A friend of mine has a weekly post that always goes up that is entitled “Every Monday Matters” where she talks about an important issue. It’s one of the few (along with Bakerella’s post) that I look forward to on Mondays.  But I actually think it’s every moment that matters.  We just simply, no longer, take enough of them.

Today as I sat here pondering how to formulate this post, I came across an email sent to me.  Yet another forward and I almost deleted it.  But I took the chance and opened it and read one of the most heartwrenching stories I’d read in a long time.  It’s one I’ve read before so many would wonder why I cried.  Read it for yourself:

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its

dedicated staff, he offered a question:

‘When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection.

Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do.

Where is the natural order of things in my son?’

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. ‘I believe that when a child like Shay, who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.’

Then he told the following story:

Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, ‘Do you think they’ll let me play?’ I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, ‘We’re losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we’ll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.’

Shay struggled over to the team’s bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.

In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay’s team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.

In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.

In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay’s team scored again.

Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn’t even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay’s life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.

The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed.

The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay.

As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.

The game would now be over.

The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman.

Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman’s head, out of reach of all team mates.

Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, ‘Shay, run to first!

Run to first!’

Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base.

He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, ‘Run to second, run to second!’

Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base.

B y the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball . the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.

He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher’s intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman’s head.

Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.

All were screaming, ‘Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay’

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, ‘Run to third!

Shay, run to third!’

As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, ‘Shay, run home! Run home!’

Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team

‘That day’, said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, ‘the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world’.

Shay didn’t make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

Heartwarming isn’t it?   It’s a moment in time that those parents will cherish through the rest of their lives.  I have a few moments of those in the treasure chest of my memory also.  Many of them include my nephew, Micheal Kekoa.  Two years ago today, I sat in my living room hemming a tablecloth I was making.  In retrospect, it was rather ugly, but what stuck out is the call I got from my mother.  She was on vacation, so I immediately picked up the phone and began teasing her about calling.  But she was in tears and eventually she was able to get out that Kekoa was dead.

I was horror struck enough to hang up on her and yell for my husband and just as hysterically explain the situation to him.  Calmly, as he always did, he managed to get all the facts out of me and we raced down to the hospital in Lakewood to find out Kekoa’s true status.  Alive and hurt or actually dead?  By the time we left the hospital that evening we were all rather numb.  Kekoa had died at the hand of the guy who my sister was dating at the time. That first year was hard as we struggled with so many adjustments. That happy vivacious three year old was no longer part of our lives. Because his father partially blamed my sister, we also lost his sister as part of our lives, all of which made the funeral itself difficult. My sister requested we not talk to any press, who even found out where I was living in Renton.  In retrospect, I wish I had spoken with them if only to stop similar abuse to another child. To make more people aware of the possibilities of what can occur. The plain cold facts?  My sister made a poor choice in mates.  Someone she trusted with her children, her heart, abused that trust in the most extreme way possible. People called her a whore for being with that type of person and so many other derogatory comments.  We held our tongues.  We watched as Kekoa’s father railed at the system that failed his son on news publication after news publication.  Like many people, he worked so much to be able to give his children what they needed and wanted and had already missed out on so much. We watched his uncles make comments on the life of a child they were barely part of and we ached.    I was lucky. My work affords me the opportunity to see a counselor should I need it and I utilized it immediately and frequently until I could find a sense of closure.  I still grieve and I still miss him, but I cherish my happy memories closely as they’re all I have left of him.

That fateful moment that marks the two year anniversary of Kekoa taking his last breath has come and gone and I ponder and reflect.  What changes could have been made?  Here’s some statistics for you.  Childhelp.org says

• A report of child abuse is made every ten seconds.
• Almost five children die everyday as a result of child abuse. More than three out of four are under the age of 4.
• It is estimated that between 60-85% of child fatalities due to maltreatment are not recorded as such on death certificates.

Every ten seconds. Despite Pierce County CPS dropping the ball in my nephew’s case, this is an alarming statistic.  It’s imperative that we change this statistic.  I can recall, with regret, the change in my nephew’s demeanor.  The happy vivacious boy you see in this picture wasn’t. He would stand on the edge of the room and watch.  He no longer laughed as freely and was definitely moody.  It puzzled me, but I assumed that given the fact that I don’t see him all that often since my move to Renton, that this was just him being tired and cranky.  Little did I know about the bruises my other sister, who was his daily caretaker, was seeing.   A year after his death, we sat in a courtroom and listened to the offender’s own brother condemn his actions.  We listened to the judge offer comments on what he thought of the situation and most importantly pass judgement on him for his crimes.  We cried anew as Kekoa’s father raised a tape recorder in his hand up high and played the last sound of Kekoa’s voice he ever heard. A voicemail left only days before his death and smiled in memory of his beautiful smile.

This post didn’t quite lead in the direction most people that started reading would have assumed that it was headed.  Shay’s story, true or not, was used to illustrate the good things and memories that can be created in life.  I’m sorry if you feel I’ve misappropriated it, but I want people to be aware that not all signs of abuse are as evident as others.  While you always want to proceed with caution, don’t turn a blind eye and assume someone is taking care of it.  Don’t say to yourself that it’s none of your business.  GET INVOLVED. Volunteer where you can.  Did you know in Texas, they have a volunteer program to help with their elderly population as well as their kids?  Find a SIMILAR program in your area and help out.  Most importantly, hug your children closely tonight and remember Kekoa.