Make-A-Wish; View From a Different Angle

By Troy Foster

For years, I’ve been involved in the Make-A-Wish Foundation.  I was an active Board Member for the Arizona, founding chapter.  And, I worked hands on in helping grant children’s wishes.  I was extremely passionate about it – these wishes were for the kids and their families, and seemed to serve as a brief respite for the reality of their child’s condition.

My how perspectives change.  Last week, I attended a Make-A-Wish event at a big corporate sponsor’s facility.  It was their kick off to raise money to fulfill 15 wishes this year!  Great goal; and I used to speak to companies like this on behalf of our Board of Directors.

This time was very different.  Instead of speaking on behalf of a Board, I was there with my son Henry.  His wish will be granted next month.  After talking him out of his original wish – to take his sister to China so that she could see where she is from (and to capture a live dragon) – we’re headed to DisneyWorld.  Henry is so excited.  We all are.  (Quick video clip below Henry talking about it!)

That’s where things fell apart for me last week.  When I would give these talks, listen to them, or hear about families going on their wish, I always had a sense of sadness.  An observation that the family’s excitement seems to ignore the reality of what is before them – after the wish.  The fact that they’re on a wish is bad overall – do they know that?  Is the denial part of what the wish helps with?  Those thoughts would cross my mind, I’m ashamed to say.  Because, as someone who hadn’t gone through it, I had missed the point.

These families know what lies ahead.  They don’t need to be reminded.  What they need is, and what the wish provides, is a break.  A break from appointments, treatments, tears, and worries.  And, most importantly, a time to see their kids just be a kid. 

I thought that I was ready, but wasn’t.  I thought that I could go to an event for a foundation that I love, on many levels, and would be just fine.  Not the case.  That’s a good thing, I think. The wish, to us, isn’t a swan song for little Henry.  Just like it wasn’t for all of the parents that I saw (wearing my other hat) and assumed that it was.  It’s a time that we get to have our little Henry focus only on being a kid.  And we don’t have to worry (we probably still will but that’s us) about things.  But affording it (which we couldn’t), planning it (which seems burdensome), and pushing off doctors’ appointments (which we are) – are all things that the wish affords us as a family.

And we know well that when we get back, the reality will still be here.  In fact, our older son (who has the same condition as Henry but is asymptomatic right now) sprung on us over the weekend “We’d better start thinking about my wish.”  But for seven days and the weeks and months that have led up to it, we can put those things aside and live in the here and now.

Not bad advice for anyone really.

If you would like to read more inspirational stories about Henry and Henry’s Hope, please check out the book Three Candles (www.threecandlesbook.com).  Part of the proceeds go to Henry’s Hope (www.henryshope.org).  

Giving Up On Debates for Lent!

By Troy Foster

Another debate on Ash Wednesday – really, is that what we needed?  Is nothing sacred anymore?  I got up this morning, remembering that we’d get to take the kids to church this evening.  Luke and Lily are at the age where they get what it’s about, and Henry – though not at the age – seems to get everything a little early.  So, I had a smile on my face first thing.

I enjoy the Lenten season, but an added bonus this year – Henry getting his ashes.  And understanding what it means.  So, we had the “talk” after dinner.  By this time, it was obvious that we were going to have to split up.  Our youngest had no interest, and Lily was checked out too.  It was Luke, Henry, and I.

The conversation on the way was the best.  After clearing up that the ashes were not from a burnt trash bin we saw earlier, the kids talked about what they wanted to do.  Henry “I love God so much, and I’m going to pick up trash all over the world and make people love Jesus.  Okay, Heavenly Father?,” he asked as he looked up and hands clasped together.  “And you need to stop drinking Diet Cokes, Daddy.  Not just for the 40 days.  If it’s something we shouldn’t be doing anyway, you think God wants us to start it up again?”  What is this kid a preacher?  Anyway, it was fun.

After we got our ashes, Henry pulled my hand to the pew to kneel and pray.  All three of us did.  It was awesome, cute, and spiritual.

Then, as we’re driving home, I remembered that there was a Presidential debate.  Having worked in national politics, I am the geek that watches these things, the State of the Union, and everything else political.  But honestly, I’ve grown tired of them.  It would be different if there were substantive discussions and genuine disagreement about the issues.  Instead, the pre-planned barbs that are planted in the most inappropriate places, making them transparent, the personal digs, and the “sky is falling” tone taken by each if any of the others were to be elected as if he is the only choice – have all become too much. 

The utter lack of civility and respect isn’t presidential.  And on Ash Wednesday – is certainly ironic.  So even before we pulled in the driveway, this political junkie gave up a second thing for Lent – the debate.  I’ll go ahead and end the day on a high note – getting ashes with my sons and even being lectured about my Diet Coke habit.

If you want to read more inspirational and uplifting stories about Henry and his terrific perspective, check out Three Candles (www.threecandlesbook.com.).  It’s a good read and getting rave reviews.  Part of the proceeds go to Henry’s Hope (www.henryshope.org), a foundation inspired by Henry to help sick and terminally ill children.  Henry has a rare form of mitochondrial disease, which is degenerative - but his spirit and attitude will never rest.

“I Just Want to See a Smile on Their Faces!”

by Troy Foster

That’s what Henry told us earlier today.  He was all revved up about Valentine’s Day.  And not for the same reason that our other kids are.  He can’t eat at the school parties or lick the lollipops that now seem to go with the holiday cards.  But he’s excited about other things.

Tonight, he was just thrilled to deliver the cards that he wrote out for his friends, Ty, Chad, and Bailey – the kids’ babysitter and her brothers that have become close friends with all of our children.  A terrific family. 

As we were taking the short drive from our neighborhood to theirs, he said “Daddy, go faster.  The faster we get there, the sooner they will be happy.” 

Kristen and I laughed, but Henry persisted.  “I just want to see a smile on their faces.  It will make me happy.”  It was as simple as that. The innocent, raw, and plain truth. 

We were bummed that they weren’t home, but they stopped by later on.  (Like I said, awesome family.)  Henry got what he wanted.  They smiled, and so did he.  And laughed until we tore them apart; it would still be going on now if adults weren’t involved.

This made Henry’s Valentine’s Day.  So refreshing.  And intriguing.  I think most of us were like Henry at that age.  Easily pleased.  Ecstatic when we see those that we care about smiling and happy.  The most satisfying feeling.

At some point, that changes.  Expectations, demands, motivations.  Distractions get in the way, and cloud things a bit.

But I was humbled today, like many days, in seeing through Henry what, in the end, is important.  Just seeing the smile on the faces of those that we love.

For more inspiring stories about Henry, and the perspective he teaches, check out the book about him (Three Candles) at www.threecandlesbook.com.  It’s gotten all 5-Star reviews by Amazon Top Reviewers, and a portion of the proceeds help kids in need of medical treatment.

The Voice – Mine and Cee Lo’s

By Troy Foster

Obviously, there is absolutely no comparison.  Though I try my hardest belting out Cee Lo Green’s hit, Forget You, I’m really only making a fool of myself.  He is the man.

But for Henry, both of our voices are important to him.  As for Cee Lo, it’s pretty obvious why, but you wouldn’t expect it from a 4-year old.  Cee Lo sings Henry’s long-time favorite.  We even have a cute video of Henry at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital – singing Forget You and dancing up a storm.  Yep, that’s him tossing around a blue tourniquet from a blood draw as a prop.  He sings it in the car all of the time.  He is lost in it, really focused, and passionate about his singing.  It is an awesome sight.  Cee Lo’s voice inspires him.  Gives him energy, which is exactly what he needs with this disease.

My voice, I just found out recently, serves a different purpose.  On one of our adventure days, we were headed home after some fun.  Henry was tired.  So, he quietly asked, “Daddy, will you please sing Forget You?”  I obliged, and he quickly fell asleep. 

For a few days, I felt pretty hot to trot.  I was no Cee Lo Green, but my son liked my voice.  I felt all warm and fuzzy inside.  Then, we were laying in bed on a night that Kristen was working late.  We had a long day.  Henry put his back up against mine, and asked “Daddy, will you please talk.  Even count.  I like to hear your voice.”  So, I talked about the secret dinosaurs in our house (friendly, of course).  In less than a minute, Henry was asleep.

My voice was comforting to him.  Made him feel safe and happy.  It helped reassure him that everything was just fine.  Talk about the warm and fuzzies.  Though I’d like to be able to sing like Cee Lo, the strength, comfort, and power that my voice has for little Henry means so much more.

For more heartwarming and inspirational stories about Henry and his perspective, check out Three Candles at www.threecandlesbook.com.  It’s also available on Amazon.

Our Super Bowl Experience: Already in the Record Books!

By Troy Foster

I have to admit, the only reason that I’m half interested in the Super Bowl this year is because it’s not far from the town we live in.  Close enough, in fact, to get caught up in all of the pre-Super Bowl activities that have been going on for almost a week now.  They call it the “Super Bowl Experience” in Super Bowl Village.  It’s pretty crazy down there – a bunch of traffic, hard to park, really expensive, crowded – yes, I sound like the old man that I’ve become.  The Andy Rooney of the Midwest.

I’m not though.  Really.  We even went, and took the kids.  But in reaching that decision and having our “experience” in the thick of it, I realized that I had done something that I promised that I would never do again.  I had lost perspective.  Forgotten, albeit for just a short time, what was most important in our life.  And, I don’t mean sports or the Super Bowl.

Since we learned that Henry and Luke have mitochondrial disease, we take each day as it comes.  They have taught us that lesson quite well.  It’s not out of fear, but out of the strong desire to create memories now and enjoy what we have each day.  Something, I think, that everyone could do without learning the lesson in the way that we did.

But, I caught myself.  Kristen and I were talking – about the crowds, the kids’ homework, it being a school night (which was on the flip side of the crowds argument), and the list went on.  It was what I call the “later list.”  Things that we can conveniently put off until later – when we don’t really need to, and just shouldn’t.

We scrapped the “later list,” packed our four excited kids into the car (a couple wondering if we were, in fact, on our way to the Super Bowl itself), and drove down.  Our experience began long before we got to the Experience.  The kids talked with great excitement and anticipation about what we would see and do; half of which (probably more) didn’t happen, but it was exciting to think about.  As was huge crowd of people that we saw, the long ride up the parking garage, and the massive pack of fans when we walked out into it.

Seeing Henry’s face light up when I picked him up to see the adventurers going down the zip line said it all.  It was priceless.  Or when Lily couldn’t wait to send the picture we took of her standing by a Cardinals’ helmet (her Aunt Maria is a cheerleader for the Cardinals).  And Luke, who fears crowds and is quite reserved in these settings, got into the groove, conquered his fears and posed for a picture with his sister.  (I think they picked the Jets because it wasn't as crowded.)  

It sounds very “ho hum,” as I read it back.  No, we didn’t see anyone famous.  We didn’t get to go on the zip line.  We didn’t watch a concert, or play any of the games that they have down there.  It was so crowded that we couldn’t even eat there (which can make for a crabby Foster clan).  But, had an awesome night – because we had an experience, a unique experience together.  One that the “later list” almost prevented.  I won’t let that happen again!

For those of you not lucky enough to go to the Super Bowl or even the pre-Super Bowl experience, we hope that you create your own every day with your loved ones.  And don’t let your “later list” get in the way.

For inspirational stories on perspective, please take a look at Three Candles, written by Henry’s dad.  Funds go to support Henry’s Hope (www.henryshope.org), and the book has gotten all 5-star reviews on Amazon!  Check it out at www.threecandlesbook.com, or purchase on Amazon or directly on the website.