I'll make you a rainbow

I'll Make You A Rainbow By Linda Bremner There is nothing that can truly prepare you to lose your own child. Looking back, I've often thought the doctors should have written a death certificate for me as well as my son, for when he died, a part of me died too. Andy was almost twelve. For over three years he had been battling cancer. He'd gone through radiation and chemotherapy; he'd gone into remission and out again, not once but several times. I was amazed at his resilience; he just kept getting up each time his cancer knocked him flat. Perhaps it was his pluckiness and grit that shaped my own attitude about Andy's future, or maybe I was simply afraid to face the possibility of his death; whatever the cause I always thought that Andy would make it. He would be the kid that beat the odds. For three summers, Andy had gone to a camp for kids with cancer. He loved it and seemed to relish the week he could forget about hospitals and sickness and just be a kid again. The day after he returned from his third camp adventure, we went to the clinic for a routine check-up. The news was bad. The doctor scheduled a bone marrow transplant for two days later in a hospital 300 miles away from our home. The next day we threw our things in a suitcase and left. One of the things I tossed into my suitcase was the present Andy had brought home from camp for me. A plastic suncatcher shaped like a rainbow with a suction cup to attach it to a window. Like most mothers, I considered any present from my child a treasure and wanted it with me. We arrived at the hospital and began the grueling ordeal the doctors felt was my son's only chance. We spent seven weeks there. They turned out to be the last seven weeks of Andy's life. We never talked about dying...except once. Andy was worn out and must have known he was losing ground. He tried to clue me in. Nauseous and weak after one of the many difficult procedures he endured on a regular basis, he turned to me and asked, "Does it hurt to die?" I was shocked, but answered truthfully, "I don't know. But I don't want to talk about death, because you are not going to die, Andy." He took my hand and said, "Not yet, but I'm getting very tired." I knew then what he was telling me, but tried hard to ignore it and keep the awful thought from entering my mind. I spent a lot of my day watching Andy sleep. Sometimes I went to the gift shop to buy cards and notepaper. I had very little money, barely enough to survive. The nurses knew our situation and turned a blind eye when I slept in Andy's room and ate the extra food we ordered off of Andy's tray. But I always managed to scrape a bit together for the paper and cards because Andy loved getting mail so much. The bone marrow transplant was a terrible ordeal. Andy couldn't have any visitors because his immune system was so compromised. I could tell that he felt even more isolated than ever. Determined to do something to make it easier for him, I began approaching total strangers in the waiting rooms and asking them, "Would you write my son a card?" I'd explain his situation and offer them a card or some paper to write on. With surprised expressions on their faces, they did it. No one refused me. They took one look at me and saw a mother in pain. It amazed me that these kind people, who were dealing with their own worries, made the time to write Andy. Some would just sign a card with a little get-well message. Others wrote real letters: "Hi, I'm from Idaho visiting my grandmother here in the hospital..." and they'd fill a page or two with their story, sometimes inviting Andy to visit wherever they were from when he was better. Once a woman flagged me down and said, "You asked me to write your son a couple of weeks ago. Can I write him again?" I mailed all these letters to Andy, and watched happily as he read them. Andy had a steady stream of mail right up until the day he died. One day, I went to the gift store to buy more cards and saw a rainbow prism for sale. Remembering the rainbow suncatcher Andy'd given me, I felt I had to buy it for him. It was a lot of money to spend, but I handed over the cash and hurried back to Andy's room to show him. He was lying in his bed, too weak to even raise his head. The blinds were almost shut, but a crack of sunlight poured in slanting across the bed. I put the prism in his hand and said, "Andy, make me a rainbow." But Andy couldn't. He tried to hold his arm up, but it was too much for him. He turned his face to me and said, "Mom, as soon as I'm better, I'll make you a rainbow you'll never forget." That was the one of the last things Andy said to me. Just a few hours later, he went to sleep and during the night, slipped into a coma. I stayed with him in the ICU, massaging him, talking to him, reading him his mail, but he never stirred. The only sound was the constant drone and beepings of the life-support machines surrounding his bed. I was looking death straight in the face, but still I thought there'd be a last-minute save, a miracle that would bring my son back to me. After five days, the doctors told me his brain had stopped functioning and that he'd never be "Andy" again. It was time to disconnect him from the machines that were keeping his body alive. I asked if I could hold him, so just after dawn, they brought a rocking chair into the room and after I settled myself in the chair, they turned off the machines and lifted him from the bed to place him in my arms. As they raised him from the bed, his leg made an involuntary movement and he knocked a clear plastic pitcher from his bedside table onto the bed. "Open the blinds," I cried. "I want this room to be full of sunlight!" The nurse hurried to the window to pull the cord. As she did so, I noticed a suncatcher, in the shape of the rainbow attached to the window, left no doubt, by a previous occupant of this room. I caught my breath in wonder. And then as the sunlight filled the room, the rays hit the pitcher lying on its side on the bed and everyone stopped what they were doing, silent with awe. The room was suddenly filled with flashes of color, dozens and dozens of rainbows, on the walls, the floors, the ceiling, on the blanket wrapped around Andy as he lay in my arms — the room was alive with rainbows. No one could speak. I looked down at my son and he had stopped breathing. Andy was gone, but even in the shock of that first wave of grief, I felt comforted. Andy had made the rainbow that he promised me — the one I would never forget. ~Copied from:http://www.thinkingagain.com/html/makerainbow.html

Take me home~

This is so touching~~ http://quizilla.teennick.com/stories/23305396/take-me-home-ch-oo1

The Fairy's New Year Gift

THE FAIRY'S NEW YEAR GIFT BY EMILIE POULSSON [ADAPTED] Two little boys were at play one day when a Fairy suddenly appeared before them and said: "I have been sent to give you New Year presents." She handed to each child a package, and in an instant was gone. Carl and Philip opened the packages and found in them two beautiful books, with pages as pure and white as the snow when it first falls. Many months passed and the Fairy came again to the boys. "I have brought you each another book?" said she, "and will take the first ones back to Father Time who sent them to you." "May I not keep mine a little longer?" asked Philip. "I have hardly thought about it lately. I 'd like to paint something on the last leaf that lies open." "No," said the Fairy; "I must take it just as it is." "I wish that I could look through mine just once," said Carl; "I have only seen one page at a -4- time, for when the leaf turns over it sticks fast, and I can never open the book at more than one place each day." "You shall look at your book," said the Fairy, "and Philip, at his." And she lit for them two little silver lamps, by the light of which they saw the pages as she turned them. The boys looked in wonder. Could it be that these were the same fair books she had given them a year ago? Where were the clean, white pages, as pure and beautiful as the snow when it first falls? Here was a page with ugly, black spots and scratches upon it; while the very next page showed a lovely little picture. Some pages were decorated with gold and silver and gorgeous colors, others with beautiful flowers, and still others with a rainbow of softest, most delicate brightness. Yet even on the most beautiful of the pages there were ugly blots and scratches. Carl and Philip looked up at the Fairy at last. "Who did this?" they asked. "Every page was white and fair as we opened to it; yet now there is not a single blank place in the whole book!" "Shall I explain some of the pictures to you?" said the Fairy, smiling at the two little boys. "See, Philip, the spray of roses blossomed on this page when you let the baby have your playthings; and this pretty bird, that looks as if it were singing with all its might, would never have been on -5- this page if you had not tried to be kind and pleasant the other day, instead of quarreling." "But what makes this blot?" asked Philip. "That," said the Fairy sadly; "that came when you told an untruth one day, and this when you did not mind mamma. All these blots and scratches that look so ugly, both in your book and in Carl's, were made when you were naughty. Each pretty thing in your books came on its page when you were good." "Oh, if we could only have the books again!" said Carl and Philip. "That cannot be," said the Fairy. "See! they are dated for this year, and they must now go back into Father Time's bookcase, but I have brought you each a new one. Perhaps you can make these more beautiful than the others." So saying, she vanished, and the boys were left alone, but each held in his hand a new book open at the first page. And on the back of this book was written in letters of gold, "For the New Year."

The Literature Page

This website is really good! If you want looooonnnnggg stories.

http://www.literaturepage.com/

Good Night Stories

Hey, check this out! I know it seems childish but, yay!!

http://www.goodnightstories.com/stories.htm

Dad's blessings

A young man was getting ready to graduate from college. For many months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer's showroom, and knowing his father could well afford it, he told him that was all he wanted.

As Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited signs that his father had purchased the car. Finally, on the morning of his graduation, his father called him into his private study. His father told him how proud he was to have such a fine son, and told him how much he loved him. He handed his son a beautifully wrapped gift box. Curious, but somewhat disappointed, the young man opened the box and found a lovely, leather-bound Bible, with the young man's name embossed in gold. Angry, he raised his voice to his father and said "With all your money, you give me a Bible?" and stormed out of the house, leaving the Bible.

Many years passed and the young man was very successful in business. He had a beautiful home and wonderful family, but realized his father was very old, and thought perhaps he should go to him. He had not seen him since that graduation day. Before he could make arrangements, he received a telegram telling him his father had passed away, and willed all of his possessions to his son. He needed to come home immediately and take care of things.

When he arrived at his father's house, sudden sadness and regret filled his heart. He began to search through his father's important papers and saw the still new Bible, just as he had left it years ago. With tears, he opened the Bible and began to turn the pages. And as he did, a car key dropped from the back of the Bible. It had a tag with the dealer's name, the same dealer who had the sports car he had desired. On the tag was the date of his graduation, and the words PAID IN FULL.

How many times do we miss Spirit's blessings and answers to our prayers because they do not arrive exactly as we have expected?

Copied from: http://www.indianchild.com/dads_blessings.htm