The Hope Connection: Solace

The Hope Connection: Solace

_{November 16, 2016}

"Mr. and Mrs. Wu? I'm afraid there is no easy way to say this...the reports came back on your daughter's blood work...Leukemia...I would like to get her started on treatment as soon as possible."

You were three years old when the doctor gave your parents your diagnosis. Your parents could not have received a crueler prognosis, that you, their beloved daughter was very ill at such a tender age. I did not know you then, by the time we met you were several years into remission. If memory doesn't fail me, I was seven and you were six.

We became fast friends, you with your gentle, understanding, tenderhearted, all-encompassing, joyous disposition...and me, with my rough-and-tumble, clumsy, spunky ways. We balanced each other out. You were always wise and mature beyond your years, you kept me grounded and helped me reach another level of empathy and compassion, ultimately you made me a better person.

I still remember that one year where our Sunday school teachers presented us with a skit they wrote for Christmas. They originally had you in mind for a certain role where you were supposed to get angry and chase people out of the house, however, they deemed you 'too gentle.' I volunteered to try out for the role and they ended up giving it to me because I was angry and rough enough.

The year I turned nine, was also the year the Leukemia relapsed with a fury. I recall going to church and seeing your parents, but you weren't with them. They looked so defeated, helpless, scared, and sad. During announcement time, the MC of the day explained your absence. The Leukemia came back, you were back in the hospital, and we needed to pray for you. I recollect missing you so fiercely because I hadn't seen you for what felt like an eternity. I wanted to visit you so desperately but your condition was so grave that only family members were allowed visitations.

Slowly, your condition began to improve and you came to church one day. You were wearing a beanie since the radiation had caused your hair to fall out. I was so excited because you were back yet seeing how Leukemia and chemotherapy had ravaged your body, my greeting to you was a smile full of tears. But yours was as radiant as ever. You even comforted me even though you were not well.

That would be my last time seeing you alive.

Shortly thereafter, you were rushed to the hospital, yet again, with pneumonia. Chemo had destroyed your immune system. I was so scared for you and I hated that I couldn't visit you. We made "get well soon" cards for you during Sunday school. My card to you was tearstained. I tried to fit everything I wanted to say to you on that single sheet of construction paper.

The following Sunday, your parents stood at the front of the room, sobbing, holding each other, and brokenly announced that you went home to be with the Lord. I cried with them. I was so angry that Leukemia had taken you away from us and had made your parents so sad.

A few weeks later, they held your funeral at a nearby church. I dreaded walking over to your casket to pay my final respects because that wasn't how I wanted to remember you. I hated how you looked like a wax mannequin in your casket. (To this day, I still despise funerals and their seeming permanence; the forever goodbye.) You were always so full of exuberance. Even though your passing brought so much grief, I would not trade the joy and blessing of knowing you for anything.

In your absence I often wondered what life would be like had their been a cure for Leukemia. I even daydreamed what life would be like if you were still here. You would meet a wonderful man, get engaged, get married, and we would celebrate your marriage during your wedding. Our children would grow up together and we would arrange for them to have play dates. Although this isn't possible for you, I have faith and hope that it will one day be possible for someone else.