I wish I had spent more time with my father. Now he won’t ever teach me how to cook, drive a car, or walk me down the aisle on my wedding day. I wanted him to be there to see me graduate from high school and go to college. I just wish he could have seen me pass the sixth grade.
Every day I try my hardest at whatever I am doing, because I know up in heaven Dad is watching me. I try, because I want him to be proud of me. I’m sure that he is. I loved my dad very much. No matter what happens, I know that will be one fact that will never change.
Sammie Luther, 15
Cancer, the Only Word I Can’t Say
Silence is no certain token that no secret grief is there; Sorrow which is never spoken is the heaviest load to bear.
Frances Ridley Havergal
I remember the day so vividly. It was early fall, and it wasn’t too cold yet—the kind of weather when all you need is a spring jacket and you’ll be fine. I was in the third grade. When I walked into the kitchen to look for my mom after school, I heard her talking on the phone.
“She’s home, I have to go,” she said.
She hung up the phone and gave me a tiny smile. “Do you want to go for a drive?” she asked me. “I need to tell you something.”
I nodded my head, feeling that whatever she was going to share with me wouldn’t be good, but I knew I had to hear it.
We drove around listening to music. When we reached my school, she drove into the parking lot, stopped the car and looked at me.
“Remember what Grandma had?” she asked.
“Cancer, right?” I replied.
“Yes. Well, when I was in the shower the other day, I noticed an unusual bump on my breast. I went to the doctor’s, and he has diagnosed me with cancer,” she said. Then she started to cry.
I wanted to cry too, but I didn’t. I felt like I had to comfort her and reassure her that she’d be okay, so I needed to stay strong. As long as I kept telling her it would be all right, I felt like it was.
And she was okay—for a while. She had radiation and chemotherapy. It made her throw up everyday, and she lost her hair. But the cancer disappeared. The whole time I was in the fourth grade, she was completely fine.
Then I went into fifth grade. One day when I got home from school, my mom was sitting on her recliner, crying.
I knew it was back. “It’s back . . . the cancer, isn’t it?” I asked.
She nodded her head, and I began to cry. I ran over to her and gave her the biggest hug I have ever given anyone. She told me that it was still breast cancer, but the cells had moved to her liver.
Again, she lost her hair because of the chemotherapy and radiation. We also sent her to Chicago once a month to get a special treatment.
Then in March, my mom went into the hospital. She was only there for one and a half weeks, but during her stay she got a lot better. The doctors sent her home. She was doing great . . . until one day she couldn’t move without hurting.
She was at the point where she had to be in bed all the time, and she couldn’t even talk without it hurting like 100 stabbing knives. My family got ready to say good-bye because we all knew she wouldn’t be around much longer.
One morning, my mom seemed to be in more pain than usual. My brother Josh and I sat by her bed for over three hours, while I held her hand. Then she became quiet. Josh called the hospital and asked if someone could come over to check on her.
A short while later, a nurse arrived and checked her heartbeat. “She’s gone. I’m sorry,” he said quietly I actually started to laugh because I couldn’t believe it. I was eleven! Eleven-year-olds only lose their moms in movies—not in real life. Even though I knew that it was going to happen, it still didn’t seem true.
Some days, I am great. Other days, I just can’t believe she’s gone. On those days, I want her back so badly that no words can do it justice. I’m sure that sometimes you probably think your parents are just out to ruin your life. Believe me; it’s really hard to go on without them.
Cancer, the only word I can’t say without crying or wanting to cry. I just hope my children, or other people I may love in the future, will never have to go through the same pain that I have had to. Many people survive cancer. I guess my mom just wasn’t lucky enough.
Sammi Lupher, 11
[EDITORS’ NOTE: If you have a loved one with cancer or another life-threatening illness, or you have already lost a loved one to illness, go to www.kidskonnected.org or call 800-899-2866 for friendship, understanding, education and support.]
It’s Never Your Fault
Yesterday I dared to struggle, today I dare to win.
Bernadette Devlin
I sat there with my body trembling from head to toe, wondering what was happening to me and what would happen next. I knew that what was occurring was not right, but I didn’t know how to stop it. I wanted with all my might to push his dark soul away from me, but being about three feet tall and only weighing around forty-five pounds, I didn’t have the physical capability.
I was four, and my parents were busy with work and social lives, so they began looking for baby-sitters near our house who could watch my sister and me at night. They found two guys who lived down the street who were more than willing to be our baby-sitters. Although they looked a little scary when I first saw them, my parents assured me that everything would be okay and that I should be on my best behavior. I still had a feeling of insecurity running through my veins. I didn’t know why, but I thought the men weren’t good people.
After they were there for a couple of hours, I needed to go to the bathroom, so I went upstairs and shut the door. Shortly after, the door opened and in came the older of the two. I thought at first that maybe he just thought I needed some help since I was so young, but then he just stayed there and watched me. As I was getting up to leave, he started feeling me in places that aren’t meant to be seen by other people. I didn’t do anything to stop it. I was so small, and he was so big. Eventually he stopped, probably so my sister wouldn’t become suspicious. He told me not to tell anyone what had happened and that it was to be kept a secret.
Having an older sister, I knew what secrets were and I knew that they were meant to be kept, so I never said a word to anyone. Each time he came over to baby-sit, the same pattern would occur, and I began to feel really uncomfortable and violated; but he was starting to get more threatening and I was beginning to fear losing my life if I told, so I remained quiet.
In elementary school, visitors from child abuse organizations would come and talk to us. That’s when I learned that what was happening to me was called sexual molestation and that it’s never the victim’s fault. Up to that point, I had been blaming it on myself. They also said that it is very important to tell someone as soon as it happens to you and that telling is the most important thing to do. I really wanted to say something after hearing this, but I still didn’t have the courage. I feared that he might come after me if the cops came after him.
The summer before sixth grade, I was walking back to my house after swim team practice. Normally, I walked back with my best friend, but she was staying at the pool all day, so I walked back on my own. As I headed up the long hill, a car started passing by very slowly, and the guys in the car were watching me. I could only make out one person—my former baby-sitter—and I started to run. I ran in between houses and went through backyards. I did everything possible to avoid getting into that car. After a half hour of that car chasing me, I made it into my house. I told my sister what had happened, and she called my mom at work, but she said that we should just lock the doors and watch for the car. I never saw that car ever again.
My junior year, I was on my high school’s dance team. We had just finished performing our half-time routine and were in the process of heading back to the bleachers, where we had our bags, when someone who looked kind of familiar spit at me from over the fence and cursed at me. I wasn’t sure at the time where I knew the face from, but I got extremely scared. A senior member on the team overh
eard what had happened and took me to the coaches. She explained to them what had happened, and my coach was about ready to jump over the fence and punch the guy’s lights out, but I knew that wouldn’t solve anything. That would only make me seem weak and would show that I let his hostility get to me. I wanted to be stronger than that and not give in, so I asked my coach if we could just forget about what happened and just enjoy the rest of the game.
Although I wanted to forget what had happened, I couldn’t. I started having panic attacks and nightmares with flashbacks from that football game. I lost my appetite and became really depressed. After a couple months of not being able to eat much at all, my family and friends became very worried and wanted to help in any way that they could. However, I wasn’t ready to admit the fact that I had a problem.
One night, after a dance practice, I got these intense pains in my side, and my mom rushed me to the hospital. I was given many tests, but they couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. I wasn’t too sure myself. Finally, they took me back for a question-and-answer session, and a psychologist started asking me a ton of questions and had me respond to them. He asked me if I had ever had sexual contact. I wasn’t quite sure how to answer that because I never had any willingly, but it did happen, so I told him the whole story. He was shocked to hear me say it so quickly and was glad that I did—and so was I. He asked why it had taken me so many years to tell, and I answered that I had been worried that I would be hunted down if I ever told. He found that quite understandable and contacted some social workers and legal offices to see if anything could be done about the sexual molester. Since I had waited so long and didn’t have a witness, there really wasn’t anything that could be done except that I should start seeing a psychologist regularly and that would help all the physical pain my body had been enduring.
I’m telling this story not to get sympathy, but because it was an important lesson that I learned. If something happens to you that you suspect isn’t right, tell someone right away. It will only help. Your life will become more tranquil. I used to have nightmares any time my eyes would shut, but after telling someone, I can now sleep peacefully. My only regret is not having told earlier.
Hattie Frost, 18
[EDITORS’ NOTE: To get help with child abuse issues of any kind, call Childhelp USA at 800-4-A-CHILD. ]
BFF
Sorrow has its reward. It never leaves us where it found us.
Mary Baker Eddy
Whenever something bad would happen to me, I would think that nothing could be worse than when I had to move away from my home and leave my best friends behind. Flying away from my small home in Colchester, Connecticut, at the age of seven, I felt that it was the hardest thing I had ever done—or ever would do. But I was wrong. I was very, very wrong.
I was just about to go out the door, when I heard the phone ringing. “Hello?” I said into the receiver.
“Courtney? This is Mrs. Lynch.”
“Oh! Hey, Mrs. Lynch! My. . . .”
Mrs. Lynch cut me right off. “Courtney, please let me talk to your mom.”
“Sure, well . . . she’s walking out the door to go to dinner group, but I’m sure she’d want to talk to you!” I went to get my mom. I caught her just as she was pulling out of the driveway with my dad.
“Mom! Mom!” I called, motioning for her to stop the car. “It’s Mrs. Lynch, and it sounds really urgent!” I yelled, thrusting the phone at her. I started to walk away but then stopped because I heard the car door open and then slam shut.
I heard my mother say to Dad, “You go ahead and drop off this bread pudding. I have to stay here with Court and the girls.” I was really confused. I had never heard Mrs. Lynch sound so . . . stressed out . . . or serious . . . or anything like the way she had been when I just talked to her.
“Courtney, come here, Honey. I have to tell you something.”
“Why did Mrs. Lynch sound like that?” I asked, realizing that my mom looked very concerned and like she was choosing her words very carefully.
“Kelly and Jenn . . . ,” she trailed off. Then she took a deep breath and started again. “Kelly and Jenn have been in a very serious sledding accident.” Her words filtered into my head very slowly. Everything started to feel strange. Nothing was making any sense. I was confused. “What about Christiane? What happened? What do you mean?” All of a sudden, my mind sped up again and everything my mom was saying to me started to sink in and I had a very bad feeling in my stomach.
“We don’t know very much except that they both have serious head injuries and they were flown from Colchester to Hartford by Life Star. Then Hartford Hospital transferred them to Boston Children’s. They are both still in the air right now, on the way to Boston. Jenn was sent first because her injuries are more serious than Kelly’s.” Everything was spilling out of her like she was having a talking race with someone. There were tears in her eyes, and as I saw hers I felt a warm stream of tears running down my cheeks as well. I was too overwhelmed to do anything but hug my mom.
My mother told me to call Christiane because she didn’t want to talk to anyone but me right now. I didn’t want to talk to anyone either. The only thing I could think about was Kelly and Jenn. The three of them were my best friends in the whole world. Christiane and I were like sisters. We had done everything together since . . . well, forever. Kelly, Christiane, Jenn and me. That’s it. We were all best friends—BFF—best friends forever. Now two of them were almost gone?
I ran to the parlor and cried. I didn’t stop. Everything seemed to be blocked out of me. I wanted to run. I wanted to be with Christiane. I had to be with her. We needed each other right now, and we were a thousand miles apart.
As the night wore on, I heard the phone ring. My mom answered and murmured something into the receiver. Then I heard footsteps coming down the hall . . . my mom’s footsteps. Not wanting to talk, I rolled over and pretended to be asleep. My mom came over to my bed and handed me the phone. I pushed it back. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I couldn’t. “Courtney, it’s Chris. She won’t talk to anyone but you. She needs you right now. You need each other,” she said quietly but firmly. She pushed the phone back toward me, and this time she didn’t allow me to push it back. There I was, trying to think of what to say to my best friend.
“Hi, Christiane,” I said very quietly.
“Hi, Court,” Chris said back.
“I don’t really know what to say. I am so confused. None of this is sinking in right now.”
“Ya. It hasn’t sunk in for me either, and the scary part is that I could have been on that sled with them.”
“Oh please, Chris! Don’t even go there! Please! Please!”
There was a long moment of silence between us. Then I said I had to go, even though I really didn’t. I just didn’t know what else to say. So we just hung up.
A few hours later, I woke up not realizing where I was or what was happening. I looked at my alarm clock and saw that it was very early in the morning. I had no idea why I was awake. Then I remembered. Tears came into my eyes, and I wiped them away. I climbed out of bed and went downstairs. I saw my mom, just sitting at the table, looking out the window. I knew something was terribly wrong.
She hugged me hard as she gave me the worst news of my life. “Oh, Court,” she said softly. “Jenni died this morning.”
And that was it. I screamed and ran. Then there was nothing. I wanted to be with Jenn—to laugh with her, do stuff like we used to—just to see her. I never would again.
Now I’m on the plane again. We are going back to Colchester for Jenni’s funeral. I haven’t sorted through my feelings enough to understand how to deal with what has happened. I know I will get there eventually, but I’m not there yet. All I can think about is Kelly and Chris and what I will say when I see them. And poor Jenni. I look out the window, and the tears run down my face. I had always thought that plane rides were supposed to be for fun, for an adventure . . . but never again will I think that.
Co
urtney VanDyne, 12
[EDITORS’ NOTE: For more information about how to deal with death and grief, log on to www.kidshealth.org/teen/ (keyword search: “death and grief”). ]
Hero
Who ran to help me when I fell
And would some pretty story tell
Or kiss the place to make it well?
My mother.
Jane Taylor
Have you ever had someone in your life who made you think you could conquer anything? Someone who could make you smile even when you felt like all you could do was cry? My mom was that for me.
My mom took the bad things in life and turned them into miracles. If I was upset and crying, she was there with a bright smile that made all the troubles in the world seem minuscule compared to her brightly lit face. Sometimes I think she could have eclipsed the sun with that smile. I still see that smile sometimes—like when I wake up to a loud alarm clock beeping in my ear telling me it’s time to start another day, or when I’m sitting in class and I just can’t conjugate that Spanish sentence. I’m about to give up, and then there it is, that beautiful smile.
As a child, your worst fear is death. You don’t really know what it is. You know it’s sad. You know that it’s something you don’t want to happen to the two people in your life that you love the most . . . your parents. As scary moments go, that’s one of the worst. As you get older, you come to the realization that nothing lasts forever and that you aren’t going to last forever either.
But we never think that it is going to happen to us immediately. When people usually talk about death, we speak as if it’s something that’s going to happen so far into the future that we needn’t worry about it. Sometimes we may wonder how it’s going to happen—if it will be painful. We wonder if we will get to tell those friends and family members just how much they meant to us.