An 11-year-old girl was diagnosed with terminal cancer, but she impressed everyone with her view of death. Her story and words were made public by Rogerio Brandao, who was working as an oncologist at the Pernambuco Oncology Hospital at the time. He told how the child saw this experience before she died.
Here are his words:
Being a specialist in oncology, with 29 years of professional experience, I can say that I was raised and changed by the dramas of my patients. We cannot know our true dimension until, in the midst of adversity, we discover that we are capable of going much further.
I remember with emotion the Oncology Hospital in Pernambuco, Brazil, where I took my first steps as a professional. I witnessed the drama of my patients, innocent little victims of cancer. With the birth of my first child, I began to feel uncomfortable, seeing the suffering of other children. All this until the day an angel came to me!
I saw that angel in the face of an 11-year-old girl, exhausted from various treatments that involved chemical and radiation programs, for two years. But I did not see giving up in that little angel. I saw her cry many times, I saw fear in her eyes, but this is human!
One day I arrived at the hospital earlier and found her alone in the room. Worried, I asked her where her mother was, but the girl’s answer left me speechless.
─ Sometimes my mother leaves the room and cries alone in the hallway so that I don’t see her. When I die, I think my mother will be nostalgic, but I am not afraid of death. I was not born for this life “, the girl answered.
─ What does death mean to you, child? I asked her.
─ Usually, when we are little, we go to bed in our parents’ bed, and the next day we wake up in our bed, don’t we ? she answered me.
At that moment, I remembered my daughters, who were six and eight years old at the time. They did exactly the same thing.
─ So is death. One day I will sleep, and my Father will come to take me. I will wake up in His house, in my true life!
I was amazed at the maturity with which suffering accelerated the spirituality of this child. Excited, controlling my tears with difficulty, I asked her:
─ What is nostalgia for you?
─ Nostalgia is the love that remains, the little girl answered me.
Today, at the age of 53, I challenge everyone to give a better definition of the word “nostalgia”. This little girl left us many years ago, but she taught me a real lesson, which helped me improve my life, be more human, more affectionate with my patients and reconsider my values.
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