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January 16, 2005

The Difference You Make

I have told this story many times and in light of the state of the world, I’d like to share it again.

Hope is a like an all-terrain 4-wheel-drive vehicle that can help you plow through your tough times and out the other side.

Here is an example that demonstrates the sheer power of hope.

I was lying on the bed in the hospital with a nine-year-old young man named Victor. Victor was dying of bone cancer. We were talking about life in general when Victor turned to me and said, "What's going to happen when I die?" I was about to answer him when his mother jumped off the chair and rushed over to the bed.

"You are not going to die," she yelled. "We have spent three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, which we don't have, to keep you alive. You will not die!"

"Okay," replied Victor. "I will not die. If you say so."

Ten minutes later his mother left the room and I turned to Victor. "We're all going to die one day," I said. "I'm going to die, my mom's going to die, and you’re going to die."

"I know that," said Victor. "I'm not stupid."

“Then what do you mean?” I asked.

“I want to know what’s going to happen when I die?” he said, calmly.

“Well, I believe people go to heaven,” I said. “Different religions believe different things, but I believe we go to heaven.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Victor, thoughtfully.

"Well," I said. "I'll tell you what. If you die from this disease and you're still a kid, when you get to heaven, ask for my grandfather; his name is Ted."

Victor looked at me as if I were crazy.

"My grandfather died many years ago, "I said. "But he was the most amazing guy. Everybody loved him and he was one of those grandfathers you just want to hug. I'm sure he's up there doing wonderful things, especially helping kids. Kids loved him. Just ask for him when you get there. He’ll get you checked in and I’m sure he’ll get you a good room. He knows a lot of people."

"But how will I find him?" yelled Victor. "About a thousand people died in the war. That's a lot of people up there you know."

"How about 12 million people died in the war," I muttered.

"That's worse," He yelled. “I'll never find him!"

"Relax, It’s okay," I said, calming him down. I tore a piece of paper out of my journal and drew a picture of my grandfather. I gave him the picture and watched a smile spread across his face.

“That’s my grandfather Ted,” I said, pointing to the picture. “He’s really nice. Memorize this picture so you’ll be able to find him when you get up there.”

"Thanks," said Victor. "I'll tell him you said hi."

"Tell him to come down here and spook a few people who owe me money," I said.

"No way," said Victor. "I'm not asking him that."

Victor took the picture of my grandfather and stuck it on the corkboard above his bed where all his get-well cards were pinned.

As the Doctor of Mischief I teased Victor and drove him nuts. Each time I went into his hospital room and messed with him, he threatened to tell my grandfather when he saw him.

Victor collected sports trading cards and I would pick up one of the cards and say, "Wow Victor, a Michael Jordan card. This guy is one heck of a soccer player."

He would get all red in the face and stammer, "He plays basketball. You're teasing me. I'm going to tell your grandfather when I see him, okay." And he'd point to the picture of my grandfather.

Every time I went into the room and teased him he would point to that picture of my grandfather.

Finally, when I walked into the room, he would point to that picture of my grandfather before I could even say a word.

I’m very sad to say Victor died 6 months later and his parents asked me to deliver the eulogy at his funeral.

I was honored to do so and planned to do a stand-up comedy style memorial 'celebrating' Victor's life instead of a eulogy mourning his death.

I was shocked when I got to the church because it was an open casket ceremony. I did not want to see Victor lying in his casket. I wanted to remember him pointing at the picture of my grandfather with his mischievous face.

I skirted around the coffin and went into the sanctuary.

The open coffin was wheeled in and placed alongside the pulpit. The priest delivered the sermon and asked me to deliver the eulogy.

I went up to the pulpit and eulogized my friend Victor, all the time trying not to look at him lying in the coffin alongside where I was standing.

I told the congregation about all the crazy things Victor had done during his battle with cancer, like putting a snake in the bedside table and scaring a nurse half to death.

I told them about the time Victor borrowed an idea from an Irma Bombeck book and put apple juice in his urine sample container. When the nurse came to collect the sample he said, "Look it's all milky" and he held up the bottle for the nurse to see.

"Sure is," she said, squinting at the container.

"Well I'd better pass it through again," he said, quickly opening the container and taking a sip.

The nurse screamed and Victor almost choked with laughter.

As I completed this story the congregation burst into uncontrollable giggles.

"Yup," I said. "Victor was one in a million. He changed the way I look at life and he changed the way I look at death."

Then without realizing it, I looked over at the coffin and I froze. In the coffin I saw Victor lying comfortably amongst a pile of satin pillows. He was dressed in a black tuxedo with a red bow tie. He looked so peaceful. He was lying with his hands resting on his chest and around him in his coffin were all his childhood toys.

His dad had polished up his baseball mitt, which lay on his stomach cradling a brand new baseball.

His collection of teddy bears sat along the edge of the coffin looking at him sadly.

His mom had ironed his softball outfit and it lay in the coffin clean and pressed.

I am so glad I glanced over at Victor because he looked so calm and comfortable. He did not appear sad or in pain.

Then suddenly my life changed, because Victor was lying in his coffin and in his hand he was holding the picture of my grandfather.

His mom came up to me after the funeral and told me I had done more for her son than three hundred and fifty thousand dollars because I had given him hope.

At that moment, I understood the power of hope. It also became plain and clear to me what a difference each and every one of us can make, often, without even realizing it.

Sometimes we simply need to listen to what people are asking for instead of telling them what we think they need to hear.

Never underestimate the power of ‘the difference’ you can make in someone else’s life.

Posted by trevor at January 16, 2005 11:17 PM