I.
Unfamiliar Faces in the Waiting Room
I first met Matthew a year
ago in the infusion unit’s waiting room, on the third floor of the City of Hope
Medical Center in South California. Like me, all the other patients in
this waiting room were "guinea pigs," patients in the advanced stages
of cancer, waiting to receive clinical trial medical treatment.
It was a Wednesday morning
when two unfamiliar faces appeared there: a father and his son, sitting quietly
on the chairs in the waiting room. Having come here often for a long-term
clinical trial, I had by this point become familiar with the faces - if not the
names - of almost all the patients who came here, making these two stand out
immediately. Over the past seven years, people would come and go, in and out,
receiving clinical trial treatment on an average of four to six months.
Afterward, one by one, they would disappear. I never asked my doctor how long
they'd lived, and he will never tell me what happened to them.
On that day, having waited a good while, and looking for something to stave off my boredom, I glanced over towards the unfamiliar father and son who sat on the opposite side of the room. The father was over fifty years old, tall with a burly physique. His son was a handsome young man in his twenties.
I wondered: between the two, who was the cancer patient? Was it the father? I often saw cancer patients accompanied by their children for treatment. However, after observing further, I realized I was wrong. I saw the father open a bottle of mineral water and pass it to his son, who, when reaching to take it, exposed a white strip on his wrist. This white strip was given to each patient at the registration desk, on which was printed their name, date of birth, and personal identity code. The one with cancer was the son.
I couldn't look away from the pair. Although they did not talk to each other, from the father’s facial expression, I could sense his strong love, heartache, and anxiety towards his son. But the son himself had an unusually calm demeanor. His eyes were bright, and he looked very composed as he sat there. He gave off no signs of being terminally ill or close to death.
That night was a sleepless
one. My mind was full of images of the father and son. My heart was replete
with heartbreaking anguish. I felt sad for the young man. He was in the prime
of his youth, with a promising future ahead of him. And yet here he was,
suffering from an incurable disease. I felt sorry for the father. He would have
to bear a cruel reality: an aging man witnessing the loss of someone who should
have lived long after him. I wondered, did they need someone to comfort them?
Were they mentally prepared to accept the ominous result?
A week later, when I walked
into the waiting room on the third floor of the hospital, I saw the pair again.
Similar to the picture I saw that first time a week ago, they sat quietly,
waiting for the infusion.
Suddenly, I had an urge to
talk to them.
The waiting room on the third
floor is usually very quiet. The "guinea pigs", who are awaiting for
clinic trial treatments here, rarely talk to each other. They are reticent,
each immersed in their own thoughts. Yes, when a person is near the end of his
or her life, any mundane conversation will seem redundant.
To their consternation, I
abruptly approached to the father and son. We introduced ourselves, and started
to talk. I learned the son’s name was Matthew, and that he had the same
terminal illness I did: the fourth stage of kidney cancer. When he and his
father heard that I've had kidney cancer for six years, they showed interest in
learning how I'd survived this deadly disease for so long.
II. Friends with Shared Destiny
Matthew and I became friends in the waiting room. We had a mutual empathy for each other, and together, we were running through that metaphorical field towards our final destination. Every Wednesday when I went to hospital for my clinical trial infusion, I always hoped I'd see him. If he was not in the waiting room, I would snoop through each room in the clinical trial unit, hoping to find him, to hold his hands, to encourage him.
Every time I met this young
man, who was almost the same age as my sons, I was touched by his calm
temperament. He was supposed to study his favorite subjects in college; he was
supposed to date a girlfriend, and fall in love with her; he was supposed to
pursue his career in the workplace. Unfortunately, unlike other young men his
age, he could not do any of these activities.
I asked him how he usually spent his time. He told me his family lives in
The clinical trial drugs were
ineffectual on Matthew, despite doctor's trying several different types of
experimental drugs for him. The malignant tumors were rampant, relentlessly
spreading to his lungs and other organs. Every time I saw him, I had to
suppress my sadness, keep a smile on my face to comfort him, say a few words to
cheer him up. I shared with him an article I wrote titled "Dancing with
Cancer", hoping he and his family could get spiritual comfort by reading
it. Because I know, only God can solace the souls of cancer patients who are as
close to the finishing line of their life as Matthew and me.
The last time I saw Matthew,
he was lying in a single treatment room reserved for severely ill patients. A
needle was injected into his arm, connected to a bag filled with clinical trial
drugs. His face looked wan and tired, and he was having difficulty breathing;
it seemed that his illness had gotten much worse. I did not want to disturb
him, only stood in his doorway, making a silent sign to tell him he was in my prayer.
Since then, I have not seen him. Every time I came to the infusion unit, I always deliberately walked slowly through the hallway, probing into each room and hoping to see him there. But there was no trace of him. Like many other patients I've seen in the past seven years, he quietly disappeared.
Recently, I received two letters from Matthew’s father. I was informed that Matthew had already left this world. As we raced together in the field leading to death, it seemed Matthew had reached the finishing line ahead of me.
Matthew and his father shared
the same name. Sometimes I think, this must be a very close loving family;
otherwise, with father and son both being named Matthew, how much confusion
must it have caused in their daily lives?
In the senior Matthew's letters, “I” and “We” were often interchanged, indicating that the texts in the letters reflected the personal feelings of Matthew’s father as well as those of his family. The second letter was not just signed by Matthew’s parents and family, but also included Matthew’s own name, making me feel as if I was reading a letter from an angel.
These two "angel letters" were full of love: the love of parents and sons, of brothers and sisters, love in the waiting room, love of the thousands of people in the Dodge Stadium towards a young man dying of cancer, and mostly, love of almighty God. As I read the letters, I broke into tears. A Bible verse came to mind, a commandment by our Lord Jesus before He was crucified on the cross:
"Love one another as I have loved you: This is my command," (John 15:12)
Yes, if there were no love,
it would have been impossible for Matthew’s parents to write letters, just nine
days after their son died, to a stranger they'd met in hospital waiting
room. After I obtained Matthew’s consent, I attached the two letters to
this article, to express my condolences, and in memory of my dear young friend
Matthew Smith.
III. The first letter written by Matthew’s father, dated 7/26/2015
Joseph,
I am sorry that it has been so
long since we last reached out to you. It has been very difficult for us and
our Matthew.
I am deeply saddened to inform
you that Matthew's fight is over. Matthew passed away on July 16th. He has
ascended to heaven and is truly at peace now.
On June 4th, after further
complications from his disease, he was released from the hospital and placed in
Hospice care. His Doctors determined that there was nothing further that could
be done with treatments to help him. The cancer had spread further throughout
his lung and chest areas that made it difficult for him to breathe and swallow.
Matthew was a trooper though
and he originally decided to go to his sister’s house here in Palos Verdes. We
were able to take care of him, mostly on our own, and spend precious time
together as a family. It was quite difficult for him but we made some special
arrangements and he got to experience a baseball game at Dodger Stadium. He was
treated like a king and got to go down on the field and even meet some players.
He absolutely loved it. Matthew was a big dinosaur fan growing up and
wanted to see the new movie Jurassic World. We were able to share that with him
also.
As his condition exacerbated,
he wanted to go back to our original home, where he grew up, and finish his
time with his family. We were so blessed to be able to give him exactly what he
wanted on his terms. We spent about two weeks with him just loving him and
giving him the peace and quiet that he deserved. No more hospitals, doctor
appointments, or treatments, just the most important thing to Matthew - his
family. And it was our opportunity to say goodbye in our special way.
Matthew was so dignified and
professional throughout this entire process. He never complained and was more
worried about all of us than even himself. Matthew fought so hard and the last
thing he wanted to do is see his nephew born so he could meet and know him.
Matthew's sister Sierra and her husband are having their first baby and the due
date is August 20th. Matthew wrote special messages to the baby and bought him
surprises. That's right, it is going to be a beautiful boy just like Matthew.
What a blessing and we just wish Matthew could have been there to see him.
This will be very special and
Matthew will certainly be his guardian angel to protect him and love him with
God's light. Matthew was able to handle this on his own terms. No regrets.
We miss him deeply and will
always have him and his spirit in our hearts forever. He will never be
forgotten and will always be part of our family as we move forward with the
next generation.
I worry that we haven't heard
from you and we pray that God has continued to provide you the peace and
comfort during your journey. Please respond back and let us know how you are
doing. You have always been so caring and helpful to us with Matthew. You were
an inspiration to all of us, including Matthew, and we care about and love you.
As I think I had told you before, I believe that you were an angel of God’s
love that was sent to help us with Matthew.
Your love is the greatest gift
of all. May God bless you and your family. And remember, that Matthew will now
be looking over you and will be waiting to see you again. Take care of each
other until we are all united in the Heavenly
Kingdom
Love,
Matthew & Sara Smith and
Family.
IV. The second letter written by Matthew’s father,
dated 7/29/2015
Joseph,
Thank you, so much, for your
loving thoughts and words for Matthew. I wish we could have had more time with
you so you could know how special Matthew is. He was a perfect son and brother.
He lived his life with a deep respect and love for God and family. And he was
such a giving person for being so young. We couldn't be more proud of the man
that he would become.
It is funny that you commented
about looking for Matthew in infusion unit of hospital. We actually always
looked for you too. I am pleased to hear that you are still receiving
treatments and we will always maintain hope for your peace and comfort.
I know how difficult your
condition is for you and your family, but I want you to know how important you
are to so many others who face these dreadful diseases. The work you are doing,
with your writings, helps us all to try and understand how to cope with the
heartbreaking situation with a pure focus on Love. Thank you for touching
Matthew and our family's hearts. We appreciate you spending precious time to
educate us and helping us to understand what is most important. We were able to
use your love and spiritual guidance to help Matthew cope with his condition.
You are an inspiration to all
of us and we hope and pray that you also receive God’s loving light to comfort
you. And don't forget about Matthew. He will continue to be with you in your
treatments and be an angel for you. Matthew absolutely believed that we will
all be united again with our Heavenly Father.
It would be an honor for us if
you would share Matthew's story on your blog and we have included some of our
favorite pictures of Matthew. When you post it, can you send us a link to read
it? It will be a great tribute to our loving son.
I have to share with you how
our hearts ache for Matthew. We miss him every moment of the day. I had tried
to convince myself that I would be ready to let Matthew go, but I was wrong. I
still want to provide for him and make sure that he is safe and loved. I stare
at his pictures constantly and pray for him. I have to trust my faith and know
that he received his calling from God to continue his love and blessings for so
many others. He will continue to make a difference in the lives of so many more
now. It is just so hard not to be selfish and want him all for ourselves.
Matthew had always talked about
and hoped that the clinical trials and studies on his condition would help
others, especially the sick children that he would see at The City of Hope.
I also wanted you to know how
peaceful Matthew was at the time of his passing. He had just given Love to his
brother before going to bed for the night and both Sara and I were holding and
comforting him with love. He was ready and gently passed in our loving arms.
Our prayers with the Peace of the Lord for Matthew were granted.
Please keep us posted on how
you are doing and if you ever need any help or support from us. I would love to
come and see you, while you are in treatments, to give back to you like you
have done for Matthew. I will try to check with you when I am in the area. We
will continue to keep you in our prayers and always know that you are loved.
God Bless You.
Love,
Sara & Matthew Smith
And your angel Matthew II
