A Blessing In Disguise
When I was in the sixth grade, I attended an open-concept school. This meant that the school was designed like a bicycle spoke, with no doors and moveable walls. In the center of the spoke stood the library, and shooting out from it in all directions, were classrooms housing students in all subjects, in all grade levels. There were no desks, only tables, that students shared as pairs.
I was new to this school and new to the gifted and talented program. I was anxious to start a new year but anxious about who would be my table mate and if they would like me or not.
Several weeks passed before I met my table mate. I'd heard her name several times from the other kids, but she was never in school. "It's back", I'd hear them whisper. "Have you seen her lately?" they'd ask at the lockers. I heard a lot about Anna before I saw her. From what I could gather, she sounded like a nice person, and I couldn't wait to make her acquaintance.
Before Thanksgiving that year, Anna returned to school. She had no hair and relied on crutches or a wheelchair to get around. Leukemia had robbed her of her youth, but she wore a grin that spread from ear to ear.
I had never met anyone so sick yet so positive. Anna looked like death, but her outlook was contagious. You couldn't help but feel good being in her presence. She had a zest for life and talked constantly about the things she couldn't wait to eat again, try and do.
She came to class only a handful of days before the chair beside me was empty again. For days the chair just sat there, waiting for a person that wasn't going to come. Finally, the principal came in and talked to my class.
"Anna has taken a turn for the worst and won't be coming back to school. She asked to see all of you and so tomorrow, you will be going to see her at the Children's Hospital. Here are your permission slips and a note explaining the situation to your parents. Please bring a sack lunch and be here promptly to load the bus."
I was excited about seeing Anna. I knew the hospital was nowhere to be and I hoped that our visiting her would cheer her up and inspire her to come back to school. I chose my outfit carefully. After all, we were her "cheer up" committee!
But the second I saw her, my spirits fell. The Anna I'd gotten to know and love in only a brief time, looked like she was quickly losing her fight. I worked hard to keep my tears back. I couldn't imagine how someone so young could look so old.
I will cherish forever my day with Anna, as it was our last. Word came by the following morning that after we'd left, Anna slipped away and never woke up.
This was the first time I'd lost anyone and I didn't know how to handle it. I couldn't understand how someone like Anna could lose her fight when criminals could live "forever"? How could Anna's parents go on knowing they would never see their little girl get married or have children of her own? How could they not see a school bus and hate it because their child wasn't on it? And how could I deal with seeing an empty chair beside me for the rest of the year, knowing that Anna, with her fighting spirit, wanted to be in it more than anything else in the world?
It has been almost 30 years now since Anna died, but I think about her a lot. I wonder if I have made good use of the life I was given, and if, in her infinite wisdom, she would appreciate how I've worked to keep her memory alive.
I believe all things happen for a reason. For me, Anna's life was something to celebrate. She could have been negative, but she wasn't. She could have felt sorry for herself, but she didn't. She could have worried her life away, anticipating a death she surely knew was coming, but she didn't, and I believe to have the courage to dream in the face of incredible odds says a lot about her character.
I want to be more like Anna. I want to be able to better deal with the challenges life throws my way. I want to be someone who focuses on the positive, not who dwells on the negative, and I want to die knowing that the people I loved most in the world, saw me for who I was and not what I looked like.
To a sixth grader, Anna had a wisdom that far exceeded her years. I miss her and hope that one day we have the chance to sit side by side once again so I can tell her what as a 11-year old I never could: you are my hero, now and for always.
I was new to this school and new to the gifted and talented program. I was anxious to start a new year but anxious about who would be my table mate and if they would like me or not.
Several weeks passed before I met my table mate. I'd heard her name several times from the other kids, but she was never in school. "It's back", I'd hear them whisper. "Have you seen her lately?" they'd ask at the lockers. I heard a lot about Anna before I saw her. From what I could gather, she sounded like a nice person, and I couldn't wait to make her acquaintance.
Before Thanksgiving that year, Anna returned to school. She had no hair and relied on crutches or a wheelchair to get around. Leukemia had robbed her of her youth, but she wore a grin that spread from ear to ear.
I had never met anyone so sick yet so positive. Anna looked like death, but her outlook was contagious. You couldn't help but feel good being in her presence. She had a zest for life and talked constantly about the things she couldn't wait to eat again, try and do.
She came to class only a handful of days before the chair beside me was empty again. For days the chair just sat there, waiting for a person that wasn't going to come. Finally, the principal came in and talked to my class.
"Anna has taken a turn for the worst and won't be coming back to school. She asked to see all of you and so tomorrow, you will be going to see her at the Children's Hospital. Here are your permission slips and a note explaining the situation to your parents. Please bring a sack lunch and be here promptly to load the bus."
I was excited about seeing Anna. I knew the hospital was nowhere to be and I hoped that our visiting her would cheer her up and inspire her to come back to school. I chose my outfit carefully. After all, we were her "cheer up" committee!
But the second I saw her, my spirits fell. The Anna I'd gotten to know and love in only a brief time, looked like she was quickly losing her fight. I worked hard to keep my tears back. I couldn't imagine how someone so young could look so old.
I will cherish forever my day with Anna, as it was our last. Word came by the following morning that after we'd left, Anna slipped away and never woke up.
This was the first time I'd lost anyone and I didn't know how to handle it. I couldn't understand how someone like Anna could lose her fight when criminals could live "forever"? How could Anna's parents go on knowing they would never see their little girl get married or have children of her own? How could they not see a school bus and hate it because their child wasn't on it? And how could I deal with seeing an empty chair beside me for the rest of the year, knowing that Anna, with her fighting spirit, wanted to be in it more than anything else in the world?
It has been almost 30 years now since Anna died, but I think about her a lot. I wonder if I have made good use of the life I was given, and if, in her infinite wisdom, she would appreciate how I've worked to keep her memory alive.
I believe all things happen for a reason. For me, Anna's life was something to celebrate. She could have been negative, but she wasn't. She could have felt sorry for herself, but she didn't. She could have worried her life away, anticipating a death she surely knew was coming, but she didn't, and I believe to have the courage to dream in the face of incredible odds says a lot about her character.
I want to be more like Anna. I want to be able to better deal with the challenges life throws my way. I want to be someone who focuses on the positive, not who dwells on the negative, and I want to die knowing that the people I loved most in the world, saw me for who I was and not what I looked like.
To a sixth grader, Anna had a wisdom that far exceeded her years. I miss her and hope that one day we have the chance to sit side by side once again so I can tell her what as a 11-year old I never could: you are my hero, now and for always.