birds f l y by zach zens envy by liz khomenkov

BIRDS fly The day broke coldly over the hospital windows with the dew blinking carefully down the panes. Birds f l e w abashedly in the air trying not to call attention to their playful f l i g h t. Inside the mist shrouded building, a shrill, low, solid tone permeated the room. I let go of a now limp and battered hand, and it fell heavily upon the bedsheets. My dearest and oldest friend had died. Gastric cancer had made a husk of the dancing, singing, and marvelous man that Peter once was. I still remember the gentle summer walks where Peter clutched my hand, and I felt that nothing could harm me, nothing could touch me, and the ring of his deep Sicilian vibrato crept into my mind and made me feel at ease. Peter was like a grandfather to me as mine had drowned before I was born, and he took it upon himself to teach me the important things that grandfathers are supposed to teach their grandchildren: how cook the best eggplant parmeasean, how to name each songbird gliding by, and how to mend my scraped knees when I fell on the gravel drive. The pain of losing someone so deeply attached to every f i b e r of your being is d i f f i c u l t to capture in words—impossible even—it was as though the whole weight of the world had collapsed onto my heart and locked happiness away in some distant tower. I cried, sobbed actually, for days on end; so much so that my stomach ached with heaves during long sleepless nights. For a while, the world seemed to dazzle less, grow dimmer. I scarcely noticed the birds sing while I continued in the daily metered procession of life; however, I quickly realized that deep inside, there was an ember that still burned, and the spark of his i n f l u e n c e called me to make a difference. I knew that others, even others that very day in that same moment, had felt the same pain I felt. Though my pain was severe, I developed a keen awareness of others’ suffering and my capacity to do something about it. During my freshman year of high school, I helped a local f i r e f i g h t e r named Kristin pay for some of the crippling treatment osts associated with cancer, raising $4,000 for her and her family. Unfortunately, Kristin passed just a year later, and the lethal shadow of cancer once again struck my heart. As time passed, the scars and pain tempered. Peter still came to mind in the quiet moments when I walked our gravel drive and saw the larks swooping gently past. My junior year presented a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I joined LLS (Leukemia & Lymphoma Society) as a co-candidate in their Student of the Year Campaign. This seven-week fundraising initiative allowed me to blossom while leading a team that I knew shared my passion for making a difference: thus, four high school students mobilized their community, family, and friends to raise over $46,000 for cancer research. The campaign revealed to me what it meant to be a leader while also r e f i n i n g my acute sense of passion for charity and strengthening my connections to my community, friends, and family. I knew that while I never thanked Peter for all that he had done, deep inside, I am at ease knowing that others now face a brighter future. I am once again embarking on the LLS campaign, with another lofty goal and Peter tucked into my thoughts. I know that there are many obstacles to come, but I am assured that I can face them with the same tenacity and resilience that has colored my past. Thus, I open the window to sunshine, let the warm breeze graze my face, my eggplant parmesan cooking gently in the oven, and I bask in the resounding song of birds f l u t t e r i n g past. by zach zens

envy by liz khomenkov