e came from the back room, long after the others had scampered by, with one leg dragging behind him. We don't know how it had happened; a quirk of fate, mistake in movements by his mother; all is known is he had a twisted leg.
Everyone was for "putting him away". I could not stand the thought. So he became My Baby.
He was not bullied by the others; they played quite well together, those 7 little ones. The others seemed to accept his handicap and make allowances for him. His elders carried him when all his siblings were made to walk.
He was allowed to "muscle in" and eat when and where he wanted. Most little ones would take advantage in a situatiion like his. He never did.
There were nights I had trouble sleeping. It was at these times we became very close friends, my little Guy and I. I would sit in the recliner trying to read, and he would come and ask to be held. My heart would swell to the bursting point with love for him, and it seemed he felt the same. He slept many a night in that chair in my arms.
Almost overnight, my Baby grew too big to lay in Daddy's arms. So, we moved to the couch and he would lie beside me with his head on my leg.
My little buddy grew fast. In fact he out-grew his brothers and sisters. He stood a head taller than everyone.
Playtime outside became his favorite time of the day. He could run with the others and romp and rough-house as well as if he had no deformity what-so-ever.
Eventually his brothers and sisters began leaving home, one by one, until he was an "only child". He missed them greatly, and would sit gazing out the window for hours on end. When ever I came home from work, he would run to me, jump in my arms and "tell me" every little mischief he had been into that day.
Time wore on and he became a teen-ager with all the wild abandon of a normal guy. He was "healthy as a horse", and ate anything, everything, and at any time. Life with my buddy was good.
One day I came in from the shop and he was nowhere to be seen. I eventually found him in the culvert under the driveway where it was cool. He had a very high fever.
The diagnosis was quick and brutal. Leukemia. Second opinion: The same.
In the minutes before the end, he sat in my lap in that waiting room gazing into my eyes and "talking" to me. He told me many things.
Those minutes are burned into my brain
and heart forever. That day I lost a part of me, that can never be recovered. Others have come after, but none have replaced that one.
He was 6 years old, and at his peak health wise, he tipped the scales at 14 1/2 pounds.
Now he romps and plays with others in a
place known as "Rainbow Bridge". Someday I will go to that place and again hold that warm little body close to mine, and hold the loving little head in my hand, and we both shall cross over "Rainbow Bridge" together.
~ T. R. York, Sr. ~
May 2001
