My best friend, Timmy, was born with his legs ending just below the knee, and his arms ending just below the elbow in what was pitiful comparison to fingers, a defect that was a result of nephrotic syndrome. Timothy grew up to be a sweet, caring teenager with a sense of adventure and hope in his heart that couldn't be killed. I had to move away, just as we had become great friends, but I knew I would see him again. I came back in May of 1999, the year I was to turn 17, and the year he would be 18. I searched for him all summer, but when school started, I finally knew why I had been unable to get ahold of him. My friend Rachel told me that his kidneys had failed and he had been in and out of the hospital all summer. When he came home, Rachel and I went to see him. He was so tiny and frail, lying on his bed, drawing his beloved X-Men, talking about his prom, graduation, and getting to drive. And talking so calmly about being sick that my heart broke. That was the last time I saw him. He went back to the hospital. From there, he continued to show his strength and determination when he completed several picnic benches-from his hospital bed-(with the help of a couple of fellow Boy Scouts) in order to obtain the rank of Eagle Scout. Timmy earned the rank, and was released from the hospital to go to the ceremony. His story was in several major newspapers in Oklahoma. But that was no help to him. He died November 1, 1999. As I sat at his funeral, I was stunned by some memories shared by people who had known him and loved him much longer than I had. One in particular stayed in my mind, one given by the new principal of the high school during Timmy's freshman year. She told how she felt the need to protect him when she found out he was being viciously teased by a few boys, and how Timmy had told her not to worry about it. She punished the boys, of course, and the teasing eased somewhat, but continued. I wish that those boys had taken a few moments out of their life to ask him what he liked, or who his favorite author was, or anything about himself. They would have found a wonderful and interesting friend. I know I did, and no matter how much pain I gained by knowing him and losing him, I will never regret that. Timmy was my teacher, and now he is my angel.
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Written By Janettee Younger
I had a friend I had known forever.
Our friendship was such that even time couldn't sever.
I remember the first time we met...
I sat alone on the bus, my eyes barely wet.
I was new to the school...
I had no friends: I wasn't cool.
But he didn't care, just sat down beside me.
From that day on, I've had no friend better than he.
Then on Valentine's Day, he gave me a rose.
Every time someone speaks of him, my heart jumps and glows.
I remember helping him take off a leg
so he could "kick" someone in the head.
I remember him being unhappy
when I told him that my father was dead.
I remember him trying to get me to help him make a comic strip.
Then I had to move away... as I left, I felt my heart rip.
I came back to visit,
his mom said, "He's putting his legs on, so wait."
I knew I couldn't stay long, or I'd be late.
But I came back again, I thought this time I'd stay.
Unfortunately, Timmy's life was dwindling away.
I had missed the bad news: he was terribly sick.
His body was failing... It was too late a transplant to pick.
I came to visit... he was just as I remember.
The sickness of his body hadn't killed his spirit's bright ember.
He had to go to the hospital: he was sick once again.
Every night I prayed his suffering would end.
I prayed he'd get well and I prayed he would die.
Then, when I was done, I would lie in bed and cry.
It had been weeks since I saw him...
And I thought about him always:
wrote about him every time I picked up a pen.
Then I heard the news: Timmy is dead.
But his life wasn't wasted:
his spirit is passed on every time this is read.
