~
Author Unknown
A
story is told about a soldier who was finally coming home after having fought
in Vietnam. He called his parents from San Francisco.
"Mom
and Dad, I'm coming home, but I've a favor to ask. I have a friend I'd like to
bring home with me.
"Sure,"
they replied, "we'd love to meet him."
"There's
something you should know," the son continued, "he was hurt pretty
badly in the fighting. He stepped on a land mind and lost an arm and a leg. He
has nowhere else to go, and I want him to come live with us."
"I'm
sorry to hear that, son. Maybe we can help him find somewhere to live."
"No,
Mom and Dad, I want him to live with us."
"Son,"
said the father, "you don't know what you're asking. Someone with such a
handicap would be a terrible burden on us. We have our own lives to live, and
we can't let something like this interfere with our lives. I think you should
just come home and forget about this guy. He'll find a way to live on his
own."
At
that point, the son hung up the phone. The parents heard nothing more from him.
A few days later, however, they received a call from the San Francisco police.
Their son had died after falling from a building, they were told. The police
believed it was suicide.
The
grief-stricken parents flew to San Francisco and were taken to the city morgue
to identify the body of their son. They recognized him, but to their horror
they also discovered something they didn't know, their son had only one arm and
one leg.
The
parents in this story are like many of us. We find it easy to love those who
are good-looking or fun to have around, but we don't like people who
inconvenience us or make us feel uncomfortable. We would rather stay away from
people who aren't as healthy, beautiful, or smart as we are.
Thankfully,
there's someone who won't treat us that way. Someone who loves us with an
unconditional love that welcomes us into the forever family, regardless of how
messed up we are.
Tonight,
before you tuck yourself in for the night, say a little prayer that God will
give you the strength you need to accept people as they are, and to help us all
be more understanding of those who are different from us!!! There's a miracle
called Friendship That dwells in the heart You don't know how it happens Or
when it gets started But you know the special lift It always brings. And you
realize that Friendship Is God's most precious gift!
Friends
are a very rare jewel, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to
succeed. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to
open their hearts to us. Show your friends how much you care....
~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"A touching story worth reading."
~
Author Unknown
Dear
Patrick,
I
was then an only child who had everything I could ever want. But even a pretty,
spoiled and rich kid could get lonely once in a while so when Mom told me that
she was pregnant, I was ecstatic. I imagined how wonderful you would be and how
we'd always be together and how much you would look like me. So, when you were
born, I looked at your tiny hands and feet and marveled at how beautiful you
were.
We
took you home and I showed you proudly to my friends. They would touch you and
sometimes pinch you, but you never reacted. When you were five months old, some
things began to bother Mom. You seemed so unmoving and numb, and your cry
sounded odd --- almost like a kitten's. So we brought you to many doctors.
The
thirteenth doctor who looked at you quietly said you have the "cry du
chat" (pronounced Kree-do-sha) syndrome, "cry of the cat" in
French.
When
I asked what that meant, he looked at me with pity and softly said, "Your
brother will never walk nor talk." The doctor told us that it is a
condition that afflicts one in 50,000 babies, rendering victims severely
retarded. Mom was shocked and I was furious. I thought it was unfair.
When
we went home, Mom took you in her arms and cried. I looked at you and realized
that word will get around that you're not normal. So to hold on to my
popularity, I did the unthinkable ... I disowned you. Mom and Dad didn't know
but I steeled myself not to love you as you grew. Mom and Dad showered you love
and attention and that made me bitter. And as the years passed, that bitterness
turned to anger, and then hate.
Mom
never gave up on you. She knew she had to do it for your sake.
Everytime
she put your toys down, you'd roll instead of crawl. I watched her heart break
every time she took away your toys and strapped your tummy with foam so you
couldn't roll. You struggle and you're cry in that pitiful way, the cry of the
kitten. But she still didn't give up.
And
then one day, you defied what all your doctors said -- you crawled.
When
mom saw this, she knew you would eventually walk. So when you were still
crawling at age four, she'd put you on the grass with only your diapers on
knowing that you hate the feel of the grass on your skin.
Then
she'd leave you there. I would sometimes watch from the windows and smile at
your discomfort. You would crawl to the sidewalk and Mom would put you back.
Again and again, Mom repeated this on the lawn. Until one day, Mom saw you pull
yourself up and toddle off the grass as fast as your little legs could carry
you.
Laughing
and crying, she shouted for Dad and I to come. Dad hugged you crying openly.
I
watched from my bedroom window this heartbreaking scene.
Over
the years, Mom taught you to speak, read and write. From then on, I would
sometime see you walk outside, smell the flowers, marvel at the birds, or just
smile at no one. I began to see the beauty of the world through your eyes. It
was then that I realized that you were my brother and no matter how much I
tried to hate you, I couldn't, because I had grown to love you.
During
the next few days, we again became acquainted with each other. I would buy you
toys and give you all the love that a sister could ever give to her brother.
And you would reward me by smiling and hugging me.
But
I guess, you were never really meant for us. On your tenth birthday, you felt
severe headaches. The doctor's diagnosis --leukemia. Mom gasped and Dad held
her, while I fought hard to keep my tears from falling. At that moment, I loved
you all the more. I couldn't even bear to leave your side. Then the doctors
told us that your only hope is to have a bonemarrow transplant. You became the
subject of a nationwide donor search. When at last we found the right match,
you were too sick, and the doctor reluctantly ruled out the operations. Since
then, you underwent chemotherapy and radiation.
Even
at the end, you continued to pursue life. Just a month before you died, you
made me draw up a list of things you wanted to do when you got out of the
hospital. Two days after the list was completed, you asked the doctors to send
you home. There, we ate ice cream and cake, run across the grass, flew kites,
went fishing, took pictures of one another and let the balloons fly. I remember
the last conversation that we had. You said that if you die, and if I need of
help, I could send you a note to heaven by tying it on the string of any
balloon and letting it fly. When you said this, I started crying. Then you
hugged me. Then again, for the last time, you got sick.
That
last night, you asked for water, a back rub, a cuddle. Finally, you went into
seizure with tears streaming down your face. Later, at the hospital, you
struggled to talk but the words wouldn't come. I know what you wanted to say.
"Hear you," I whispered. And for the last time, I said, "I'll
always love and I will never forget you. Don't be afraid. You'll soon be with
God in heaven." Then, with my tears flowing freely, I watched the bravest
boy I had ever known finally stop breathing. Dad, Mom and I cried until I felt
as if there were no more tears left. Patrick was finally gone, leaving us
behind.
From
then on, you were my source of inspiration. You showed me how to love life and
live to the fullest. With your simplicity and honesty, you showed me a world
full of love and caring. And you made me realize that the most important thing
in this life is to continue loving without asking why or how and without
setting any limit.
Thank
you, my little brother, for all these.
