I’m listening to a book by Josh Sundquist called Just Don’t Fall. It’s about how he “overcame illness and … The book tells the story from his point of view, as a nine-year-old diagnosed with cancer, and follows him through the journey of leg amputation and becoming a professional athlete. I’m only 1/3 of the way in, but I’m thoroughly enjoying it. Josh tells it well, through the eyes of a child. Everything he didn’t and did understand about being sick and doctors and cancer and life.
He finds out he has to undergo chemo and it will cause his hair to fall out and asks his mom to shave it for him. His little brother, who is seven at the time, says he doesn’t want Josh to feel bad, so he asks his mom to shave his head too. Then, inspired, eighteen of their friends from the homeschool group and church ask to have their heads shaved. So, Josh and nineteen friends had their heads shaved. Imagine a bunch of 7-10 year olds, bald in solidarity.
Josh was impressed that his friends would do that for him and especially noted the love he had for his little brother. “That night, I loved Matthew more than I ever had in my entire life.” Something like that.
A few days later, it was time to go to church. What was left of Josh’s hair had fallen out and it was his first outing in quite some time that didn’t involve needles. Before leaving for church, Josh’s mother took him into the bathroom to use makeup and draw on eyebrows. It turned out to be a mistake, Josh’s eyebrows looked horrible, and all of the sudden, he noticed eyebrows.
He walked into his Sunday School class and saw his friends. “Several of them are the home school boys who shaved their heads for me. But I noticed today that no one shaved their eyebrows for me.” While he obviously appreciated the gesture of all of them voluntarily shaving their heads, he all the sudden realized there was something no one else would understand… except maybe other cancer patients.
This struck me.
There are a lot of people who love me, and I know that. Lots of them do great things for me and are very supportive. Still, none of them will ever really know what it’s like for me and Louie. Despite all their efforts, there is no way for them to shave their eyebrows. There will always be a piece of my life, my struggle, my disease, that no one can understand.
