Even when our children are small, we can often pick out special attributes God has given them. For instance, my oldest son, Daniel, was an “on the go” child. He was much too inquisitive to enjoy sitting around on anyone’s lap for more than a couple of minutes. He fought sleep; fearing he might miss out on something. He enjoyed learning about everything. My youngest could lie down in a roomful of strangers and be asleep in a matter of minutes. He was more of a hands on learner; books were a bother. While Daniel bordered on Type A personality, Caleb was submerged in Type B -a fly by the seat of your pants kind of kid. But Caleb possessed one special trait that he was adamant about and this became evident when he was six years old.
Caleb met Justin the first day of kindergarten. He did not know the name of what made Justin different; he just knew that he was. And so did every other kid in the class. At parent-teacher’s conference that fall I learned that Caleb was befriending the classmate with Down’s syndrome. “Out on the playground he protects him like a mother hen would, getting after anyone making fun of Justin,” his teacher reported. “In class he makes a point to sit beside him in case he needs help which he often does.”
As the year went on, I heard more and more stories about Caleb’s friendship with Justin. Caleb would come home from school and often have a tale of his own to tell me. Maybe it was something he had helped Justin do or sometimes he was excited to tell me about a certain, simple task Justin had accomplished on his own. It was obvious that Caleb and Justin were becoming good friends, and I was proud of my son for taking an active roll in helping someone less capable.
I was the Emergency Room nurse the day the ambulance brought Justin into our small hospital. My heart sank. My son’s little friend – writhing with abdominal pain, nausea and vomiting. Had it been any other six year old, my first thought would have been “flu” or “appendicitis.” But Down’s syndrome carries a high risk of the chance of malignancies. I wanted so much to know this wasn’t the case with Justin. Labs and xrays were taken and before I was off shift, my fears were confirmed. Justin was diagnosed with a Wilm’s tumor – a malignancy of the kidney. I hurried to finish paperwork required for air transport to Children’s in Denver. My mind worried both for Justin and for my son. How was I going to tell my six year old his friend could die?
Caleb was playing quietly in his room when I got home. I plopped down on the floor beside him, handing him various Lego pieces while we chit-chatted about his day. “Justin wasn’t in school today,” Caleb remarked. I took a deep breath and dove in. “I know,” I said, “Justin was brought in by ambulance today. He is very sick and we had to fly him to Denver.” I thought this would begin a line of questions that might make it easier to have the needed conversation, but instead Caleb responded calmly with a matter of fact statement. “That’s where people go to get better.”
Unfortunately, Justin did not get better. I worried how a six year old would process the death of a friend his own age. Would this shake his child-like faith?
I wondered whether I should take Caleb to Justin’s funeral service, but he wanted to go. I hated to think that his first funeral would be that of a young friend, but I knew it might help him accept the reality of it.
A week later, I watched through our picture window as Daniel and the neighbor kids rode their bikes down the lane. Heart breaking tears trickled down my cheeks as I watched Caleb running behind them again, trying desperately to keep up. I knew why he was leaving his blue Christmas bike untouched in the garage. On the way home after Justin’s service he had very decisively said to me, “I’m giving Justin my bike. He couldn’t ride a bike here, Mom, but he can now.” That bike might as well have been in heaven, because to Caleb it was.
I pondered my words. I prayed. I sat on the couch with Caleb that evening. “Caleb,” I began, “you know what – Justin might want a red bike or a green bike. He can have any color he wants, you know.” I paused to let him think about that. “It was really a wonderful thing you did for your friend and I’m proud of you, but I think he would like to pick out his own bike.” Caleb was quiet and I prayed a silent prayer again. Just when I thought I might have hurt his tender feelings, he looked up at me with a huge smile. He nodded.
The next evening I watched again through the window. This time it was happy tears that trickled down my face. Who was leading the pack of neighborhood kids on bikes? Of course – a joyful, dark headed six-year-old on a blue bike!
Until next month, keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.
Kathy Post
Beautiful! Thank you!