Knowing Greg changed my life. Greg’s struggle with leukemia made me realize that no matter how bad I feel sometimes, there are people who have it worse. Even though I have to go through life with a blood disease, Greg’s death taught me to be thankful for what I have rather than sad for what I do not.
Cassius Weathersby III
Timeless Friendship
Growing up, I often found myself living with my grandmother for indefinite periods of time while my mother was in and out of treatment centers for drug and alcohol addiction. My parents divorced when I was two. My father (my custodial parent), being a firefighter, had to be away for twenty-four-hour shifts. This was when I stayed with my Gram. I was old enough to somewhat understand what was going on with my mom but still young enough to see it as an opportunity to spend as much time as possible with my grandma. To me, it was an endless slumber party, full of Tile Rummy, staying up past my bedtime and playing with the boy across the street, Matt Luke.
Matt was three years older than I, but we were always able to find something to do together. In the winter, we would sled on the giant hill behind my grandma’s house. In the summer, we enjoyed games of tag and hide-and-seek with the other neighborhood kids. Boys didn’t yet have cooties, nor were they creatures to be admired. Life wasn’t that complicated. I didn’t see him as a boy, but as a friend.
On the days I was at my grandma’s, I would casually sun myself on the porch, waiting for Matt to notice I was there and saunter over. If it was just the two of us, we’d sit and chat for a while then gradually make our way into the house so we could race each other down the stairs— our favorite pastime. We’d sit, we’d run, we’d lie on our stomachs. Stair races became a very creative—and competitive—event. However, they never lasted long. My grandmother would eventually chase us off the stairs (something about ruining the carpet; grandmothers are funny that way) and into the living room, where we would settle down with a quiet game of bingo.
No one has the perfect childhood, and Matt and I were certainly no exceptions to that rule. Even now, I couldn’t tell you exactly what his problems were; we never discussed them in detail. I just knew they existed. There was no need to tell each other sob stories. Words weren’t necessary. Just being able to sit there in mutual understanding was enough.
Inevitably, time moved on, and both of us grew older. I was living with my grandmother less and less, and eventually Matt moved away from the house across the street. Time passed, and our friendship became virtually nonexistent.
My thoughts drifted to Matt only occasionally, as my life became occupied with the endless hassles of middle school, and eventually high school. What had once been a thriving friendship had been reduced to a few faded photographs in a dusty album under my bed.
Then, less than a month after my seventeenth birthday, I found myself in a position I had dreaded all my life: preparing for the funeral of my beloved Gram.
Her passing wasn’t sudden; she had been in and out of the hospital for some time. But to me it never seemed quite real. Not until I was faced with the harsh reality of looking into the now forever-closed eyes of the woman who had been my best friend.
During the visitation, I was thanking the other mourners for coming when I saw Matt’s Aunt Kathy coming over to me. Kathy and her family had lived in the house that once belonged to Matt, and she, too, had become like a daughter to my grandmother. A flash of Matt came to my mind and I said more to myself than to her, “I wonder if Matt knows.”
She put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Andrea, I honestly don’t know. I haven’t talked to him, and I know he is in school, but I’ll try and call.”
I didn’t hold out much hope of seeing him at the funeral. I hadn’t spoken to him in almost ten years. So when I walked into the church that night and saw Kathy sitting alone, I wasn’t surprised.
Near the end of the service, there was a time for sharing memories about my grandmother. Many people spoke. Clutching the microphone, voice shaking, I did my best to share a couple of the countless memories I had of her. Then at the end, a voice rose from the back of the sanctuary. The words will forever remain engraved in my heart.
“Ahem . . . well, I don’t know if Andrea remembers me . . . but I’m little Matt Luke. . . .” He went on to tell a beautiful story about the times the three of us had shared, and how my grandmother had always felt like a grandmother to him.
After the service, I buried my face in his chest and cried. No words were spoken. They weren’t needed. The connection had been restored. This was a boy, now a man, whom I had not seen nor spoken to in ten years. He had found out about the funeral the night before. He had his own commitments—school and work—but he came anyway because he knew it was important to me. Knowing that he had put his life on hold to be there for me still brings tears to my eyes.
Matt and I have only talked a handful of times since the funeral, but he is a constant presence in my heart. He is not only a friend, but an angel sent by my Gram at a time I needed one most.
Andrea Wellman
Grandma’s Words of Wisdom
The little girl’s grandma lies dying in bed,
She stands nearby listening to what is said.
Her eyes hold tears she tries hard not to show,
Her grandma smiles, for there isn’t much she doesn’t
know.
“Sweetheart, don’t you worry at all about me,
Forever you will hold me in your memory.
I have lived to a rather ripe, old age,
Compare it to a storybook, each day has a new page.
“You will end up facing challenges, don’t give up hope,
Just use your heart to make decisions, and you will always
cope.
One must be strong to live with successes and strife,
I know this now from my experiences in life.
“You’ll have many choices you’ll have to make,
And yes, dear, many times your heart will break.
Despite the pain and tears, your heart will always heal,
Never give into temptation, don’t let yourself steal.
“Listen to my words, my dear child, they are true,
These are the things when I was your age I wish I knew.”
With a slight smile and a squeeze of her hand,
Grandma hoped she helped the little girl to understand.
She kissed her grandma gently as she slowly closed her
eyes,
And with Grandma’s wisdom in her heart, she said her
last good-bye.
Heather Deederly
Smiles in My Heart
One of my first memories is of my Gramma cuddling with me in the rocking chair in her kitchen. She would sing in my ear and call me Dolly, and tell me how much she loved me, her first-born grandchild. Whenever I stayed overnight, she would give me a bath with warm, white bubbles and then wrap me in the fluffiest towels she had. She made me feel safe.
She would peel the skin off apples, cut the apples into little pieces and sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on them because that was the way I loved them. She let me put as many different kinds of sprinkles and syrups on my ice cream as I wanted. She would buy root beer when I was coming to visit and always made sure the glass was at least half-full of foam because that was my favorite part. And then she would refill it again and again until I was full of root-beer foam. She made me feel special.
I remember sitting on her bed watching her get ready to go out and being amazed by her rituals. She smelled of Dove soap and Noxzema cream. She wore a red shade of lipstick that came in a green tube. On Saturday nights she would wash her hair in the kitchen sink, twist her hair into little waves, and hold them together with bobby pins so that in the morning she would have curls in her hair. She was beautiful.
Her voice was warm and made me feel safe, like fireplace fires and hot chocolate on snowy days. Her laugh was strong and clear; when she laughed with me the rest of the world didn’t exist. I felt like I w
as the only thing she cared about. In the same way, her tears when I was sad made me feel like I would never be alone. She yelled at me once when I was mad at my mom. When I went storming out the door, all she said was, “I love you.”
She let me ruin those tubes of lipstick when I’d play dress-up in her clothes and shoes. She taught me how to play bingo, and when I sat with her, staying up way past my bedtime, playing with her in a smoke-filled room of old ladies, I felt so cool. When I was seventeen, I knew she was dying. I would spend the night at her house, and she would still wait up for me to get in, half-asleep and snoring on the couch. When she lay dying in her hospital bed, she called me to come to her from where I stood hiding in the corner, and though her grip was weak and her lips pale, she held my hand and kissed me. She was dying, yet she comforted me.
She passed away four years ago. Sometimes it feels like it was yesterday. Entering her house, I sometimes expect to find her sitting at the table. There are times when it occurs to me that I have skipped thinking of her for one day or that I have misplaced the sound of her laugh or the healing of her touch, and it frightens me. I thank God when I remember. I thank God when I am able to cry because that means I have not forgotten her. I thank God that she was my Gramma, and I will always love her.
Sara Tylutki
Let’s Go Dancing in the Rain
Spring break of 1999 was perfect—I got to spend the entire time with my friends just vegging and hanging out. Of course, there was that English project due the day I got back, which I put off until the Sunday before. I was sitting at my computer furiously making up an essay when my little sister walked in from softball practice eating a snow cone and laughing with a sticky smile.
“Whatcha working on?” she asked lightheartedly.
I smiled at her appearance and told her that it was just an English essay. I turned back and continued clacking away. From behind my shoulder she tried to start a conversation.
“So . . .” she began. “You know a kid in your grade named Justin? Justin Schultz?” She licked at a drip on her snow cone.
“Yeah, I know him,” I replied. I had gone to elementary school with Justin. He had to be the greatest guy I knew. He never stopped smiling. Justin had tried to teach me to play soccer in the third grade. I couldn’t get it, so he smiled and told me to do my best and cheer everyone else on. I’d kind of lost touch with him in the last year, but I told my sister yes, anyway.
“Well,” she said, trying to keep her messy snow cone under control. “His church group went skiing this week.” She paused to take a lick.
Lucky guy, I thought.
My sister swallowed the ice chips and continued, “So he went skiing and today he died.”
I felt the blood drain from my face in disbelief. My hands froze on the keyboard, and a line of Rs inched across the screen. My jaw slowly dropped as I tried to process what she’d said. Breathe, something in my head screamed. I shook my head and whipped around to look at my sister.
She was still innocently munching on her snow cone, staring at it determinedly. Her eyes rose to mine and she leaned back, a little startled. “What?” she asked.
“Y-you’re joking, right? Who told you that? I don’t believe it. How? Are you sure?” I spit out a long string of questions.
“Claire,” she stopped me. She began a little slower this time. “A girl on my softball team was house-sitting for them. Justin’s parents called her today and told her, and she told me. Sorry, I didn’t think you knew him.” She sat very still waiting for my response.
Every memory I had of Justin flashed through my mind. I inhaled slowly. “No. No! NO!” I tried to scream. No words came out. I sat up clumsily and shakily ran from the room with my sister behind me yelling, “Wait! I’m sorry . . .”
I called one of our mutual friends right away. She told me between sobs that no one knew why he died. The thirteen-year-old was as healthy as a horse. He fell asleep on Saturday night in the hotel room, and when his roommate tried to wake him up Sunday morning, Justin wasn’t breathing. I didn’t want her to hear me cry, so I quickly got off the phone.
I went to school the next day and put on the same strong mask. The principal gave an impersonal announcement about Justin’s death that morning and almost immediately I could hear sobs throughout the classroom. That was the worst week of my life. I tried to be a shoulder for others to cry on, but inside I was the one crying.
On Wednesday evening my friend gave me a ride to Justin’s viewing. What surprised me when we walked into the room was that Justin’s parents weren’t crying. They were smiling and comforting everyone. I asked them how they were holding up, and they told me that they were fine. They told me they knew that he wasn’t hurting now, that he was with God and would wait for them in heaven. I cried and nearly collapsed. Mrs. Schultz stepped forward to hug me, and I cried on her beautiful red sweater. I looked into her eyes and saw her sympathy for a girl who’d lost her friend.
I went home that night with a deep sadness in my heart for Justin. I wrote a letter to him that I planned on giving him at his funeral. In the letter I wrote to him about how sad everyone was, how much we missed him, how wonderful his parents were and the things he’d never get to do on Earth. I closed it with:
Somehow I’ve always believed that once in heaven, tangible things really don’t mean that much anymore. Well, before you get too used to your new life, take these things with you. The smell of grass thirty minutes after it’s cut. The feel of freshly washed sheets. The heat of a small candle. The sound a bee makes. The taste of a hot Coke just poured and swirling with ice— hot, but partially cold. The feel of raindrops on your soaked face. But if you take nothing else with you, take your family’s embrace.
I paused and stared into my candle. I rearranged my pen in my hand and continued writing. Tell you what, Justin. When I die, let’s go dancing in the rain. I smiled through tears and slid my letter into an envelope.
The next day was Justin’s funeral. At the last minute, my ride had to cancel because of a schedule conflict, and I was left to sit alone in my house crying. I glanced down at my letter and smiled, “How am I going to get this to you now, Justin?” I laughed through my tears and kept crying.
Sometimes strange thoughts pop into my head, as if from somewhere else. Sitting on my bed fingering a tissue, one of those thoughts told me how to get it to him. Smoke is faster than dirt. I was startled by this, but after thinking about it, I realized I was to burn the letter, not bury it. I cried for an hour as I carefully burned the letter. I’d burn a corner, then blow it out under the running water in the sink, afraid of the flames. Eventually, the letter was gone and the white smoke streamed from my window. I waved it away and prayed to God that Justin would someday read my words in the smoke.
That night I dreamt about death and awoke at 2:38 A.M. to hear rain tapping on my window. Rare are the visible words from heaven, but those precious raindrops were my answer. I had told Justin that I wanted to go dancing in the rain. The slow rhythm on my window told me that Justin had heard me. In that moment, I knew that he felt no pain and that we would see each other again. And on that day, we will go dancing in the rain together.
Claire Hayenga
When Tomorrow Starts Without Me
When tomorrow starts without me, and I’m not there to see; If the sun should rise and find your eyes all filled with tears for me;
I wish so much you wouldn’t cry the way you did today,
While thinking of the many things we didn’t get to say.
I know how much you love me, as much as I love you,
And each time you think of me, I know you’ll miss me, too;
But when tomorrow starts without me, please try to understand,
That an angel came and called my name and took me by the hand,
And said my place was ready in heaven far above,
And that I’d have to leave behind all those I dearly love.
But as I turned to walk away, a tear fell from my eye,
<
br /> For all my life, I’d always thought I didn’t want to die.
I had so much to live for and so much yet to do,
It seemed almost impossible that I was leaving you.
I thought of all the yesterdays, the good ones and the bad,
I thought of all the love we shared and all the fun we had.
If I could relive yesterday, I thought, just for a while,
I’d say good-bye and kiss you and maybe see your smile.
But then I fully realized that this could never be,
For emptiness and memories would take the place of me.
And when I thought of worldly things that I’d miss tomorrow,
I thought of you, and when I did, my heart was filled with sorrow.
But when I walked through heaven’s gates, I felt so much at home.
When God looked down and smiled at me, from His great golden throne,
He said, “This is eternity and all I’ve promised you,
Today for life on Earth is past but here it starts anew.
I promise no tomorrow, but today will always last,
And since each day’s the same day, there’s no longing for the past.
But you have been so faithful, so trusting and so true,
Though there were times you did some things you knew you shouldn’t do.
But you have been forgiven and now at last you’re free.
So won’t you take my hand and share my life with me?”
So when tomorrow starts without me, don’t think we’re far apart,
For every time you think of me, I’m right here in your heart.
David M. Romano
Wherever You Go
Happiness is a perfume you cannot pour on others without getting a few drops on yourself.
George Bernard Shaw
I loved Katrina right away. There was no way you couldn’t. She was new to our school, but she didn’t seem shy or nervous at all. She smiled at everyone, even on the first day of class. Unfortunately, we only got to enjoy that smile for the first three days of school. Our teacher informed us that Katrina had leukemia and would be in the hospital for a bone-marrow transplant. I had no idea what that was, but it sounded scary, so some of my friends and I decided to go see her in the hospital. She had just moved to a new town and didn’t even get a chance to make friends with anyone yet. We wanted to keep her company. That’s how we came to know Katrina and how much fun she really was.