My Promise

I promise myself that I will find a cure.

While you felt the strength in your legs vanish, I held your hand and listened to your dreams of playing football. “The medicine will make me better.” You said, and I kept your hopes high. Confined to a wheelchair, new dreams appeared baseball, basketball, handball. And we played. When you hit that ball out of the park, I could see that it carried you with it, giving you freedom from your wheels. Remember the lasso that extended your reach, how you chased me and roped me and your stuffed animals? You’re so brave little man.

I promise myself that I will find a cure.

“The medicine will make me better.” You told me, putting away the baseball bat because you could no longer hold it. New dreams becoming harder to find, first your legs, now your hands. You can’t play Playstation any more, the Balancing Bob game is not quite as much fun because you can’t move the pieces, it’s hard to scratch yourself, to draw, to hold my hand, but you smile. You’re strong little man, stronger than me.

I promise myself that I will find a cure.

The doctors tell me that there’s one last option. You begin the treatment. I continue to search for other treatments, talking to Pharmaceutical companies. They tell me it’s experimental, only just been given to humans, regulatory agency won’t allow them to give it away yet. “But what about compassion, what about if he’s got no other choices, if his last option doesn’t work?” I ask them, “The law is there to protect the innocent, especially children.” Law is not compassionate to the pain that you feel little man.

I promise myself that I will find a cure.

The last option is not working. I make myself a grain of sand in their eye and they blink my tears of hope into the drought. The tumor spreads. The pain intensifies, you cry, you shut yourself off from the world. They fill you with drugs to counter the pain, “We have given him the maximum dosage.” You get tired very quickly now. Awake for a few hours at most, and asleep for many more. The pain is returning but you hold my hand with the strength of your love. Thank you for showing me what courage is little man. What can I give you in return for everything that you have given me?

I promise myself that I will find a cure.

I hear little of your hopes and dreams now little man, have you given up? Your eyes at times betray this feeling, and then they flash a smile when I say I love you. And what of my hopes for you little man? Yes, they’re still there. I hope that you will live and will not suffer. But wait, surely if I hope that you live, will you not suffer? I don’t want you to suffer more broken dreams, more pain, more tears. I want you to live.

I promise myself that I will find a cure.

My search for a cure has become empty, looking everywhere, searching the eyes of others for an answer for a flame, each leading to an end, dare I say a dead end? My head spins, my heart claustrophobic. I can’t stop the search, I must continue, if I give up the search I give up hope. And as the dizziness of desperate hope gains momentum I feel a warm breeze gathering inside. Is that it? Yes it is! I’ve found it little man, the cure, I hold it high for you to see. Look, it shines brightly through you, pushes you on an eternal swing, makes you laugh uncontrollably, lets you rest your head in comfort. The cure, little man, is my love.

I'm auctioning off my hair to raise money for Breast Cancer Research. Visit http://www.justgiving.com/suemeyer to place your bid!