Michael Vincent Lewandowski, age 13, of North Charleston, departed this life at home in the comforting arms of his family on Thursday August 11th 2005 after a courageous 8-year battle with cancer, a battle his love outlasts and his spirit survives. 
Career As Ministry Talk
Excerpted from Search #247, a Search Talk given by Colleen Lynch...
During the second week of October, Michael came in smelling like a tube of Flexall 454. He had injured his leg in hockey practice. As the all-star, Michael lived for hockey. It was nothing for him to score a hat trick and be the hero of the game. This went on through Wednesday. On Wednesday, I called Michael’s mom to pick him up from school because he was crying in pain from his legs. I wheeled him gleefully down the halls in the teacher’s chair acting like he was in a NASCAR race or something…nothing made it better. Michael’s mom reached for him and when her eyes met mine, she gave me a message that sent chills up my spine and I knew with her look that Michael’s cancer had returned. This was confirmed on Friday the 13th, whenMichael was again diagnosed with Neuroblastoma, a rare childhood cancer that affects the nervous system.
Wherever there are nerves, there could be tumors. I added a new word to my definition of teacher – minister. A chain of events was set in motion that day. I found it odd that in a public school you’d have to tell kids about a classmate with a terminal disease and be unable to bow heads together and pray. So, I prayed. Hard. And I was led as a minister. I kept Michael’s desk in a team and when the kids changed seating arrangements, Michael’s desk was always moved to be included in a team. If I moved that desk out of the room, or to the side, I felt it would’ve shown the kids that I had given up hope. I refused to do that for my own sanity as well as theirs.
Michael could come to school some days. I met with his homebound teacher who looked to be about 85 years old and I knew that as miserable as he was away from school this woman was not going to get through to him. So, I became his homebound teacher. If he was at home, I went there. He amazed me. After a brief pillow fight or marshmallow fight, we would get to work while Marybeth was with his brother and sister. If he was at Vanderbilt, I went there, too. He knew I was terrified of being thrown up on, and eased me into it. I didn’t get shingles- only the threat of them if I brought him more homework than the other kids had that day!! I brought his books from school and shared the latest comical stories of his classmates. We grew so close and I treasured my time with Michael each day.
As minister to the other 22 kids, I would update them daily with "Michael Moments" and since his favorite color was the healing color of green, we passed out green ribbons for people to wear. We also raised money by selling huge green ribbons for people in the community of Hendersonville to put on their mailboxes. Vanderbilt said Michael wouldn’t survive. Michael’s mom said he would. Michael began treatment at Sloan-Kettering Hospital in New York City and when he came home and drove up familiar streets, he saw green ribbons everywhere! They were to remind him to fight, and remind us that someone very special was fighting. I found it no coincidence that out of the random 4 women teaching 4th grade, I was lucky enough to get him. I was the only single teacher and looking back, the only one that would’ve been able to dedicate any personal time to visiting, teaching, or ministering to him. Everything I did, I did without thinking. I just did. That’s how I know God was in charge.
My career saved my life. It breathed life into me. It changed me forever. We made a snack run and I asked him if he was mad at God for giving him cancer again. Slurping an Icee and snapping into his Slim Jim, he replied "No. God chose me. I’m like that guy in the Bible named Job. God told him if he took everything away from him and he still believed in God, he’d get it all back. I’m like Job, Miss Lynch." Through his pain, he found joy in those few days of playing hockey with tumors throughout his body. He found laughter to be medicinal and was greatly disappointed when his whoopee cushion didn’t even make the doctor flinch.
Michael’s tumors wrapped around his spine and he had emergency surgery. He stayed in NYC for the rest of the school year. At the end of the year, my gift from the class was a round trip ticket to NYC with a note, "Your year wouldn’t be complete without all of your students. We know you miss Michael and we want you to get to see him." I spent a week with Marybeth, Michael, his brother and sister at the Ronald McDonald House. I watched an amazing example of what it means to be a mother. I heard the voice of concern from a devoted father that stayed home to work to keep the bills paid. We all slept on two beds pushed together. We had a grueling schedule every day. I taught Michael every morning at the hospital, swapped with his mom and watched his siblings when the chemo became painful and we were so tired at night. I was stuck in a horror film where every child there looked like they had been stitched together. I heard cries of pain and wailing from children up and down the halls all night. This place in New York was their last hope.
By Tuesday I was on the phone with a close friend asking the question, "Why am I here?". The reply was, "Just be yourself and God will take care of the rest." Michael insisted that he and I go to see the painting we learned all about in school: Starry, Starry Night after chemo one day and as we marveled about Van Gogh, Michael reached out and touched the front cypress tree. I guess that’s what you do when your days are numbered. He found nothing to be unattainable. Within the 8 years and 5 recurrences of Neuroblastoma, Michael was between Philly and New York for experimental treatment. Independence Hall was being renovated and during the moving of the Liberty Bell, Michael touched it. We sit and think of how much trouble we’d be in for touching a national symbol. Michael thought," I don’t have time to think. I could die this afternoon and why not just touch the bell?"
Michael and I visited and spoke on the phone. When I wanted to know the true medical facts, I spoke with his mom. This past spring, Michael and I were about to hang up and he said, "I love you, Lynch." And I said, "I love you too, buddy." as the lump grew in my throat. That was the last time I spoke to my favorite student. Michael passed away August 11, 2005 two days shy of his 14th birthday. I missed the first day of this school year to bury my hero. I have never felt such sorrow as that day but also such joy in knowing that on that day, Michael saw the face of God.
A week later, I got a call from the CYO office to lead this Search. I wanted to do this since that summer 5 years ago with Michael in New York City. God’s timing and constant revelation of His plan for me is amazing. I chose the song "When I Look to the Sky" by Train because it was so moving when I heard it live. I chose it because I hope everyone in this room has a Michael Moment in some way, shape or form and they embrace it. And I hope that during that difficult time, God’s presence is known. It says, "When it rains, it pours and opens doors that flood the floors we thought would always keep us safe and dry…" reminding me that I chose to walk with a child with cancer rather than teach on dry land. It’s a song about saying good-bye, the uncertainty of each day, and feeling moved by those that are with us in spirit. On days that I question teaching-because no job is perfect, honestly- I just look to the sky and I know that I am on the right path and that I have no regrets. And I believe in God’s plan for me. I always will.
Fr. Fleming once said, "If there’s nothing for which you are willing to die, then you are not truly alive." I soon applied that to my teaching career. I will never forget registration day when a woman named Marybeth came up to me asking to speak to me privately. I moved over to the side with her and she began to tell me about her son, Michael. He had battled cancer in 1st grade and just to watch out for a fever or other signs of illness- treat him normally, yet cautiously. The first day of school arrived with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. My career had finally begun. I looked for this "ill boy", Michael. I couldn’t pick him out from the other rambunctious 4th graders.
I quickly learned that the definition of teacher is also nurse, temporary mom, business manager, peacemaker, cattle prod and drill sargeant. We followed rules and procedures and I got into the routine of being more unpredictable than my students while adopting the philosophy "If I am more tired than they are at the end of the day, I haven’t done my job." I learned the power of the question, "Do you want to lose your recess today?" I also learned the value of building rapport by bringing my tennis shoes to play kickball with my students. I jumped out of bed in the morning and I felt purpose in my career.During the second week of October, Michael came in smelling like a tube of Flexall 454. He had injured his leg in hockey practice. As the all-star, Michael lived for hockey. It was nothing for him to score a hat trick and be the hero of the game. This went on through Wednesday. On Wednesday, I called Michael’s mom to pick him up from school because he was crying in pain from his legs. I wheeled him gleefully down the halls in the teacher’s chair acting like he was in a NASCAR race or something…nothing made it better. Michael’s mom reached for him and when her eyes met mine, she gave me a message that sent chills up my spine and I knew with her look that Michael’s cancer had returned. This was confirmed on Friday the 13th, whenMichael was again diagnosed with Neuroblastoma, a rare childhood cancer that affects the nervous system.
Wherever there are nerves, there could be tumors. I added a new word to my definition of teacher – minister. A chain of events was set in motion that day. I found it odd that in a public school you’d have to tell kids about a classmate with a terminal disease and be unable to bow heads together and pray. So, I prayed. Hard. And I was led as a minister. I kept Michael’s desk in a team and when the kids changed seating arrangements, Michael’s desk was always moved to be included in a team. If I moved that desk out of the room, or to the side, I felt it would’ve shown the kids that I had given up hope. I refused to do that for my own sanity as well as theirs.
Michael could come to school some days. I met with his homebound teacher who looked to be about 85 years old and I knew that as miserable as he was away from school this woman was not going to get through to him. So, I became his homebound teacher. If he was at home, I went there. He amazed me. After a brief pillow fight or marshmallow fight, we would get to work while Marybeth was with his brother and sister. If he was at Vanderbilt, I went there, too. He knew I was terrified of being thrown up on, and eased me into it. I didn’t get shingles- only the threat of them if I brought him more homework than the other kids had that day!! I brought his books from school and shared the latest comical stories of his classmates. We grew so close and I treasured my time with Michael each day.
As minister to the other 22 kids, I would update them daily with "Michael Moments" and since his favorite color was the healing color of green, we passed out green ribbons for people to wear. We also raised money by selling huge green ribbons for people in the community of Hendersonville to put on their mailboxes. Vanderbilt said Michael wouldn’t survive. Michael’s mom said he would. Michael began treatment at Sloan-Kettering Hospital in New York City and when he came home and drove up familiar streets, he saw green ribbons everywhere! They were to remind him to fight, and remind us that someone very special was fighting. I found it no coincidence that out of the random 4 women teaching 4th grade, I was lucky enough to get him. I was the only single teacher and looking back, the only one that would’ve been able to dedicate any personal time to visiting, teaching, or ministering to him. Everything I did, I did without thinking. I just did. That’s how I know God was in charge.
My career saved my life. It breathed life into me. It changed me forever. We made a snack run and I asked him if he was mad at God for giving him cancer again. Slurping an Icee and snapping into his Slim Jim, he replied "No. God chose me. I’m like that guy in the Bible named Job. God told him if he took everything away from him and he still believed in God, he’d get it all back. I’m like Job, Miss Lynch." Through his pain, he found joy in those few days of playing hockey with tumors throughout his body. He found laughter to be medicinal and was greatly disappointed when his whoopee cushion didn’t even make the doctor flinch.
Michael’s tumors wrapped around his spine and he had emergency surgery. He stayed in NYC for the rest of the school year. At the end of the year, my gift from the class was a round trip ticket to NYC with a note, "Your year wouldn’t be complete without all of your students. We know you miss Michael and we want you to get to see him." I spent a week with Marybeth, Michael, his brother and sister at the Ronald McDonald House. I watched an amazing example of what it means to be a mother. I heard the voice of concern from a devoted father that stayed home to work to keep the bills paid. We all slept on two beds pushed together. We had a grueling schedule every day. I taught Michael every morning at the hospital, swapped with his mom and watched his siblings when the chemo became painful and we were so tired at night. I was stuck in a horror film where every child there looked like they had been stitched together. I heard cries of pain and wailing from children up and down the halls all night. This place in New York was their last hope.
By Tuesday I was on the phone with a close friend asking the question, "Why am I here?". The reply was, "Just be yourself and God will take care of the rest." Michael insisted that he and I go to see the painting we learned all about in school: Starry, Starry Night after chemo one day and as we marveled about Van Gogh, Michael reached out and touched the front cypress tree. I guess that’s what you do when your days are numbered. He found nothing to be unattainable. Within the 8 years and 5 recurrences of Neuroblastoma, Michael was between Philly and New York for experimental treatment. Independence Hall was being renovated and during the moving of the Liberty Bell, Michael touched it. We sit and think of how much trouble we’d be in for touching a national symbol. Michael thought," I don’t have time to think. I could die this afternoon and why not just touch the bell?"
Michael and I visited and spoke on the phone. When I wanted to know the true medical facts, I spoke with his mom. This past spring, Michael and I were about to hang up and he said, "I love you, Lynch." And I said, "I love you too, buddy." as the lump grew in my throat. That was the last time I spoke to my favorite student. Michael passed away August 11, 2005 two days shy of his 14th birthday. I missed the first day of this school year to bury my hero. I have never felt such sorrow as that day but also such joy in knowing that on that day, Michael saw the face of God.
A week later, I got a call from the CYO office to lead this Search. I wanted to do this since that summer 5 years ago with Michael in New York City. God’s timing and constant revelation of His plan for me is amazing. I chose the song "When I Look to the Sky" by Train because it was so moving when I heard it live. I chose it because I hope everyone in this room has a Michael Moment in some way, shape or form and they embrace it. And I hope that during that difficult time, God’s presence is known. It says, "When it rains, it pours and opens doors that flood the floors we thought would always keep us safe and dry…" reminding me that I chose to walk with a child with cancer rather than teach on dry land. It’s a song about saying good-bye, the uncertainty of each day, and feeling moved by those that are with us in spirit. On days that I question teaching-because no job is perfect, honestly- I just look to the sky and I know that I am on the right path and that I have no regrets. And I believe in God’s plan for me. I always will.
posted by Gene Smith | 8:50 PM
|
1 comments
GET INSPIRED - SUPPORT Neuroblastoma Research - BUY a Tshirt - RUN the Bridge - FIND a Cure - GIVE hope.