I was pained to see that she was so attentive at a time when most kids don’t have to worry about a thing. I made such a fool of myself at her bedside with pompoms in a bid to bring a little bit of that childhood back. I’m a really bad dancer and I can always make it worse. I was twirling around, shaking my butt, and failing at doing the splits.
“Hey, ya know? I’m pretty good at this,” I said. “Maybe I should try out for the squad next year.”
“Oh, stop,” she said, with a small smile.
She was giggling—no sweeter sound in the world—when my mom arrived.
I pretended to trip and fell into a chair. Big smile accomplished.
“Oh, Tom, what are you doing now?”
My mom, Sandy, is only five feet four inches tall and is dwarfed by her husband and three sons, all of whom stand taller than six feet. People remember her as taller than she is because of her big heart. She’s always thinking how to help someone, noticing people going through a tough time and bringing them a casserole. She also brings baked goods wherever she visits. As a nurse, the part of that job where she excelled was in supporting the best possible outcome, praying for it, and helping you see it when you couldn’t see it for yourself. With my mom there, laden down with bags of snacks, books for Emily, and banana bread, I left to take a break down at the family lounge.
After only a few weeks in the hospital, I felt like an old-timer, and I knew why that grandma I met on the first weekend recognized me as a newcomer. I saw in the new parents the look we had had, that look of shock, and the thousand-yard stare of people who have not yet comprehended the magnitude of the change that has just occurred. I could also understand the wisdom of what that grandma said about being kind to everyone you met. I appreciated something else, too. The exchange I had with that grandma for maybe a minute was one that I would never forget. And, like that little boy in the elevator at Johns Hopkins, I knew I most likely wouldn’t see her again.
Grandparents were the secret power behind the families in the pediatric oncology unit. The parents were on the front lines, and the grandparents provided logistical support. We could depend on them to bring stuff back and forth from home. My dad, Big Jim, who had a hard time traveling because of an injured back, had taken over our finances, paying our bills for us so when we went back home we wouldn’t find that the cable was shut off. Kari’s mom, Nana Pam, was so eager to see Emily that, whenever she got the chance, she literally ran through the hospital parking lot to Emily’s room, always with a bag of books and some new crafts to share. She never talked to Emily about her illness; she just kept her busy.
Pappy Rob’s approach was to keep her focused on helping others, making her the teacher. He told Emily he’d never been very good at drawing and she was, so he wanted her to teach him. They’d draw for hours with her gently critiquing his work, telling him to make the pants higher on SpongeBob SquarePants, or that the roof of the house was too big for the walls. The next time he visited, he’d pretend that he’d forgotten what he learned and ask her to start all over again with the houses and the trees. Emily never lost her patience with him, and I know she liked being in charge. Eventually, with the same spirit that had made her start giving us time-outs, she told him that he needed to address her by her teacher name, “Miss Em.”
Among the gifts my mom brought that day was a little velvet drawstring bag.
“I got something for you,” she said to me. “It’s something for Emily, but it’s for you, too.”
She pulled open the satin cord around the top of the bag and pulled out two cloths that she draped over the foot rail of Emily’s bed. They were healing cloths with an image of Jesus with a lady kneeling behind Him reaching out to touch His robe with the caption:
As many as touched the hem of His garment were made well.
Matthew 14:36
“A woman who had been bleeding for twelve years touched the hem of Jesus’ cloak and instantly she was cured,” Mom said. “It’s in Matthew 9. He said to the woman, ‘Take heart, daughter. Your faith has healed you.’ Take heart, Emily. Your faith will heal you.”
Mom reached into the pouch again and produced a small bottle of holy water and another of holy oil.
“This is holy water from Lourdes,” Mom said. “And this is holy oil from Medjugorje, blessed by those children who had the vision of the Blessed Virgin. Our friends Rusty and Kristine had a healing with this oil, and they wanted me to bring it to Emily.”
“Well, thanks, Mom,” I said and hugged her, but I could see the amused look on my scientist wife’s face as I gathered up these things and put them back in the bag. “Emily needs everybody to pull for her all the time.”
Despite Kari’s skepticism, we did believe we needed all the help we could get. That night when they almost had to amputate Emily’s legs, Kari had posted “Please pray for
