I first posted this on Sarah’s cancer site in October 2002, five months after her diagnosis and I re-posted it here about five years ago. Whenever fall comes around, my mind always goes back to this story that re-inspires me and recharges me with thanksgiving every time I read it.
This past Thursday, the hospital staff where Sarah receives her treatment put together a little Halloween outing for its young patients. In preparation for this big event, Sarah donned a huge smile and a Sponge Bob outfit. She thought it was especially wonderful that she and Mr Jeff ( the pediatric oncology psychologist) were rocking identical outfits.
She added this pink wig to her ensemble but after a few minutes decided she didn’t like it after all, since it clashed with the Sponge Bob yellow. Girlfriend is all about her hospital/Halloween ensembles matching.
She cheerily took off down the hall with her cancer cronies, swinging her orange bucket with great enthusiasm. There were only a few kids well enough to participate but they all seemed determined to have as much fun as a hospitalized child possibly can, as another autumn day of their childhood disappears forever outside the window.
Since the children were accompanied by various poles, medical personnel, and hovering parents, our collective pace was slower-than-a-snail’s as we moved toward the first nursing station. The slow pace worked out well, however, because it gave me a chance to walk on ahead of the group and snap a few pictures. Up until that point I had only seen the gathering from the inside but when I turned around and caught a glimpse of the group as a whole, I had to wipe away unexpected tears.
I saw a bald 3-year old ballerina who in a few hours, would be violently throwing up as her fifth round of chemo began. I saw a small boy in a wagon, too weak to walk but jauntily sporting an orange scarecrow wig. Beside him was a mom with a sad, weary face, holding tightly to the hand of a daughter she may never get to see grow into womanhood.
There were small kids hooked up to huge poles and tiny trick-or-treaters pulling oxygen carts. There were children who could barely walk and kids with enough suffering written on their faces to last a lifetime. There were also compassionate, gifted nurses who willingly risk having their hearts broken every time they come to work.
In short, when I turned around, I saw a hall full of heroes.
Although each hero’s face told a different story, I still noticed many things they had in common. I glimpsed courage and humor despite childish grief over childhoods lost. I saw smiles behind suffering and excitement behind eyes that had seen too much.
And smack dab in the middle of it all, I saw a certain bald Sponge Bob, her pale face covered with a yellow hospital mask, her wise and weary eyes eagerly peering over the rim.
This was not just any Sponge Bob, mind you. This was the Sponge Bob of my heart, perfectly at rest in the halls of suffering, perfectly at home inside her own ailing skin, perfectly at peace with the simple joy of holding up an orange bucket and a smile to a nurse and receiving a treat in exchange.
When I finished my photos and stepped back into the group, I took Sponge Bob’s hand as we walked, so very thankful for the simple joy of just getting to be with her.
After about fifteen minutes of walking with the group, Sarah’s small voice announced wearily from behind her mask, “Mommy, my steam just ran out!”
I said, “That’s okay, Sarah. I’ll just pick you up and carry you.”
And so I did.
And Sarah and I continued on with our stalwart companions on our journey through the hospital, on our journey through the valley of the shadow of death.
Some members from our little group will come out whole on the other side of the valley; others will travel on to a place where there are no tears, no cancer, no bald children, no death, and no sounds of small hearts breaking. The only sound heard in that place will be the music of children’s voices laughing and the glory of children’s voices singing.
And as for Sarah? We don’t know how much time she has. Maybe just months. Maybe years.
But at some point in the (hopefully far away) future, Sarah “Sponge Bob” Smith will look trustingly into the face of heaven and say, “God, my steam just ran out!”
And He’ll say, “That’s okay, Sarah. I’ll just pick you up and carry you.”
I remember reading your Caringbridge posts. They were so heartbreaking and the photos would bring tears to my eyes. She was such a brave little girl. It is amazing and a miracle to see how she is now. I’m so glad that things turned out so well for your whole family.
Kari,
Yes, those Caringbridge days were a time I never want to go back to. I’m thankful for my dear readers who were back in that chapter of life with us.
So thankful for a healthy 22-year girl!
I remember reading this and many other of your posts on Caring Bridge back then. You had a way of writing that just made your situation of having a seriously ill child relatable even though it shouldn’t be. I am glad Sarah seems to be healthy and doing well today and I am glad you haven’t forgotten where you came from and still remember those who are suffering. From what I understood of your writing at the time, the odds were very much stacked against Sarah’s living to adulthood, especially after she relapsed. I hope her story can be an encouragement to others who have her type of cancer or for those of us who feel the odds are not in our favor for other reasons.
Blue Rose,
I am so glad you left a comment. Long time readers who go back to the Caring Bridge days are especially special around here!
Your memory is correct concerning Sarah’s chances of surviving to adulthood. After she relapsed in 2006, her chances became even lower. We are grateful that this lovely 22-year old woman is still very much alive and well.
Her story has definitely encouraged many people through the years and my hope is that it will also encourage you in some way. Every life is so very valuable.
So much to be thankful for! (The picture of her little self holding out her pumpkin for candy……almost too much Becky, uggh)
Lesley,
I know. That picture gets my heart, too. The roads she has traveled to get to this point in life . . .
Oh Becky, what a beautiful post, once again you made me cry. I am so glad that Sponge Bob Smith is a beautiful, kind, sweet college senior! Every time I walk into a Food Lion here in NC, I think of her…..God Bless all of you.
Dale,
I love that Food Lion makes you think of Sarah. 🙂 That’s so sweet.
So glad for that grown up Sponge Bob of mine!
Oh, Becky, this makes me cry as well – both tears of rejoicing that your precious Sarah is doing so well, and tears of sorrow that so many children are gone due to cancer. Thanks for posting this reminder of how precious every day is and of the courage that is all around us. God bless.
Jenny,
Precious. Courageous. Two strong, heartwords that perfectly describe those heroes in the hall.
Sometimes tears are the only reponse.
That story always give me duck bumps (goose pimples to others). And yet, it also makes me excited to know grown-up Sponge Bob is still here – going to college – and continues to be a blessing to those that she comes in contact with.
Sharyn,
Yes, I’m thankful too that we have a Grown Up, College Student Sponge Bob in our lives. I get my own set of duck bumps when I think about it. 🙂
Becky: This is such a beautiful post. I am so happy that you are able to continue to write posts about “The Sponge Bob of your Heart” and I am also happy that she continues to “soak” up everything in life as she continues on the incredible journey.
Mel,
I see what you did there. 🙂 You used “soak” and Sponge Bob” in the same sentence. Very clever!
I am so very thankful for my grown up Sponge Bob.
Thankful that God is always there when we run out of steam.
Mary,
That is so very true. We all have our steamless days and it’s good to know we are not alone during them.
So glad that Sarah has come out relatively whole from her fight.
Phyllis,
Many amens to that!
Oh Becky. Tears in my eyes. Again. This post is so touching and so eye opening. It really puts our lives into perspective and the importance of things, or the lack of actual importance. Sarah has been so blessed to conquer the cancer demon and move into adulthood. Happy Halloween Sponge Bob Sarah!! <3
LeeAnne,
Yes, some posts just seem to call for tears, don’t they? So thankful this is a post where the tears are happy ones, and not sad.
Such a touching post. Tears to my eyes as I read this. Do I have anything to complain about? No. God is so good to me! I started my second round of oral chemo yesterday after being off two weeks and so far no problems other than low white count. I have had a wonderful life and looking forward to more years. These children some never experienced life. I am thankful and so thankful Sponge Bob Sarah is celebrating another Halloween. God is good. Love you all. ????????
Ann,
You are so right; we DO have much to be thankful for, and you especially with a good round of chemo behind you with no major side effects. I know you are so relieved to have it going so well. Many hugs to you and Jim today!