By Anonymous
Her face stares out at me,
small, tired, pale.
The bed she lies in
supports her slight weight,
the yellowed sheets covering her.
This girl is dying of cancer.
I am here to bring her joy,
to make her smile,
to take her mind off
what is happening.
I introduce myself;
she merely stares.
I ask what she wants to do;
she nearly silently replies:
"Art."
I pull out the supplies;
we start drawing.
She shows me her picture;
it is of her dog that died
seemingly a lifetime ago.
It is lifelike:
I almost want to reach out
and hug the poor dog,
which had cancer also.
Next we read;
I have brought Three Hilarious Tales
in the hope it will make her smile.
It does.
We do the rest of the activities
one by one.
It is time to leave;
I hug the little girl,
say goodbye,
and am out the door.
Walking home,
I reflect on what I learned
with that poor girl.
I realize now more than ever
how lucky I've been.
The next day
when I come to visit,
the girl's parents
are in the lobby,
teary-eyed.
I ask what's wrong
and they begin sobbing again.
"I'll just go see her," I say,
still wondering why they're crying.
The girl's mother stops me,
telling me how the doctors had told her
that during the night the girl got worse.
Her mother and father
had rushed to the hospital
to say goodbye to their only daughter,
but they were too late.
The girl died before they got there.
Now her mother thanks me
for making her last day so happy.
I try to shake off the praise,
not knowing what I've done.
But the girl's mother persists,
insisting on it.
Walking home,
I reflect on what the story
of this one little girl
has taught me:
how lucky I really am.
I say a prayer for her
and her family.
Then, I shed a single tear
thinking of how her family
and I feel: sad.
I am so lucky to have known her,
that poor, sweet little girl.
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BY ANDREA T. ON 4/26/2008 12:17:00 PM 77 COMMENTS