Coconut White Chip Cookie Bars
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“Hold on a second. I don’t want them to see me crying,” Abby‘s mom whispered into the phone, no doubt situating herself on the porch as she spoke, moving out of her family’s eyeshot.
*
“I’m sorry. I’m the lowest I’ve ever been since this whole cancer thing started. Abby is so sick.”
*
I shouldn’t have even been calling. After all, it had been weeks since we’d hosted Abby’s Bake Sale and we had nothing else to offer them but prayers and high hopes.
*
I shouldn’t have been calling, but that morning I’d gotten a call. I thought Mary would want to know about it.
*
As I’d dialed, I made the concious decision to call quickly and not be a chatty bother. Rather than arriving in the middle of the bustling commotion of daily life, my phone call rang into this private moment. A moment when one mother was sitting on her porch, fighting back tears, pushing back a black fear that she may be alone in this struggle for her daughters life.
*
“Oh, Mary. I don’t know what to say.” Why had I called? Why me? Words always fail me. They were failing me now. I couldn’t find the right thing to say. I wanted so much to take some miniscule breath of her sorrow. I tried to speak, but my voice didn’t sound right. Too harsh for such a fragile phone call, yet I spilled it out awkwardly: “I hope the reason I’m calling will help somehow.”
*
I explained. Earlier that morning, a gentleman from a local homebuilder had called me. He’d seen the story about Abby’s Bake Sale on the news and was calling with a proposition. In front of their prized $3.5 million dollar home, the builder was hoping to host a water station during the upcoming Parade of Homes. “We’ll buy the water. You set the price. You keep the profits for Abby. We expect 17,000 tickets to be sold. That could mean alot of help to Abby and her family.”
*
He then shared how the cause was near and dear to his heart. Two years before, his grandson came home from playing at a friends house one Saturday. He felt sick. They rushed him to the ER. He was diagnosed with Leukemia. Four days later, he died.
*
As I told Mary, I heard a gasp catch in her throat. She valiantly choked back tears. It was the first time throughout this whole, miraculous experience of meeting Mary and Abby that I realized something about Mary. Prayers4Abby isn’t just a website. It’s what this mother does everyday for her beautiful daughter. Prayers that Abby will have the right combination of faith and medicine and miracles to win the fight against cancer. Prayers that her pink-cheeked preteen will see her next birthday, her next school year, her next Christmas.
*
With voice mustered courageously back into conversation, she offered a question.
**
“Did you say there would be 17,000 people?”
*
“Yes, that’s how many he said they expect to attend the Parade of Homes.”
*
“Oh, Brooke. Today they told us Abby will likely need a bone marrow transplant.”
*
A sniffled pause. A squeak from her side of the phone, but it did not sound of sorrow. I thought I could hear hope.
**
“The doctor’s said the transplant will cost $17,000.”
~*~
During our last conversation, Mary expressed immense gratitude for the many of you that have written words of comfort and hope, mailed donations, and even hosted bake sales of your own on Abby’s behalf.*
*
Would you consider hosting a Bake Sale for Abby?
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