with courtesy, grace and a brave face....not knowing what news those same doctors will be giving you. Dad made those trips not only bearable, but fun.
When I was a junior in High School, surgery was scheduled. To this day, I'm still not completely sure what they were looking for....cancer perhaps. I know it was exploratory (I'd already had the bone scan and MRI) and it ended up with them breaking a bone in my foot to test the marrow. It also meant an overnight at the hospital.
I don't do well with hospitals. I don't like how they smell, it is like I can taste the fear and uncertainty. I feel like I am drowning there...and Shriners was no different, for all of their bright walls, friendly staff and toys and games in abundance. Panic was setting in.
And then a boy rolled in.
A small boy, maybe six or seven, with bright red hair and blue eyes, and more freckles than even I have in the summer. He had pale cheeks gathered up in a huge smile, as he moved his wheelchair in with the speed and accuracy of one who is very familiar with such a device.
"Whatcha in for?" was what he asked me. And thus began my brief encounter with the bravest and brightest soul I have ever met.
He was in for a number of issues. Cancer. Bone issues. Organ issues. He had been at that hospital since he was a baby, and had only been to his parent's home for three visits his whole life.
Yet he was not bitter, nor cynical, nor angry. After he comforted me in my distress ("Don't worry, the docs here are great! Some of the best anywhere in the world! And we have games after dinner, and the food is great too!") I saw him roll off to visit the next room and the next scared child.
The nurse who came in to check my blood pressure laughed when I asked her about the boy. "He's our little angel, we couldn't get along without him. He makes us (the nurses) cards when he knows we've had a bad day, and he's the best little minister of all to talk to you children."
When I asked about how sick he was, her face darkened. "We don't expect to have him another year," and she left abruptly.
At dinner, a short time later, I heard him tell a boy, "But we have to say grace, we have so much to be thankful for!"
When they boy (scared) muttered "What's there to be thankful for?", the red headed ambassador of the ward said, "Life! And you're here, and they'll make you better!"
That night, after dinner, when I was the first in line for having blood drawn (yet again), I thought of the boy and his courage. So when I looked back and saw the faces of mainly younger children, apprehensive at the needle, I joked and laughed with them, and with the nurse, who thanked me, at the end for making her job easier.
On my way back to my room, I passed the boy's room. He rolled out to see me, and took my hand in his little grasp.
"If I don't see you tomorrow, or again, it's going to be okay. Everything is always okay, in the end, because everything is always in God's hand, you see?"
I nodded..... a little child had to remind me of the faith I had grown up with.
"Goodnight then, maybe goodbye. It's been great having you here." And he rolled back in to his room, his home.
I don't remember his name. I can see him clearly if I close my eyes, but I don't remember his name. This has bothered me for years.
And whenever I am tempted to give into self pity, I think of that bright, shining boy; in whom the light shown so bright even as the darkness of death's doorway crept closer.
Teresa of Avila said, "God save us from gloomy saints." Lord, save me from sullenly accepting my cross and my burdens, and instead help me to be like the little saint in his wheelchair, who gave comfort, and laughter, to all I saw him meet.
" But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong." (2 Corinthians 12, verses 9-10)
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