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Adam's Story
Adam was the 53rd child that I have been with who has died. He was
13 years old. I am an oncology nurse on the cancer unit of the
Children's Mercy Hospital. I care for children with cancer. And although
that word is not the death sentence it used to be, still...not all
battles are won.
But let me tell you Adam's story, and you decide who is
the victor. Adam was just two weeks shy of his 12th birthday when he was
diagnosed with malignant fibrous histiocytoma, which is a cancer that is
very rare in children. There are only 15 known pediatric cases in the
United States. Adam was given only a 12% chance of survival. He went
through three major surgeries and a year and a half of chemotherapy. And
throughout that time we all came to know Adam well.
You see, Adam never lost his sense of humor. And he was very much a ladies'
man; a heartbreaker who loved to tease and flirt with all the nurses. A 12
year-old boy who endeared himself to every one of us. So in May of 1992
when he was taken off therapy and given a clean bill of health, we all
shared in Adam's joy, and we finally thought that we had won one of our
battles.
A month later he went out to California to celebrate and spend
time at Disneyland and Knot's Berry Farm and all those good places. One
morning when he tried to get up he was unable to walk and move his right
arm. He was rushed back to Children's Mercy Hospital where he was found to
have a large brain tumor in his brain stem. The tumor was an extension of
the previous cancer that he had had. The biopsy of the tumor itself held
almost a 20% chance of killing him, but Adam insisted on the biopsy to see
if there was any type of chemo that could be used to treat it.
The tumor was found to be inoperable. Not only did he get cancer that is
not known to occur in children, but Adam is the first known case in medical
history to have that cancer occur in his brain. When Adam discovered that
he was the first person in the world with this, he said to me with his
enduring sense of humor, "Well, at least I'll be remembered for something."
He went downhill very quickly after that and, except for a few days to visit
friends, never got out of the hospital again. Toward the middle of
September he was really starting to withdraw. He would stop talking to
his mother, with whom he had a very close relationship.
You see, Adam's parents were divorced and Adam lived with his Mom.
And although Mom and Dad were still very bitter and angry with one another,
they put their feelings aside for the sake of Adam. But their response to
Adam's cancer was very different.
Dad firmly believed, after seeing so many sick and dying children at the
hospital, that there was no God anywhere that would let this happen to a
child, while Mom continued to believe and put her faith in God.
And for the previous year and a half that I worked
with Adam, we had all called on God's name frequently: "God will watch
over you, Adam." "God can help you through this." "Put your faith in
God, Adam."
During those last two weeks, perhaps Adam was the most
honest. He was very angry at God because of what was happening to him.
And I think he earned the right to question God. But, at the same time,
he simply said that he understood that this was an imperfect world and
that these things happen.
This from a boy who had had to grow up before his time, a boy
who'd lived through more pain and harsh reality than many of us will
ever face. And that's when it occurred to me. Throughout this entire
time, from Adam's diagnosis over a year and a half ago until now, no one
had ever mentioned Jesus to Adam. No one had ever shared the story of
Jesus' pain and suffering in order to bridge the gap between God and
this imperfect world.
So one day when we were alone, I asked him if he believed in Jesus.
He said he wasn't really sure. He said his dad told
him that there wasn't even a God. But Adam didn't buy that. He said he
believed anyway. But ever since he'd been sick, his Mom had stopped
talking about Jesus. She talked about God, but not Jesus. So Adam told
me he wasn't really sure, but that he wanted to believe, and what did I
think? So I shared with him my feelings and my faith.
Then he asked me, "Why do you think Jesus lets this happen to kids?" And
I said I didn't know. I don't think any of us do. But I did tell him
that when I get to heaven I'm certainly going to ask Him. And then Adam
told me about his grandmother who was already in heaven. He talked a
great deal about her and he kept saying, "Do you think I'll see her when
I get there?" And I told him yes, that I believed he would.
During the last 24 hours, Adam was in a coma more often
than not. There were only a few hours that he was really coherent. But
he told me before he went into the coma that he was ready to die, that
he didn't want to do this any more, that his body had quit working. The
only reason he really didn't want to die was because he was worried
about his Mom.
He didn't want to leave her because he was afraid that she wouldn't be
able to handle it emotionally. But I told Adam it was OK, that I had
talked to his Mom. And that she would miss him, and yes
she loved him, but it was OK and not to hang on for her sake. She did
not want him to do that. These were things Adam's Mom could not share
with him, but she told me. I became kind of the go-between. Mom said
this, Adam said that; but somehow it worked for them.
All the while Adam's dad just sat in the corner, very angry, hardly
able to speak to Adam. The last eight hours that Adam was alive,
I sat with him and watched him go in and out of a coma.
But I also watched miracles begin to happen.
How can I tell you what occurred in that room? Even now, it
is so vivid in my mind and yet so hard to express. At one point Adam
began to giggle. And he said, " Grandma? It's me--Adam. Oh, yeah, I'll
be there. It's OK, you go on back, I'll be there. He said it was my
time, and I'm ready."
It was incredible, because even though I couldn't hear Grandma's answers,
I knew what she was saying by the look on Adam's face. As he laid in bed,
his face would suddenly brighten up. He would open
his eyes a little bit sometimes and always look up. He would smile, he
would giggle. He would gasp and hold his breath in excitement. It was
unbelievable.
Then he began talking again. He said, "Yes? Yes, I'm
ready. Really? Are you sure? She's going to be there? Oh, that's neat.
Oh, yes, I've heard it's beautiful. OK. Well, you don't think I'm ready?
But I am ready. Oh . . . oh, I understand. Well, then I'll go back and
take care of those few things. All right." And then Adam laid still a
while. And all of us in that room just looked on this child's face and
felt the presence in that room. And there was no question in any of our
minds who Adam was talking to.
And then, minutes later, he about came up
off his pillow and he said, "Michael! You're kidding! Really, oh that's
so neat. Yeah, Michael, how ya doing?" You see, Michael was another
13-year-old boy Adam had watched die just six weeks before. Then Adam
said, " That's awesome!" as only a teenager can say it. What that
"awesome" was about, I don't know. Michael was probably describing
something wonderful up in heaven!
Adam didn't say anything for a little while. And then he started to cry
and I reached over and stroked his face, and I said, "Adam, it's OK.
Margi's here." I asked him, "Is there anything you need?"
And Adam shook his head and he said, "Oh, it's so
beautiful. It's so beautiful and it doesn't hurt." And I just sat on his
bed and sobbed with him.
Then he started up his conversation again.
"Yes, oh, yes, I do think it is beautiful. Oh you've made it so
beautiful. Yes, I'm ready. And I'm not going to hurt? Nobody will hurt?
My Mom won't hurt?"
And his face got a little distressed, because I
think God was honest with him and told him that his Mom was going to
hurt but that He's take care of her. Adam's breathing was starting to
get very erratic, and his Mom sat down next to him on the bed and was
stroking his face and holding his hand and telling him "Mom is here,
Adam. Mom is here."
Adam opened his eyes and looked up into the room and
said, "You've got to tell her that we'll be together again." And Adam's
Mom said, "Oh, you're right Adam, we'll be together again." And Adam
repeated over, "You've got to tell her. Are You going to tell her? OK.
When are You going to tell her?" Adam set his jaw and said, "No! Well,
why are You going to wait? No, You've got to tell her we'll be together
again. Yes, yes, I'm coming. But You've got to tell her we'll be
together again."
Then Adam listened for a moment, and whatever God said
to him, Adam's face began to change. And suddenly it got so hot in that
room that everyone noticed it. There was a presence that we all felt.
There was simply no denying it. And it was at this point that I believe
God started telling Adam about Jesus. Adam got very upset and began to
cry the kind of tears that you and I once had before it became an old
story to us.
Can you remember? Can you recall what it was like the first
time you grasped the implications of what Christ did for you?
Can you remember how overwhelmed you were by it? By His willingness to
be crucified, to die for you?
Well, it was that kind of grief that
rolled down Adam's Cheek as he said, " Oh, I'm so sorry. You did that
for me, for everybody? Oh, I'm so sorry." And then he said, "Yes God, I
know . . . I know. Yes, I do. Oh, yes, I really do." Adam didn't say
anything else for almost 45 minutes.
Then at about 6:50 he started
making predeath noises. I don't know how to describe it to you unless
you've been around a lot of children who have died. Things in your body
just happen and you make noises. And then Adam asked, "Are You sure
there's room for me? OK. 8:20. Yes, I'll see You at 8:20. Yes, I'm
ready. Yes, tell them I'm coming." He kept repeating it over and over
again. At exactly 7:12 Adam took his last breath. But no one left that
room.
Usually when a child dies it takes anywhere from 15 to 25 minutes
for them to get what is called the "mask of death" -- blood pools to the
back of their body, their faces turn grayish-white, and the body begins
to get cold. But with Adam none of that happened. His body stayed warm.
His color remained. He did not get that grayish shroud that children
get. And the room stayed very warm. There was such an incredible
Presence.
And Adam's Mom and I just wrapped our arms around each other
and prayed. And I watched Adam's father finally leave his corner chair
and make his way to the side of Adam's bed and get on his knees and bow
his head. I didn't hear everything he said. But I did hear the Name of
Jesus. And, I believe with all my heart that Adam stayed in that room
until 8:20. I'm not sure why. I don't know if it was to witness how his
Mom would handle his passing and to make sure she would be all right, or
if it was to hear his dad acknowledge Jesus Christ.
But I do know that at exactly 8:20 everything that should have happened
an hour before started happening very, very quickly. I know that Adam is
in a far better place. But his life has touched mine in ways I have yet to
discover. And the last hours of his life will stay with me forever. It
is so vivid in my memory, I dream it. Adam reminds me daily that it is
not our circumstance but Christ's sacrifice that gives us hope, hope in
the midst of despair.
So tonight, when you tuck your children in bed, hold them
close. Tell them about Jesus. Tell them there's plenty of room. And
remember Adam .
Author : Unknown
Forwarded by : Rina, CyberChurch
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