Growth
will always be bittersweet. Not only do we have to leave behind the bliss of
the innocent world, but also more importantly, we never seem to have a choice
regarding when we make our transition. Transformation is abrupt, unforeseen and
in my case, unpleasant.
It’s incredible how quickly
everything can change. I remember being so concentrated on my Lego’s. Nothing
could break my focus; this was to be my greatest creation ever assembled. Even
as my mother burst into my room, trying to remain composed, I remained solely
focused on my Lego’s. My mother explained to me the severity of my sister’s
illness. She was sick. She had something called Leukemia. I was confused. At 6
years old, it’s hard to comprehend the seriousness of cancer, but perhaps it was
better that way.
Being oblivious was basically the
only advantage I had. I knew she was sick, but had no idea of what Leukemia was
and I only knew cancer was something bad. So working with my naïveté, I did my
best. I became my 4 year olds sisters “escort” to Sloan-Kettering hospital.
It was the time I spent at this
hospital that I grew up. It wasn’t my intention to see my sister writhe in pain
as she sat motionless with an IV stuck in arm. After that first treatment, my
whole perspective of life matured. I had to learn that others where suffering
just like my sister. A few days later, I would step on an IV for an older kid
in the game room. She screamed her balding head off. It was these events in
which I matured.
The following 3 years became the
greatest period of maturation that I did and ever will be a part of. No longer
did I walk around with a jubilant smile on my face. I was a depressed 8 years
old. Your not supposed to be depressed until high school. I became ashamed of
my own depression, which only led to more depressed feelings. Worried about my
sister, I was ashamed that I was feeling down. I felt like I didn’t have the
right to feel down compared to what my sister was going through.
Boys usually learn from their
fathers that we need to be reliable, sensitive and caring. Although my father
probably had a plan as to how he would teach me the principles of manhood, my
sister’s sickness saved him the effort. As I stood by her side, time and time
again, I would smile at the cranky insults, accepting my abuse and responding
with a solid joke. I learned that being there for someone is so important, in
any relationship.
Sure I missed out on my own social
life, but what does it matter. Siblings always stick together. I learned that
it was a sacrifice everyone should feel obliged to take. Imagining myself in
her shoes, I knew she would do the same for me. I developed empathy at a
younger age than intended, an advantage I’ve carried to this day.
I didn’t have a choice; it was
instinct. Despite the abruptness, the unexpectedness, I was forced to mature.
Everyone is at one point or another. There is no such thing as gradual
transformation, because it is easy. My sister’s cancer was a lot to bear for my
whole family. Within my family, I moved up. I became all I could to others. I
learned to be humble, appreciative, empathetic and above all, loving. In many
ways, I feel blessed to have this experience, because you can always learn from
it.
