I WAS STUNNED WHEN HE The school nurse told me that one of my fourth graders, Eddie, had cancer. In the next few moments, everything I knew about this handsome and intelligent boy flashed through my head. He loved chess, math, sports cars, drawing, the Buffalo Bills, the Yankees, and Nintendo. He had become an important member of the class. After the school nurse finished speaking, I got up, tripped over the leg of a folding chair, went into the bathroom, and cried.
That was in October. During the months that followed, I continued to teach him to read, write, and other subjects. And he taught me and my class about love and courage.
Eddie spent weeks in and out of the hospital undergoing chemotherapy and radiation treatments. He almost never complained, although he often felt sick from the treatments. And he remained an enthusiastic student, even during the times I tutored him in his home.
Eddie always listened carefully to my lessons. If he didn’t understand something, he would ask questions. Sometimes I tried to encourage him to share his inner pain with me. One day, while we were sitting in his room writing a story about winter recreation in Rochester, he wrote, “I don’t go out much in the winter because I have cancer.” His head was tilted downward and he seemed to be staring at the last word.
“That’s a hard word to spell, isn’t it?” Asked.
“No, it isn’t, Mr. Sottile,” Eddie replied. “I know how to spell cancer.”
The other fourth graders respect Eddie. When he returned to school, he was never teased about his changed appearance. They saw that he had lost his hair and lost weight, but they also saw the exceptional pride he took in his school work, from his excellent handwriting to his perfect scores on chapter tests.
Eddie knew he had a serious illness, but he was armed with a zest for life. In January, he was too weak to spend more than a few hours a day at school. But he loved hanging out with his friends, telling them jokes, discussing the latest Buffalo Bills game with them, and chasing them through snack time. At 11:15 a.m., after snacks and some free time, Eddie would leave and the class would yell in unison, “Bye, Eddie!” It sounded like a victory cry, as if he had scored the game-winning touchdown by sharing math, reading, and a snack with us.
Eddie wanted to be treated like any other 9 year old. And that’s how his classmates treated him, except when he was gone for the day. Then Eddie’s dad would pick him up right outside our classroom exit.
Near the end of May, Eddie experienced a major setback and was hospitalized. The class made cards for him, and close friends of his kept in touch by phone and hospital visits. Eddie had a bone marrow transplant, but it wasn’t the miracle everyone expected.
Accepting Eddie’s death was not easy, but meeting him and seeing his bravery touched all of our hearts. Mother Teresa once said: “We cannot do great things, only small things with great love.”
Eddie did countless little things with great love. He was always the first to lend someone a pen or paper. He enthusiastically shared his drawings of sports cars, his sense of humor and his curiosity. My class and I know that Eddie was a giver. Every day he spent with us he was a gift.
As young as Eddie was, he knew in his heart that what you do for yourself dies, and what you do for others lives forever. Although several years have passed since his passing, I treasure Eddie’s memories, especially the laughs, the chases, and his reverence for teachers.
