Thanks for bringing the following story to my attention, Dwight.
Jeremy was born with a twisted body, a slow mind and a chronic, terminal illness that had been slowly killing him all his young life. Still his parents had tried to give him as normal a life as possible and had sent him to St. Theresa’s Elementary School.
At the age of 12, Jeremy was only in second grade, seemingly unable to learn. His teacher, Doris Miller, often became exasperated with him. He would squirm in his seat, drool and make grunting noises. At other times, he spoke clearly and distinctly, as if a spot of light had penetrated the darkness of his brain. Most of the time, however, Jeremy irritated his teacher.
One day, she called his parents and asked them to come to St. Theresa’s for a consultation. As the Forresters sat quietly in the empty classroom, Doris said to them, “Jeremy really belongs in a special school. It isn’t fair to him to be with younger children who don’t have learning problems. Why, there is a five-year gap between his age and that of the other students!”
Mrs. Forrester cried softly into a tissue while her husband spoke. “Miss Miller,” he said, “there is no school of that kind nearby. It would be a terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of this school. We know he really likes it here.”
Doris sat for a long time after they left, staring at the snow outside the window. Its coldness seemed to seep into her soul. She wanted to sympathize with the Forresters. After all, their only child had a terminal illness. But it wasn’t fair to keep him in her class. She had 18 other youngsters to teach and Jeremy was a distraction. Furthermore, he would never learn to read or write. Why waste any more time trying?
As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. “Oh God,” she said aloud, “here I am complaining when my problems are nothing compared with that poor family! Please help me to be more patient with Jeremy.”
From that day on, she tried to ignore Jeremy’s noises and his blank stares. Then one day he limped to her desk, dragging his bad leg behind him. “I love you, Miss Miller,” he exclaimed loudly enough for the whole class to hear. The other children snickered, and Doris’s face turned red. She stammered, “Wh-Why, that’s very nice, Jeremy. Now please take your seat.”
Spring came, and the children talked excitedly about the coming of Easter. Doris told them of the story of Jesus, and then to emphasize the idea of new life springing forth, she gave each of the children a large plastic egg. “Now,” she said to them, “I want you to take this home and bring it back tomorrow with something inside that shows new life. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss Miller!” the children responded enthusiastically – all except for Jeremy. He just listened intently, his eyes never left her face. He did not even make his usual noises. Had he understood what she had said about Jesus’ death and resurrection? Did he understand the assignment? Perhaps she should call his parents and explain the project to them.
That evening, Doris’s kitchen sink stopped up. She called the landlord and waited an hour for him to come by and unclog it. After that, she still had to shop for groceries, iron a blouse and prepare a vocabulary test for the next day. She completely forgot about phoning Jeremy’s parents.
The next morning, 19 children came to school, laughing and talking as they placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on Miss Miller’s desk. After they completed their Math lesson, it was time to open the eggs. In the first egg, Doris found a flower. “Oh yes, a flower is certainly a sign of new life,” she said. “When plants peek through the ground we know that spring is here.” A small girl in the first row waved her arms. “That’s my egg, Miss Miller,” she called out.
The next egg contained a plastic butterfly, which looked very real. Doris held it up, “We all know that a caterpillar changes and grows into a beautiful butterfly. Yes that is new life, too.” Little Judy smiled proudly and said, “Miss Miller, that one is mine.”
Next, Doris found a rock with moss on it. She explained that the moss, too, showed life. Billy spoke up from the back of the classroom. “My Daddy helped me!” he beamed.
Then Doris opened the fourth egg. She gasped. The egg was empty! Surely it must be Jeremy’s she thought, and of course, he did not understand her instructions. If only she had not forgotten to phone his parents. Because she did not want to embarrass him, she quietly set the egg aside and reached for another. Suddenly Jeremy spoke up.
“Miss Miller, aren’t you going to talk about my egg?” Flustered, Doris replied, “but Jeremy – your egg is empty!” He looked into her eyes and said softly, “Yes, but Jesus’ tomb was empty too!”
Time stopped. When she could speak again, Doris asked him, “Do you know why the tomb was empty?” “Oh yes!” Jeremy exclaimed. “Jesus was killed and put in there. Then His Father raised Him up!”
The recess bell rang. While the children excitedly ran out to the school yard, Doris cried. The cold inside her melted completely away.
Three months later Jeremy died. Those who paid their respects at the mortuary were surprised to see 19 eggs on top of his casket…all of them empty.
~Ida Mae Kempel
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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“An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity.”
~Martin Luther King
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”
~Dr. Seuss
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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In my last Blog post I shared the touching story of Nick Charles, the former CNN sports anchor, who is dying of cancer and consciously leaving an oral legacy for his family.
He’s talked with counselors and hospice workers about his final week. It will go something like this: He’ll lose his appetite first. After three days, he’ll be unable to swallow and feel like he’s drowning. His liver will stop functioning and other organs will follow. The cancer will take over completely.
He’ll be given morphine to ease the pain. As a Christian, he struggled with that concept. He wanted to make sure he wasn’t committing suicide.
“We’re not pulling the plug on you early,” he was told. “We’re just keeping you comfortable until the end.”
My father died last June and I was with him in his final days as his body shut down.
So, speaking from someone who has witnessed the approach of death, to Nick I say, “May you find comfort in your final moments.”
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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A few years ago I introduced you to Bruce, who, with two months left to live, started a videotape farewell to his loved ones. He wanted to create a meaningful goodbye…and leave a history.
Today I’d like to introduce you to former CNN sports anchor Nick Charles. On August 4, 2009 Nick was told he had incurable bladder cancer…and it had spread into his lungs. He was given four to six months to live if he opted for no treatment. With treatment, he could expect about 20 months. It is now 21 months later.
Like Bruce, Nick is creating a video message. While his wife Cory holds the camera, 64-year-old Nick records messages to his five-year-old daughter, Giovanna. He calls his daughter, “A gift from God. A blessing who came to me late in life.”
Nick has undergone rounds of chemotherapy that darkened the circles under his eyes, and, in his words, “Make me look like I’m halfway in the grave.” But for Nick every breath is a gift. And with the series of birthday videos he’s taping for Giovanna, he’s on a mission to leave a lingering presence for her.
Having three grown children from two previous marriages, his impending death has brought him closer to them—including his 39-year-old son who sits with him during chemo sessions.
For his wife, the pain is unbearable…to witness the slow decline of the person she loves. However, Charles calls Cory his rock. She is the love of his life.
Cory collapsed when she and her husband first learned of his illness. A producer for CNN International, she continues to work because it keeps her focused. Yet she’s already begun a grieving process to prepare “for when he won’t be here.” She’s in touch with bereavement groups and camps to help children who have lost a parent.
When Giovanna recently saw her mother crying, the girl consoled her. “Don’t worry,” she said, “Daddy will always be in your heart.”
Wondering whether he will be around to celebrate his upcoming 65th birthday on June 30th, Nick says, “I don’t know how long I have.” He stopped his chemo in January saying, “I can’t take this chemo any more. It’s going to kill me before the cancer. I want to feel everything in life while I can.”
Now just waking up to live one more day is blissful. Nick says he stays positive because he has no unfulfilled longings. “I’ve seen Paris,” he says.
There are fewer good days. “I hope,” he says, “that I go to sleep and just don’t wake up.”
He’s recorded 10 hours of oral history—essentially his life story—for all his children to hear after he’s gone. What a remarkable legacy he’s leaving!
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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“Most people never run far enough on their first wind to find out they’ve got a second. Give your dreams all you’ve got and you’ll be amazed at the energy that comes out of you.”
~William James
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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Here is an amazing news story that was on the wires from Japan today (It touched my heart and I just HAD to share it; Thank you Paula):
“Susumu Sugawara looks bemused and a little embarrassed at all the attention he’s getting.
“The 64 year old has become a local hero on the Japanese island of Oshima. Smashed boats adorn the coastline of this once-idyllic tourist spot, but Sugawara’s pride and joy, “Sunflower” is intact and working overtime transporting people and aid to and from the island. It can hold around 20 people at a time.
“When the tsunami came, everyone ran to the hills. But Sugawara ran to his boat and steered it into deeper waters. “I knew if I didn’t save my boat, my island would be isolated and in trouble,” he tells CNN.
“As he passed his other boats, used for fishing abalone, he said goodbye to them, apologizing that he could not save them all.
“Then the first wave came. Sugawara says he is used to seeing waves up to 5 meters high but this was four-times that size.
“”My feeling at this moment is indescribable,” he says with glistening eyes. “I talked to my boat and said you’ve been with me 42 years. If we live or die, then we’ll be together, then I pushed on full throttle.”
“”Here was my boat and here was the wave,” he says, holding one hand low and the other stretched high above his head. “I climbed the wave like a mountain. When I thought I had got to the top, the wave got even bigger.”
“Sugawara’s arms flail wildly as he describes the top of the wave crashing down repeatedly onto his boat. “I closed my eyes and felt dizzy. When I opened them, I could see the horizon again, so I knew I’d made it.”
“Then the next wave came. Sugawara can’t remember if there were four or five waves, but he says he did not feel afraid, he was just focused on steering his boat.
“Suddenly the sea was completely calm and he knew he had beaten the tsunami. Sugawara stayed at sea until dark, pumping water from the boat’s engine room. He believed his island had been destroyed by the wave. He says he didn’t cry but felt angry and utterly helpless. He didn’t know if his family had survived.
“Trying to get back to Oshima, he had to navigate carefully past wrecked houses, boats and other debris that floated past him. The island of Oshima was in complete darkness; the only way he could find his way was with the guide of raging fires at Kesunnuma — 5 kilometers (3 miles) away.
“For twenty days, he has been making hourly trips to the mainland. For the first two weeks at least he provided almost the only connection with it. Without Sugawara and the Sunflower, the island would have been completely cut off.
“He doesn’t ask passengers for money if they have none. Those that can, pay just 300 yen (US$3.5) towards fuel.
“Oshima is an island of just 3,500 people. Locals say 35 of them are confirmed dead and some are still missing, though they don’t know how many. Others are believed to have taken their boats out to sea and tried to ride the tsunami like Sugawara but didn’t make it.
“The supermarket owner, Tadaomi Sasahara, tells me he gave all of his food away for free after the disaster. Many islanders then brought their food from their homes and shared it out.
“He adds, “Everyone used to look out for themselves on this island, but after this, the whole community is now helping each other.”
“With his supermarket shelves empty, he now helps Sugawara with his hourly trips to the mainland.
“Sugawara risked his life for his boat and his island — one of the very few to ride a tsunami and to live to tell the tale.”
~Story by Paula Hancocks, CNN
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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“Children are the living messages we send to a time we will not see.”
~John W. Whitehead
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
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Last night while she was trying to sleep,
Her daughter’s voice she did hear
She opened her eyes and looked around
But she did not appear.
She said, “Mama you’ve got to listen.
You’ve got to understand,
God didn’t take me from you, Mama,
He only took my hand.”
When I called out in pain that morning,
The instant that I died,
He reached down and took my hand,
And pulled me to His side.
He pulled me up and saved me
From the misery and pain.
My body was hurt so badly inside,
I could never be the same.
My search is really over now,
I’ve found happiness within.
All the answers to my empty dreams
And all that might have been.
I love you so and miss you so,
And I’ll always be nearby.
My body’s gone forever,
But my spirit will never die!
And so, you must go on now,
Live one day at a time.
Just understand-
God did not take me from you,
He only took my hand.
~Author Unknown
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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Sometimes common (mass; communal) graves are needed (like after last year’s January earthquake in Haiti…and then again after last October’s Indonesian volcano disaster).
And now…today, in the wake of the March 11/11 earthquake and tsunami, hundreds of Japanese people will be finally laid to rest in one of the country’s first mass burials (burial is highly unusual in Japan—most of the dead are cremated).
South of Sendai, a ten-pin bowling alley only slightly damaged by the earthquake, is being used as a makeshift morgue, housing bodies found in the mud, rubble and streets. Within the 21-lane alley, more than 200 coffins are laid out in rows. Each casket has a viewing window enabling people to identify missing family members. Every once in a while an anguished cry signifies someone has been found. Then a nametag is placed on the coffin, and after the family has paid their last respects the window is closed.
But they are running out of coffins—other bodies, wrapped in sheets, are simply laid atop a blue tarp.
The mayor of one town said, “It is so terrible to find the body of a loved one, but perhaps those families are also lucky. Many people will not find a body at all.”
All the while, still–grieving volunteers continue to dig more pits and trenches for the bodies to come.
In some areas, local crematoriums can’t incinerate the deceased fast enough to keep up with new arrivals. There isn’t enough kerosene to burn the bodies, or dry ice to preserve them.
In the town of Rikuzentakata there are 700 dead…and the crematorium can only burn about seven bodies a day.
So as the bodies decay, time is running out.
In some places, crematoriums are simply unable to run due to damage.
Higashimatsushima is preparing an interim solution—a grave, they said, to hold as many as 1,000 bodies. At the edge of that town, next to a recycling center, construction-company workers are digging holes with earth-moving equipment and hammering metal rods into the ground and placing plywood sheets to serve as barriers between bodies. On hand are Buddhist monks, offering prayers for the souls of the dead.
Japanese officials say these graves in the northeast are temporary—they plan to cremate the dead within two years.
I think most of us would agree that finding a body brings some closure…whether a mass burial is needed or not.
What do you think?
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
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