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Chicken Soup for the Soul: "I Will Always Love You"

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  • Angel
    This truly touched my heart, I hope you all enjoy. Feel free to share with others....... *May you walk in HIS love and light always, ~Angel~ [Group Mod for]
    Message 1 of 1 , Aug 2, 2005
      This truly touched my heart, I hope you all enjoy. Feel free to share with

      *May you walk in "HIS" love and light always,
      [Group Mod for]

      I Will Always Love You
      By Suzanne Perry, Ph.D.

      Like most elementary schools, it was typical to have a parade of students in
      and out of the health clinic throughout the day. We dispensed ice for bumps
      and bruises, Band-Aids for cuts, and liberal doses of sympathy and hugs. As
      principal, my office was right next door to the clinic, so I often dropped
      in to lend a hand and help out with the hugs. I knew that for some kids,
      mine might be the only one they got all day.

      One morning I was putting a Band-Aid on a little girl's scraped knee. Her
      blonde hair was matted, and I noticed that she was shivering in her thin
      little sleeveless blouse. I found her a warm sweatshirt and helped her pull
      it on. "Thanks for taking care of me," she whispered as she climbed into my
      lap and snuggled up against me.

      It wasn't long after that when I ran across an unfamiliar lump under my arm.
      Cancer, an aggressively spreading kind, had already invaded thirteen of my
      lymph nodes. I pondered whether or not to tell the students about my
      diagnosis. The word breast seemed so hard to say out loud to them, and the
      word cancer seemed so frightening. When it became evident that the children
      were going to find out one way or another, either the straight scoop from me
      or possibly a garbled version from someone else, I decided to tell them
      myself. It wasn't easy to get the words out, but the empathy and concern I
      saw in their faces as I explained it to them told me I had made the right
      decision. When I gave them a chance to ask questions, they mostly wanted to
      know how they could help. I told them that what I would like best would be
      their letters, pictures and prayers. I stood by the gym door as the
      children solemnly filed out. My little blonde friend darted out of line and
      threw herself into my arms. Then she stepped back to look up into my face.
      "Don't be afraid, Dr. Perry," she said earnestly, "I know you'll be back
      because now it's our turn to take care of you."

      No one could have ever done a better job. The kids sent me off to my first
      chemotherapy session with a hilarious book of nausea remedies that they had
      written. A video of every class in the school singing get-well songs
      accompanied me to the next chemotherapy appointment. By the third visit,
      the nurses were waiting at the door to find out what I would bring next. It
      was a delicate music box that played "I Will Always Love You."

      Even when I went into isolation at the hospital for a bone marrow transplant
      the letters and pictures kept coming until they covered every wall of my
      room. Then the kids traced their hands onto colored paper, cut them out and
      glued them together to make a freestanding rainbow of helping hands. "I
      feel like I've stepped into Disneyland every time I walk into this room," my
      doctor laughed. That was even before the six-foot apple blossom tree
      arrived adorned with messages written on paper apples from the students and
      teachers. What healing comfort I found in being surrounded by these tokens
      of their caring.

      At long last I was well enough to return to work. As I headed up the road
      to the school, I was suddenly overcome by doubts. What if the kids have
      forgotten all about me? I wondered, What if they don't want a skinny bald
      principal? What if . . . I caught sight of the school marquee as I rounded
      the bend. "Welcome Back, Dr. Perry," it read. As I drew closer, everywhere
      I looked were pink ribbons - ribbons in the windows, tied on the doorknobs,
      even up in the trees. The children and staff wore pink ribbons, too.

      My blonde buddy was first in line to greet me. "You're back, Dr. Perry, you
      re back!" she called. "See, I told you we'd take care of you!" As I hugged
      her tight, in the back of my mind I faintly heard my music box playing . . .
      "I will always love you."

      Reprinted by permission of Suzanne M. Perry, Ph.D. (c) 1999 from Chicken
      Soup for the Teacher's Soul by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen.

      *Source: www.chickensoup.com
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