Sleep in Peace, My Sweet Little Friend

I'm having a hard time finding the words for this post. Yet, I feel desperate to write it.

Thursday night, as I was preparing for bed, I checked my email and was making a birthday call to a dear friend. I happened to click on my facebook account. My stomach lurched.

The first thing I noticed was that a dear, beautiful friend had passed away. For years she fought a valiant battle. A brain tumor had robbed of so much of the things we take for granted but I believe she has ultimately won.

Iholany was 11 years old.

As I sat there, not knowing how to feel or react, the initial shock wore off and He-Man did what he did best and placed his comforting arms on my shoulders. Saying nothing, I felt peace. I can only hope Iholany's family is feeling at least a measure of that peace right now.

I have a urgent need to share the story of our friendship. Perhaps it's away to share the light of hope with others who weren't transcendentally blessed to have crossed her radiant, shooting star path.

A little over 4 years ago, my two girls and I moved to Orem, Utah while He-Man finished his grad studies in Oregon. As a way of dealing with the juggle of single parenting and missing my husband, I went back to work for Chrissy's elementary school for a couple of hours a day. Shortly before I started, I discovered that I was pregnant and realized going back to substitute teaching was probably not feasible. I was hired on as a math tutor and was delighted by the opportunity to utilize my skills in teaching younger children basic arithmetic.

After a while, I discovered that I had a window of time that needed to be filled. I went to the principal for recommendations on how my abilities could be put to the best use.

His response was enthusiastic. He described to me a need in a 1st grade class. A little girl needed help during the last hour before lunch and then further assistance during recess. She was nearly blind because of a brain tumor and was struggling to get in and out of the cafeteria. The fresh air during lunch was good for her but the ice on the playground proved very dangerous for a visually impaired individual who was healing from surgical wounds to her skull. A few days before I started, she had fallen and hit her head.

I started working with her that day.

She was adorable. She had big, beautiful brown eyes and a shy, sweet smile. She was a ray of sunshine; very polite with a heart overflowing with love for EVERYONE. I walked with her to lunch. With one hand she held out her walking cane and the other she linked with my arm. We were fast friends.

She told me about her family. Her description of each of them was as though they were superheroes...which, after meeting them wasn't too far from the truth. She had this incredible gift to see each person accurately with the most loving, adoring eyes. So in reality, her vision was one of her greatest strengths.

She always called me beautiful. Being husbandless, bloated and ready to puke my guts out at any given moment, that was the nicest thing anyone could say and she meant it.

She loved pink and was the very epitome of what a princess should be.

After lunches, we'd walk around the playground, dodging the ice and talking. The children of our community left me so high hopes for our future as a society because they were all so kind to her and accepted her limitations and wanted to spend time with her. In some ways, they were a little unsure of how to interact but still were eager to say 'hello'.

That's when I realized something else I could do. My job was not only to protect her from the elements but also to come up with ways other children could play with her.

As the season changed to spring, Iholany and I would get our hands slimy in a bucket of 'Bubble Blood' used for making enormous bubbles. Kids flocked to join our fun and Iholany got to play with her friends just like she wanted so desperately to do.

We sat in a circle on the fresh spring grass with little friends learning 'Down by the Banks' and sang all sorts of silly songs. We played with homemade playdough during rainy recess. Iholany was grateful for everything.

The school year eventually ended. I said goodbye to my little friend, looking forward to the next year and left my post to have a baby. The last few months of my pregnancy were quite stressful and while I was immersed in my own life and my family's needs, I thought of her and her sweet family often.

Oh how thrilled I was when I discovered they moved around the corner! He-Man and I quickly became her Sunday school teachers. I loved that now my entire family would get to know my her.

She would be in and out of the hospital and Sunshine, who loved her so much, would come with me for visits when she was home. It became our habit to sing "Boom Chica Boom" as we surrounded her bed or chair. I'm absolutely positive I looked insane.

But that was part of the fun.

Before we moved, He-Man and I started going over to her home to help her with some limited chiropractic care. Her little body had been through so much and we hoped and prayed that some light massage might help her neck muscles relax a little so she would have greater mobility.

I was so scared. I wasn't about to let anyone hurt our precious Iholany but I knew He-Man, of all people, with his ability to heal and help, could do something for her...even if it was small.

Shortly after, We moved while she was away in a specialized hospital. It broke my heart that I didn't get to say goodbye...not so much for me, but I couldn't bare the thought that she would think she wasn't important enough for a 'goodbye'.

When I visited Utah a year ago, I got to sit with her, talk and of course, rap a round of 'Boom Chica Boom'. I was struck by her and her family's perseverance, will and cheerfulness. It was wonderful to see them again.

As we were saying goodbye, her eyes filled with tears as she asked me when I was coming back. I wished it could have been sooner. I promised I would visit her again the next time I came home. I didn't realize it would be our last visit together.

She taught me so much.

She taught how to love my family more, to see them closer to the way God sees them.

She taught me how to laugh at the simple things.

She reminded me there is absolutely nothing wrong with being a grown-up and wanting to be surrounded by pink ruffles.

She reminded me of true, abiding friendship.

She reminds me that families are forever. Our Heavenly Father loves us more than letting us have our families just for this life alone. The cruelty of any other scenario would just be too much to bare.

The amazing thing about it is that I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. In her 11 years on this planet, she touched so many lives. She made so many friends. She made her imprint on so many of us. She reminded us of what is real and abiding.

May we all live in such a way as this.

Sleep in peace, my sweet friend.