Peggy's Paper Dolls
Brian scanned the walls of the same
corridor that had
become so familiar to him over the
past few years.
As he entered through door number thirty-two,
a
tremendous wave of emotion swept over
him, and he
had to fight not to drown in it. His
sister's face lit up
with a vibrant smile and that special
twinkle in her
eyes, as it always did whenever she
saw him.
Peggy was seven years old. She charmed
everyone
that knew her with her undying enthusiasm.
She would talk non-stop to a listening
ear,
and she seldom cried. Peggy was dying
of cancer.
Brian was at the hospital constantly,
knowing that his little sister had
only a short time to live.
His average life as a sixteen-year
old had taken a
traumatic turn for the worst upon the
diagnosis.
He loved his sister more than anything,
and found himself becoming enraged
that she,
such a sweet and innocent girl,
should be inflicted with such a horrible
disease.
Brimming with creativity, Peggy amazed
Brian.
She had a collection of paper dolls
that she had made.
All sixty-two were tacked behind her
bed.
Brian would ask her about the dolls,
but she would always just smile,
and say happily that they were her
friends.
He would be saddened by the fact that
Peggy
could not have the normal life of a
seven-year-old,
and make her own friends.
It would only dishearten him more to
watch
her play with the other sick children.
Each day that passed was like a ticking
time bomb for Brian.
Peggy grew physically weaker by the
day,
but her spirit remained strong.
Each one of her smiles pierced his
heart.
She would ask him why he looked so
sad,
for he found it difficult to smile,
though he pretended that everything
was all right.
When he wasn't at the hospital,
he would spend most of his time at
home,
alone in his room. There were times
when he
would bang his head uncontrollably
against the wall until it hurt.
He would cry, shamelessly,
and throw mad fits for no reason.
His life was falling apart, almost
as if it was him that was dying.
It was two weeks after Peggy's eighth
birthday that she passed away.
Though expected, it broke Brian's heart.
No amount of anticipation could have
prepared
him for the silence that was Peggy's
passing.
As Brian forced himself to walk through
door
number thirty-two in the cancer ward
one last time,
he almost expected to see Peggy sitting
on her bed.
He prayed that he would see her face
light up,
just like it always had. It was only
the emptiness
and coldness of the bed that greeted
him, though.
He wanted to scream and smash the table
lamp on the floor.
He wanted to do anything to escape
from the silence.
Silence was a foreign entity with Peggy
around,
but she was gone, and its presence
was so thick that it suffocated him
Then he saw the tiny paper dolls smiling
back
at him from the wall. Brian found a
shoe box to put them in,
unable to throw them away.
One by one he removed them from the
wall,
seeing for the first time the inscriptions
on the back of each:
Terrah, Ivy, Nicole, Amy, Justin, Chris...and
on and on.
There was one name that stuck in his
mind: Jesse.
Jesse had been Peggy's first and best
friend at the hospital.
Jesse had died about one year ago.
Then Brian began to recognize more
names,
and he realized why they seemed so
familiar.
Peggy's paper dolls were all the children
that
had died since she had arrived.
When Brian finally pulled the sixty-second
doll
off the wall with a quivering hand,
he realized that there was one that
had not been there before.
It was purple, Peggy's favourite colour,
with a wide crayon smile.
As Brian turned the doll over and read
the back,
he was snapped out of his state of
denial,
realizing for the first time that his
sister was not coming back.
Tears flooded his eyes as the name,
scrawled in crayon, "Peggy",
screamed at him.
She had known.
In his head he could hear the sweet
voice
that he had known for so long, but
for the first time,
he understood her.
All the time he had been inconspicuous,
pretending that everything would turn
out all right, for her benefit.
(Or maybe it was for his own sake?).
All along, she knew that she was going
to die,
yet not once did she say that it wasn't
fair.
As the memories of Peggy reeled through
Brian's head,
he realized that he could not remember
a time
when she had been truly unhappy.
Peggy, only a child, had accepted her
disease and death as a part of her
life.
She faced most people's worst fear
with courage,
and the determination to make each
day that she lived worthwhile.
The dolls were a means of remembrance
and symbols of life.
Instead of mourning the ones that she
had loved,
she remembered all the joy that they
had brought her.
Viewing life through Peggy's eyes,
Brian saw that she didn't want to be
known as the girl that died of cancer,
but as the girl that shone like the
sun. From his perspective,
each day had escorted his sister one
step closer to death.
Through Peggy's eyes, each day of her
life gave her one more day to shine.
Wrapped up in his own sense of loss,
Brian had let her illness eat away
at his own mentality.
Instead of being a big brother, he
had given up,
and now it was too late.
He could have shared her life with
her, if he'd only realized.
Brian looked down at the small paper
doll in his hand through salty tears,
and he realized that it was not too
late.
He could still follow in her footsteps,
and learn how to seek out the best
in any situation.
Suddenly he felt the odd sensation
of a smile.
Though choked with sobs and heartache,
it paved the path for more smiles in
his life,
that he may never have had the courage
to find had it not been for Peggy's
attitude.
He had never realized that he knew
so little about his sister,
but most importantly, that he would
learn
so much from her, the bravest girl
on earth.
From that day on,
Brian learned not to dwell upon life's
downsides,
but to search for the positives that
were s
ometimes hidden in the shadows of his
fears.
So often do people live for the future
and for what "will be",
that they forget and take for granted
"what is".
Peggy understood that the present was
a gift. Every day,
she would open her gift to discover
all of the
splendor and happiness that it had
to offer.
To realize the value of the present
is only half of the battle.
It is having the courage and the determination
to live within it that wins it.
Peggy was gone, but her memory, her
heart,
and all that was expressed through
one child's paper dolls remained.
Casey-Jo Timson, age 18
Ontario, Canada