Room 0925

In a world where people are cold, dark and harsh; I found love. I found warmth. Most importantly, I found innocence. I found all of these things in a little girl. The bravest, most robust human being couldn’t measure up to what this gentle angel was.

She died on Christmas Eve. I remember thinking nothing could be more suitable; a gift to God would be an understatement. I had the grandest pleasure of witnessing her final days. Seeing her strength and love for her family was foreign to me. I grew up an orphan, was lucky enough to find parents. But having parents is different than having someone you called a mother and a father. They did their 18 years of duty and please don’t get me wrong, I appreciated every inch of it. But this little girl had it different. There was genuine care and love. Not from her parents, but from her. It can almost be explained as if she was conducting an orchestra, no one fighting her, just playing along in unison. But it was clear she was the conductor.

Maybe this was all due to her condition. You see, I’m a janitor in a hospital. So my visions of this little girl are only similar to vignettes of my passing by. She had no hair, she should of looked weak, and she should have looked frail and pale. She didn’t. You have never seen someone more vibrant in your life.

She had leukemia. She was in her final stages. This was evident. What wasn’t evident was that she would teach me more in a week than I would learn my entire life. It took me a couple days to figure out something special was occurring in room 0925. Day after day I did my rounds, saw Doctors in and out of the room. Balloons and gifts engulfed her surroundings. But one gift changed my life. One gift.

Before I got to my rounds on her floor on day 5, she was gone. The room was grey and ordinary. Nothing special. Nothing vibrant. Nothing innocent. It made me think how quickly things can change. It made me sad that I never met her. I went in to mop and sanitize room 0925 on day 5 sad, but working here, you get used to people leaving. This was different. The happiness on that little girl’s face sparked my life with light. It didn’t seem fair that she was gone. It didn’t seem fair that we never spoke. But sometimes that’s how life is. It just leaves you with unanswered questions. Working in a hospital for a while, I should have known better. But the energy that little girl gave off was so rich and pure. It was a breath of fresh air I couldn’t resist.

Not all was lost. While cleaning her room I found something of significance. Something I would have passed by any other day, in any other room. A business card lay peacefully behind a chair. Sure enough the address was richly printed on the front.

My decision to go the address was a simple one. Up until the moment I first saw her, my entire life was idle without being conscious of it. I had to go to this address. Call it selfish, call it what you like.

When I arrived at the address, I was shocked it was a private home. I don’t really know what I was expecting, but there was a moment that happened to me in that driveway. I like to call it a moment of clarity. I guess when something special occurs in anyone’s life, theres always a pinch me moment. You always must take a step back from it. Let your feet hit the ground. I mean that’s life. That’s reality. So here it was. Do I let life put another stop sign in front of me to obey? Or do I leave my own path in the woods? I was too tired of stop signs.

The reason I am writing you isn’t because I put my car in reverse. I walked up those steps and knocked on that door. Each knock was a sound of optimism. I waited and waited, studied the door and waited more. There was no answer. For a moment that door seemed like my life. It stood as still as static. Waiting for something to occur was all too familiar in my life.

Ironically, the door was unlocked. Letting myself in was a simple enough choice. Pictures of the little girl surrounded the house. The environment was calm, dim and peaceful. Silence echoed and soothed the air. I was wondering where everyone was, there were so many cars in the driveway?

Suddenly, a knock on the door intruded my silence. I looked back quickly. I was in shock to see the little girl standing in the doorway. She smiled at me gently and continued to slowly walk up to me. I felt a urge of rush accompanied with infinite questions. How is she OK? Is she healthy? All these obvious questions seemed so irrelevant. So fake, compared to the reality of her footsteps.

She handed me a letter, it read as follows:

“This is a private letter to you. A letter from me to you. It’s not important who I am or Where I live. I could be your grandmother. I could be your son. I could live across the street or on the other side of the world. But maybe just maybe I caught you at a time in your life where the magic has left. Maybe you needed to hear about optimism and innocence. Maybe this letter was specifically written for you. On the other hand, maybe you have already written this letter to someone and have grown weary of life. Maybe you need to be encouraged. You need to believe that the world around you doesn’t define you. Maybe you just need to hear, no matter who you are, that life is beautiful. That life has treasures. That life has miracles. And most importantly, and so vital for you to understand, life is what you make it.“

I put the letter down and looked for her. It was no coincidence she was gone. She didn’t need to stay. Her purpose was fulfilled. Whatever it was, it was complete. I took one last look at the interior of that house. So calm, so peaceful. I exited softly and drove my car pondering what I just experienced.

The next day at the hospital, I started to notice a difference in myself. I was more open to people. More open to help, more available to talk, more apt to listen. I started valuing people instead of evaluating them. I started living life with my arms open. A change had struck. A real change.

Years have gone by, but not a day passed I didn’t put that letter in my pocket. I assume it’s only suitable that you know the truth. Today I am in a hospital, but not for work. My time isn’t long here. I lived a long life. Some good, some bad. But it seemed a unison belief my time was limited.

When the nurse asked me what instructions I had regarding my death. I only requested one thing. I handed her the letter and told her softly “read it and pass it to a stranger.” She smiled and accepted.