About A Boy....

I have never met him, but I know his father. I know his father very well. His father is my first ever boyfriend.

I wasn't allowed to date until I was sixteen. I turned sixteen in January. By March of my sixteeth year, I had a boyfriend.

This boyfriend was a football player. A big one. He was (and still is) a good bowler. We met at a teen bowling league. He was a year ahead of me in school, and attended a different school than me. Socially I benefitted by that circumstance because I attended *two* proms, *two* homecomings and all that jazz. I dated him for two years. Half way through my senior year, I broke up with him, mostly because he was the jealous type. I didn't (and still don't) tolerate insecurity. So we split.

We attempted to be friends in the coming months, and that summer of 1989, he moved to California. He got married and had a babygirl the next year. We fell out of touch.

In 1995, his sister got married. She and I have been friends as long as I have known him. (She is my age.) By the time her wedding rolled around, her whole family was living in Washington state. She asked me to be a bridesmaid, and I accepted the honor.

When I arrived for the wedding, a lot of attention was on me. My first boyfriend's wife wasn't too keen on me. I walked into a cauldron of emotional danger. I hadn't seen or talked to the ex in about five years, and was really nervous. I did my best to keep to myself but was naturally curious about his life. It was a complicated visit -- tense, strained, heavy. The wedding came and went, as did I.

I kept in close touch with his sister for many years, but now we rarely speak. Perhaps once or twice a year she and I will exchange a phone call. It'll be a long one, and it's like time has not passed. I would ask about him from time to time, keeping up with him peripherally.

I remain amazed at the divine intervention that drew he and I back together -- in a new level of relationship. Friendship. God weaves such a perfect fabric in life.

Back in February, my mother was having surgery and I was in the waiting room. On my road trip to Mom's, I called his sister since it had been quite a while since we last spoke -- just catching up. She wasn't home, so I left a message. She called me back as I was waiting for Mom's doctor to finish surgery and come give me a report. The first thing she tells me is to call her brother because his youngest son, who is only nine, has cancer -- an aggressive, rare cancer.

She relates: He almost died at Christmas, Jackie. We all went and said good bye to him, and the doctors started doing some treatments and he's stilll iffy, but he made it through that initial scare.

Me: How is your brother doing with all of this? It's got to be so hard.

I half-way listen to her answer because I'm imagining how hard it must be for their family, and I'm praying thanksgiving that mine is healthy.

Me: Well, I think about your brother often; you know that. Just let him know that I understand to some degree what he must be going through and that I'm praying for him.

Her: Why don't you call him youself?

Me: (hard swallow) I can't. You know how his wife feels about me, and I don't want to cause any extra stress. No.

Her: She's grown up a lot. I think it would do my brother good to hear from you.

Me: I can't...that would be so weird. Just tell him I'm praying for him, okay?

Her: No, Jackie. This is his number.

I jot down the number.

Her: Call him.

Me: I'll think about it....

We hang up. I look at the clock and wonder about my mom. My heart raced and I slightly panicked at the notion of me possessing his phone number.

Wits gathered, I decided to give him a call. After all, this isn't about all that teenage stuff; this is about a human reaching out to another human.

He answered the phone and I was a mess, but kept it cool. The relief I felt just hearing his voice was incredible. I was so excited and nervous.

He was shocked to hear from me....and elated.

We spent the next 30 or so minutes on the phone. He explained to me the complications and the events how they've played out. I shared my private story of how my dad died of cancer, and all the impact it had on me. I sympathize with his situation. We also do quite a bit of catching up: How is your brother? What's he doing now? How old are your daughters? You get the idea... As we spoke, he was sitting next to his wife and in his son's hospital room.

I cannot tell you how despondent I felt during that phone call, in spite of my joy. It's not right that *anyone* should outlive their kids. And it's all the more horrific that I have an intimate history with man who is experiencing the death of their child. My heart cringes just typing this out.

Since that February day, my first ever boyfriend and I have kept in fairly close touch. We talk to each other about twice a month. While I went on vacation last month, I got a call from him.

Him: Amazing news, Jackie! It's gone. The cancer is gone! They've run all the tests, and it's gone!

Me: (crying) What a miracle! Oh My God.

I spread the news. I remain in awe.

It had been a couple weeks and I hadn't heard from my first-ever boyfriend. My mind became heavy with thoughts and my heart began to worry. Something is wrong. I sense it. In the depths of my being, I felt the reason I hadn't heard from first ever boyfriend is because the cancer isn't really gone. It's back. And first ever boyfriend is coping with something sad. It was a hunch that turned out to be true.

Yesterday, he called. I didn't even say hello when I answered.....

Me: I'm so glad you called! I'm worried. Your son has been on my mind. Is everything okay?

Him: Huh? What? Oh! It's back. The cancer is back, Jackie. He's gonna...pass away.

Me: Oh no. Oh no. ohnoohnoohno What are the doctors saying?

Him: They can't tell me when it's going to happen, but they confirm they can't do anything. It's all in his head. Tumors all over his brain. It's in his liver and in his bones. He's had a seizure, and he'll probably have more. We have a pharmacy of medicine at home!

He and I talk about the medical facts and he relates the family decisions that've been made. He also chokes up and of course, I am crying.

His son is at home. They checked him out of the hospital and took him home to die. Hospice has been arranged, and now it's just about comforting him in pain, sickness. It's about helping him cross the Threshhold to Heaven.

I am crying and grieving for a boy who I have never met. I will never meet him. I've never even seen his picture. And I'm sad about that. I'm sad that my first ever boyfriend and his wife and two daughters have to endure this nightmarish fact of life. It doesn't seem fair. Of course, turning to my faith, I *know* that death is a part of life, and that there is a life lesson being taught/learned. I will rely on my faith in the coming months as I pray no behalf of this family, and for God's mercy to take the little nine year old quickly, with minimal pain.

The first-ever boyfriend doesn't think his son will make it till Christmas. If that turns out to be the timeframe, it marks a year of fighting the Good Fight. A year that that little boy has pulled people together in amazing ways. A year of pain, of laughter, of making peace in places that peace didn't know before. A year of growth. A year of God's amazing work.

I am imagining wrapping the sick yet blessed child in the Perfect Blanket woven by the Fabric and Hand of God.

Godspeed, little boy. Godspeed.