Just Me - AmeliaJake, The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse

The Dwarves of Grief and Thomas Bickle’s Light

March 2, 2015 AmeliaJake 3 Comments

So, what am I writing about? Well, something that I just realized I was reading about seven years ago: a little boy named Thomas Bickle who died of a brain tumor. I followed his story through his mother’s posting on her blog. Just type “Bickle” into the search category, and the posts will come up, if you are interested. Or just take a look at one – this one. Or type in Dwarves of Grief; it will melt your heart.

I have had a light – and amber one – in my west-facing porch window for a long time now; I’ve gone through several bulbs; It’s Thomas Bickle’s light. It sits unobtrusively on the wide window sill and shines out all the time. It is still there because some things just have to be remembered and acknowledged – an enduring remembrance that transcends the drama of an event that moves forever further into the past.

Tonight I noticed the special warmth of its glow and I almost heard myself whisper, “Hello, there, Thomas’ light. Shine on.”

I decided to write about these moments because every now and then, I need to stop with boring accounts and puns and made-up silly ideas and expressions of disgust at some politicians and just cite a worthy reason for this blog to be here.

3 thoughts on “The Dwarves of Grief and Thomas Bickle’s Light”

Sarah says:

July 30, 2015 at 9:58 pm

Thank you. I was just in a church in Santa Fe, remembering all the lights lit for him.
So bright.
-Sarah, Thomas’s mom
Scott, Thomas's dad says:

September 1, 2015 at 2:02 pm

I was looking for some information that might have been on Sarah’s old blog and ran across your post. Thank you for remembering. It means a lot.
AmeliaJake says:

January 3, 2016 at 11:00 am

I don’t know – when I read your comment I wanted to say something of comfort to you, but what? Just what in heck, what? And so I typed nothing, but it haunts me. I need for you to know I think of you and Thomas and if there were anything I could do besides remember, I would.

Comments are closed.

***Jody Lynn Vance: 1985-2011***

Jody was born at sunrise on a bright, sunny, cold, snowy Groundhog’s Day and from Day One she was a gift to everyone around her. Her infectious laugh and rambunctious spirit made her the center of attention where ever she happened to be.

She and her Dad would watch Sesame Street and sing at the top of our voices (and quite out of key) all of the songs. She enjoyed having Mom fix her hair so it was fancy and just right.

As a toddler she had quite an impressive vocabulary and often had a lot to say. One time Dad was headed out the door to go to work and she pointed her finger and said, “No. No. No. Don’t go anywhere!“

Jody was very seldom crabby, always happy and she wasted no time in spreading that joy to everyone around her. Jody’s favorite place was to be perched on the lap of Mom or Dad or playing with her toys spread out all over the floor. Jody was always affectionate, wanting hugs and “moochies” as she called smooches on the cheek.

At around two, Jody’s illness began to attack her. It took a beautiful, innocent child and put her through untold pain and suffering,

I know that through all of that she was not afraid. She had the heart and spirit of lion. She never gave up; time after countless time, she would open her eyes and there would come that smile. Jody lost her speech, but never was at a loss for words. She could say more with a look or a half smile than most people do yakking all day long.

After numerous doctor, hospital, and specialist visits, we were given the news of her illness. I remember that moment frozen in time … it was as if the entire world stopped. It was in that brief moment we both knew that we must make the very most of the time we had remaining together and not dwell on the despair of all of the things that would never be.

Jody was not expected to live more than three or so - but she had too many things to do and stories to tell, so she cruised by that birthday and over two more decades of birthdays, Christmases and millions of smiles and hugs. Jody was well-liked by other kids; once when she was being wheeled into her classroom at Handicare, one of the children yelled, “Hey everybody, Jody’s here” and all the kids cheered.

Two of the biggest joys in her life were her two little brothers, Joey and Sammy. She would just beam with joy when they would sit next to her and when they began to get older she’d love to listen to them running through the house and playing together. The two of them would start laughing and Jody would laugh right along with them. She would listen intently to everything they did and they would include her as often as they could. The three of them loved watching Saturday morning cartoons and The Three Stooges.

Joe and Sam did without a lot of things that other kids had, did and took for granted … and they never once complained or were resentful of the way things were. That shows a special kind of love and a special kind of family.

As the years went by and the boys grew up into strong and healthy, Jody’s health slowly and steadily declined. She would have long stretches where she was fairly stable and then would become so very ill.

Many times we were sure the end was near and then she would open those sparkling blue eyes and stretch just like nothing had happened at all.

Once she was in the hospital with her usual bout of pneumonia and lapsed into a coma; this went on for 8 days. One Dr. came in, examined her and just shook his head. Later that night Jody’s eyes popped open and she was refreshed from her cat- nap.

People over the years have commented, ”I don’t know how you do it. ”This always struck me as odd. My thoughts would always be: How could you even think of turning your back on someone who needs you that much?

It was always our promise to Jody that she would always live at home with her family and I think she found comfort in knowing that.

But, no one person can take the credit for caring for this wonderful young woman. It has taken an army of doctors, nurses, teachers, aides, pharmacists, friends, and family over the years to maintain Jody at home, and we could never begin to thank you enough.

Jody always kept her head held high and never seemed to be afraid; she has truly been my inspiration on many occasions. When things were gloomy and seemed hopeless, just one smile and a hug was all I needed to go on. Jody will always be my hero. I love her and will treasure the time we had together.

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