Ever since I was a child I saw the Feast of Holy Innocents as one of particular sadness, in such startling contrast to the joyous celebration of Christmas. On December 28, 2001, this feast day took on a new meaning for my family and me: my four-year-old son Leo was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia.
Those of you reading this who were visiting Catholic Exchange five years ago may remember seeing updates on Leo. I was an associate editor for CE at the time, and we posted several articles about Leo. I thank you now, as I did so earnestly then, for all of your prayers and sacrifices for Leo.
Five years ago, Leo was as innocent as any child of his age. I took him to our pediatrician to investigate some strange symptoms. After a blood test, Dr. Peterson told me to take Leo to St. Paul Children's Hospital, to the oncology clinic. I asked if we could go home for lunch first. She said, no, we should go now.
Thus began a series of blood draws, x-rays, and doctor consultations. I will never forget the oncology doctor who conducted Leo's intake into the oncology clinic. He was patient, kind, and sat with us for what felt like a good hour. Doctors, in my experience, never do this. They don't sit down to talk and listen and just be with their patients. Dr. David Slomiany did.
My most poignant memory of that day was when Leo and I arrived back at the oncology clinic's waiting room, a room we would come to know well. We had just come up from the blood lab. It was late afternoon and Leo, remarkably, was happy and lively. He saw the toys in the waiting room and immediately began to play. He played in earnest with puzzles, cars, and colorful plastic toys. I looked at him and noted his handsome face, his quizzical expressions, his trusting smile. He knew nothing of what lay ahead, how his little life had just radically changed forever. What an excruciating test of a father's love — to lead your child, with his innocence and complete trust, into a nightmare of chemotherapy, sickness, pills, needles, tests, waiting rooms, labs, and hospitals. I wept for love of Leo; I wept for pity of myself.
Leo's story has a happy ending. This December 28 marks the five-year anniversary of his diagnosis. The doctors told us from the beginning that he had an 85% chance of cure, and that if he stayed in remission for five years, they would consider him cured. Today we celebrate that milestone. We thank God for allowing us to keep our son! We are also painfully aware that other families' stories do not end so well. We often pray for other children and families dealing with childhood cancer and other illnesses. I know that every week new families are brought into that same waiting room, and are introduced suddenly, painfully, to a new and frightening life.
Another holy, innocent boy figures in Leo's story. Four-year-old William, the son of my wife's friend, knew about Leo's cancer, and he and his family prayed for Leo every day. In early 2002 William's family learned that he was suffering from cardiomyopathy. When William was hospitalized and underwent tests, shots and medication, he did something that touched our family deeply: he offered his sufferings for Leo as well as himself. Among his prayers he would say, "Mom, I don't like this, but I'll offer it for Leo."
William died in June 2002, at age four. Leo and William didn't know each other well, but William became the best friend a four-year-old with leukemia could have. Leo now has an advocate in heaven!
Children and suffering; children and death. These things simply should not ever go together. Yet even our Lord's birth was followed by a great tragedy in Bethlehem. It is part of the fallen human condition that with joy in life inevitably comes sorrow. It was in the midst of such sorrow that Jesus came into our world, just as it was through His horrific death that He gave salvation to the world.
The suffering and sacrifices of children, of holy innocents, must bear fruit. God, in His infinite goodness, mercy, and mystery, would not let it be otherwise.
Holy Innocents of Bethlehem, pray for us!
