Everyone Has a Story
Nick at a swim meet preparing to dive in.
It was August of 2008. Nick had gone through a round of steroids and began chemotherapy. Since being diagnosed with leukemia on July 4, Nick wasn’t able to swim with his summer team. By looking at him, you wouldn’t understand why. His 5’ 5” 135 lb. frame appeared muscular. His dark brown hair was still curly, thick, and soft. The rash on his face could be passed off as a twelve-year-old’s acne.
When he was given a break from treatment, Nick wanted to get back in the pool. His teammates hadn’t seen him for over a month. Nick had been isolated—cut off from many people he loved because of the risk of infections and activities because he lacked the energy.
Everyone was excited to see him on that beautiful sunny morning. They couldn’t believe how good he looked. Normal really. Thinking nothing had changed, when everything had. They were kind and showed Nick love.
They asked Nick to join them in laps. Nick craved that connection so into the water he went. The whistle blew. Nick took off. He swam with all his heart one way, flipped over, and returned.
Everyone cheered and continued their swim, their lives. Their kindness has always been appreciated.
Nick stepped out of the pool. He fell back onto a chair in exhaustion, gasping for breath. He vomited in a trash can and never swam again.
I shared this about Nick because everyone has a story.
A child with cancer, any life-threatening disease, and even a disability may not look any different from what we ‘perceive to be normal.’ They may have a full head of hair, be able to walk around, and go to school.
A person may be wearing a mask because they have cancer. Perhaps their partner has cancer and they want to stay healthy in order to be with them. Their elderly parent has health conditions that put them at high risk. Their pregnant daughter wants to deliver a healthy child and doesn’t want to get COVID. Maybe they wear a mask for themselves because right now it helps them feel safe.
They are people just like you and me. Each one has a story and are hurting like we all are hurting.
Imagine what a smile could do instead of a sneer.
A kind word instead of a shameful jest.
An offer of support instead of walking away.
Imagine if Nick’s teammates didn’t ask him to swim one last time.
My experience with Nick and hundreds of other families battling cancer fuel my compassion and empathy. They taught me to look beyond the mask and into the eyes of a fellow human being. Even if I don’t know their story, I know they have one.
The world is hard enough. Like Nick’s teammates, be kind. Be compassionate.
Open your heart and listen for the story.