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I sit in this magical moment and find myself wanting to share it with someone that might understand. You see, I sit with a child who is dying of cancer; not tonight, but soon. Too soon it seems it to me. Her parents lead busy lives and are not here tonight – she is afraid and does not want to be alone. So I sit with her in the darkness, as she drifts between brief periods of sleep and anxiety attacks. I find myself starring at her tiny, smooth hands clutching the blankets as if it is they that will keep her anchored to this world. I begin to think of my own little boy at home right now, and how he must be sleeping so peacefully with his daddy in the next room.
She wakes up for a moment and tells me that if she had not had cancer, she would have been a teacher…a teacher so that she could help little children learn how to laugh and play. I think to myself, “yes, she has the hands of a teacher” She has hands that could have caressed the face of a child and hugged her own little boy or girl one day…hands that now hold tightly onto her blanket that anchors her to this earth. She falls back asleep again…and I begin to feel sorry for this little child – someone who never had the chance to fulfill her dreams, and I sit and think of how sad she must be…
Then, through the darkness I see her eyes looking at me as she says “Ms. Lindsey, you look cold – do you want to share my blanket?” …and tears begin to fill my eyes at the beauty of this moment…..and the gift of sitting in this dark room with a little girl, who I didn’t know until only a couple of hours ago…a dying child, concerned with me being cold.
I pray to myself that I will one day reach such a state of grace as her and I find myself loving this little stranger. I periodically hold her hand and tell her that I am still here when she looks a little lost or disoriented, and her breathing quiets as she closes her eyes again. My heart breaks open. Not only for sadness, but from the beauty of it all…and I sit in the darkness, watching this small, beautiful child, and thank God for the gift of being able to be here with her and for allowing me to become a nurse.
She wakes up for a moment and tells me that if she had not had cancer, she would have been a teacher…a teacher so that she could help little children learn how to laugh and play. I think to myself, “yes, she has the hands of a teacher” She has hands that could have caressed the face of a child and hugged her own little boy or girl one day…hands that now hold tightly onto her blanket that anchors her to this earth. She falls back asleep again…and I begin to feel sorry for this little child – someone who never had the chance to fulfill her dreams, and I sit and think of how sad she must be…
Then, through the darkness I see her eyes looking at me as she says “Ms. Lindsey, you look cold – do you want to share my blanket?” …and tears begin to fill my eyes at the beauty of this moment…..and the gift of sitting in this dark room with a little girl, who I didn’t know until only a couple of hours ago…a dying child, concerned with me being cold.
I pray to myself that I will one day reach such a state of grace as her and I find myself loving this little stranger. I periodically hold her hand and tell her that I am still here when she looks a little lost or disoriented, and her breathing quiets as she closes her eyes again. My heart breaks open. Not only for sadness, but from the beauty of it all…and I sit in the darkness, watching this small, beautiful child, and thank God for the gift of being able to be here with her and for allowing me to become a nurse.
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