When I saw him for the first time, wires, tubes, and monitors surrounded his bed.
The gown, gloves, and mask that I had to wear made me feel as if they had prepped me for surgery. I had not been prepared mentally for the impact of going through the decontamination process, although I was fully aware of the implications of bringing even the smallest of germs into his room.
I will never forget meeting him. He was five then, but his life would impact mine for years to come.
I believe he was one of the first children at that hospital, if not the first, to ever have a bone marrow transplant. He had two during his battle with leukemia before he succumbed to pneumonia. The second transplant seemed to take, but his tiny body had been fighting for so long and was too weak to fight off the infection.
I remember that his room was devoid of toys. Knowing that his immune system was destroyed, they had to keep anything out that could bring in germs. All the equipment that helped keep him alive also kept him from running free. Despite these things, Daniel was happy to chat, color and watch cartoons. His favorite was Woody Woodpecker.
Daniel’s older brother and I had become good friends when we were involved in a Christian group at college. At that time, I had not met Daniel, but our group spent many nights praying for him, from the time he was first hospitalized, at the age of two, with a different type of cancer. We were excited when his cancer went into remission.
A short time later, we learned of his leukemia diagnosis.
At the time of that news, I was getting ready to move out of state for an internship. It turned out that the city I would be moving towas also the location of the hospital that would perform Daniel’s bone marrow transplant.
I think of all the little things that happened that made it possible for our lives to intersect. The apartment I had arranged to lease, weeks before learning of Daniel’s diagnosis, ended up being just a short bike ride down the street from the hospital and close to my college campus. I was able to stop by before and after classes. That semester Daniel became like my little brother.
After he passed, many asked why God had not healed him. They wondered why God would let him die when so many had been praying for him for so long. Even though I was very sad that he was gone, I somehow knew on a deep level that God had healed Daniel in ways we could not fully understand in our grief.
As I tried to understand his death, I also found myself looking for reasons why this had happened. I believed that God would not let this be a meaningless loss. There had to be a greater purpose. I held onto a verse in the Bible, Romans 8:28, where God says He will work all things together for good for those who love Him. I wasn’t sure what good could possibly come from the agony that our hearts felt. I just knew that I had to trust God and hold to that promise. It wasn’t easy. Loss is never easy. It is messy and painful.
This, to me, is one of the hardest things about suffering and brokenness. It sometimes seems senseless. Daniel’s death was one of the first real losses that I faced. That season changed my life and I believe had a direct impact on my future. The way Daniel faced his life and death with courage spoke volumes to me. I am certain that, in his short life, he had more influence on those around him than most adults have on others in their lifetime.
Now I know why God let me experience Daniel’s life. I am a witness to at least one good thing that came as a result of his suffering. His broken life helped to save my life twenty plus years later.
When I was in my forties, I sustained a traumatic brain injury from a car accident. My injury affected many parts of my brain. It especially damaged the parts that controlled balance and the processing of sound, visual stimuli and movement. For many years, I lived with the sensation of being on a boat tossing to and fro in a storm. It would take several minutes of clinging to furniture and walls to walk even a few feet. Going out with friends and family was no longer possible. Praying, reading, watching TV or listening to music became part of my past. I had to hold tight to the arms of a chair to keep my balance even while sitting. It took years of therapy just to get back many normal functions. My life had become a life of 24/7 therapy, and nothing was easy.
Giving up was never a plausible thought for me. I had Daniel in my head. Any time I felt down, I would ask myself, “If Daniel was able to deal with all with he went through, why can’t you?” He had not complained. He had seemed so brave and his courage was a gift to me. Watching his positive attitude, despite all the challenges he faced, helped me with my own mindset. Every time I remembered him, I felt as though he was with me, cheering me on.
To this day I continue to make progress. If it had not been for the trials Daniel had to go through, I know my life would have never been the same.
His family may not know all the good that came through his life and death, but I do. So I’m counting on that, too. I may never know all the good my sustaining a brain injury will bring, but I believe that God will use it for good.
Daniel’s courage has given me the courage to share my story and to share his.
We just never know how God is going to use a life. Maybe someone is waiting for you to share your brokenness, too. Your courage and the way you handle your hard seasons may very well save someone else’s life someday – even someone you don’t know.
Article by Anina Stewart