Figgins Family Journal

Yesterday, I got to chaperon Brayden's field trip to Halle Heart Museum. On our way there, I was sitting next to a little girl named Isabella. She had long brown hair with golden highlights and big blue eyes. She  immediately asked me if Brayden could come to her house. Her house on the mountain. With a pool and a dog. Her mom lives in Tennesse, and she packs her own lunches everyday. 2 Tuna fish sandwiches. I tried to sidestep the play date question, but she was not having it. When I told her that her dad would probably rather her have a girl over to play, she told me how mean girls are and how nice Brayden is and she only wants him to come play. Then when I said her dad and I don't know each other, she rattled off her phone number and told me to give him a call. Finally, I was able to change the subject and she told me this..."I know how to kill someone with my thumb." I asked her what she meant and she told me that she would just stick her thumb all the way through some one's eye ball. I said, "hmmm, like if there was someone attacking you or hurting you or trying to kidnap you ONLY, right?" she said, "or if someone is mean to me." Then she pointed to another girl on the bus..."You know Zoee? She hates me. She is SO mean to me." I told her surely she was not hated but that she should stick to kids that are kind. She said, "Like Brayden." Eek. After coming to find out that she not only has a crush on him, she is semi psycho obsessive, that dang thumb conversation keeps coming back...and I'm thinking I should have warned Zoee to be nice...


After the museum tour, we had lunch at the park and made our way back to the buses. As I looked for a seat, my eyes met with a special little girl named Dylan. She said, "Mrs. Figgins? Will you please sit by me?" 


(Dylan is a little girl in Brayden's class who last year got hit by a car on her way to the bus stop and while she was in the hospital getting an MRI, they discovered a tumor in her brain and she was diagnosed with a rare brain cancer). 


I told her I would LOVE to, and I began asking her about how she was feeling and what she liked about the field trip. She told me that they had been celebrating because last week the doctor told her that the tumor is now the size of a grape. It used to be the size of a walnut. It shrank because of her radiation. She told me all about the pluses and minuses of each hospital and that Phoenix Children's is at the very top of her list. She told me that she and her family were in the middle of a big decision: she can either have the tumor removed with the risk of losing her vision, OR she can go through chemo and just lose her hair. She then told me that she would rather lose her hair. Because she really didn't want to lose her sight. My heart was breaking and my eyes teary as I listened to her explain her tough choice. She did like the idea of a guide dog, but they don't give you those until you are 18. Then she told me that getting hit by the car had actually saved her life and that she was glad it happened so they could discover the tumor. I could not believe my ears. She was completely calm and collected. And smart. And aware. And brave. And unbelievably sweet. She was talking in a language that no child should ever have to know. She knew all of the medical terms, and she understood exactly what was happening to her body. Yet, she did not complain. She did not seem fearful of the future. Her maturity was astounding. I was looking at the face of a living angel, that is wise beyond her years. 


I told her how special she was and that she should keep on being brave. And sweet. And that Brayden and I will be praying for her daily. She smiled sweetly and thanked me and then she rested her head on my shoulder and fell asleep. 


I cannot get her out of my mind, and I know that I was at the right time and the right place and that being able to share that conversation with her was a gift. Life was surely put into perspective. I am becoming more impatient with petty complainers, including myself. I never want to forget our conversation. Life isn't fair. But what an example she is.