ten-year-old girl suffering from an inoperable brain tumor who wore a rainbow-colored clown’s wig given to her by one of the Shriner’s. “If people are going to stare, then let’s give them something to look at,” she told me.
I’d never felt so much pride in the strength of another person’s spirit.
The very next day, I passed a small boy who was crying. “Please, Mommy,” he begged, “don’t let me die.”
I felt my knees start to give and caught myself.
Nurse Pynaker came out of the room and looked at me. “He’s not ready,” she whispered.
“I guess not. I’m fifty-seven and I’m not even ready.”
“Age doesn’t matter,” she said, “The soul knows when it’s time.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was a random Thursday morning when I stepped into a little girl’s radiant smile. She was sitting at the end of the day room, playing with a doll. When she saw me, her big blue eyes lit up. I could feel my heart melt. The shading on her scalp told me she’d once had dark hair. The paleness of her skin told me her life was fading too. I approached and extended my hand. “I’m Don,” I said. “And what’s your name, beautiful?”
“Sophia,” she said and put down her doll to shake my hand. We sat for a few moments when she turned to me. “I have cancer,” she said.
“Me, too.”
“Mine is called Lymphoma.”
I nodded.
“Are you scared?” she asked.
I hesitated, unsure of how I should answer; whether or not I should be honest. But she saved me by putting her hand in mine.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she promised. Her eyes were penetrating and wise beyond their years. “We’re not alone, ever…none of us.” She had a sense of her own power and shared it selflessly.
I had no choice but to believe and fall in love with my new friend, Sophia.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As knowledge is power, I conducted my usual research and discovered that Sophia was fighting a vicious monster. Lymphoma – sometimes referred to as blood cancer – was either categorized as Hodgkins or non-Hodgkins. In Sophia’s case, the cancer cells were most prominent in her marrow before spilling over into her blood where it quickly spread to the lymph nodes. Though non-Hodgkins Lymphoma was the sixth most common cancer in the United States, at Sophia’s age, she’d had a one in one hundred thousand chance of getting it. And she’d hit the lottery.
What luck.
After a few visits, Sophia confided in me. “The only thing that bothers me is that I’ve lost my hair,” she said, the sorrow in her voice apparent. “It used to be curly, you know.”
I nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. I’d never received chemo or radiation treatments, so my brown locks were still intact. I made my decision right then and there.
I haven’t been bald since serving in Vietnam, so it might even feel good
, I figured.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Just as I finished the job and unplugged the clippers, Bella and Riley stepped into the bathroom. Riley shook her head. “You really are a beautiful man, Dad,” she said, her eyes misting over.
I shook my head. “I’m not sure about that, but I do have a beautiful daughter.”
Bella stepped up, rubbed my head a few times and then kissed it.
“And a beautiful wife,” I added.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The following day, Sophia watched me walk into the day room, but didn’t say a word. I approached her and smiled. “You didn’t know it was me?” I asked.
She nodded. “I’d recognize you anywhere,” she squealed, her eyes sparkling. “But what did you do?”
I winked. “It’s only hair, right? Who needs it?”
She jumped into my arms for a hug.
“Looks like we’ll both save money on shampoo,” I told her, trying not to cry.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
While still at the mercy of my own death sentence, for some of the finest days of my life, I visited with Sophia whenever I could. Most of the time, we didn’t talk. We just held hands. Though I hoped I was
I’d never felt so much pride in the strength of another person’s spirit.
The very next day, I passed a small boy who was crying. “Please, Mommy,” he begged, “don’t let me die.”
I felt my knees start to give and caught myself.
Nurse Pynaker came out of the room and looked at me. “He’s not ready,” she whispered.
“I guess not. I’m fifty-seven and I’m not even ready.”
“Age doesn’t matter,” she said, “The soul knows when it’s time.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was a random Thursday morning when I stepped into a little girl’s radiant smile. She was sitting at the end of the day room, playing with a doll. When she saw me, her big blue eyes lit up. I could feel my heart melt. The shading on her scalp told me she’d once had dark hair. The paleness of her skin told me her life was fading too. I approached and extended my hand. “I’m Don,” I said. “And what’s your name, beautiful?”
“Sophia,” she said and put down her doll to shake my hand. We sat for a few moments when she turned to me. “I have cancer,” she said.
“Me, too.”
“Mine is called Lymphoma.”
I nodded.
“Are you scared?” she asked.
I hesitated, unsure of how I should answer; whether or not I should be honest. But she saved me by putting her hand in mine.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she promised. Her eyes were penetrating and wise beyond their years. “We’re not alone, ever…none of us.” She had a sense of her own power and shared it selflessly.
I had no choice but to believe and fall in love with my new friend, Sophia.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As knowledge is power, I conducted my usual research and discovered that Sophia was fighting a vicious monster. Lymphoma – sometimes referred to as blood cancer – was either categorized as Hodgkins or non-Hodgkins. In Sophia’s case, the cancer cells were most prominent in her marrow before spilling over into her blood where it quickly spread to the lymph nodes. Though non-Hodgkins Lymphoma was the sixth most common cancer in the United States, at Sophia’s age, she’d had a one in one hundred thousand chance of getting it. And she’d hit the lottery.
What luck.
After a few visits, Sophia confided in me. “The only thing that bothers me is that I’ve lost my hair,” she said, the sorrow in her voice apparent. “It used to be curly, you know.”
I nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. I’d never received chemo or radiation treatments, so my brown locks were still intact. I made my decision right then and there.
I haven’t been bald since serving in Vietnam, so it might even feel good
, I figured.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Just as I finished the job and unplugged the clippers, Bella and Riley stepped into the bathroom. Riley shook her head. “You really are a beautiful man, Dad,” she said, her eyes misting over.
I shook my head. “I’m not sure about that, but I do have a beautiful daughter.”
Bella stepped up, rubbed my head a few times and then kissed it.
“And a beautiful wife,” I added.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The following day, Sophia watched me walk into the day room, but didn’t say a word. I approached her and smiled. “You didn’t know it was me?” I asked.
She nodded. “I’d recognize you anywhere,” she squealed, her eyes sparkling. “But what did you do?”
I winked. “It’s only hair, right? Who needs it?”
She jumped into my arms for a hug.
“Looks like we’ll both save money on shampoo,” I told her, trying not to cry.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
While still at the mercy of my own death sentence, for some of the finest days of my life, I visited with Sophia whenever I could. Most of the time, we didn’t talk. We just held hands. Though I hoped I was
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