On March 17, 2006, Bernard will be having his twenty-sixth Birthday Party. Bernard will once again be turning four years old. (He can’t get more than four. He only has four fingers.)

When Charity was three years old, her 16-month-old baby sister, Melody, was diagnosed  with a brain tumor.

The day before Melody’s surgery, the family went through the Pre-Op Teaching Program. In this program, the children dress up as doctors and take their “patient”, Bernard, to the real Holding Room; to the real Surgery Room, where they put Bernard into a special sleep and “operate” on him; and then to the PACU, where they gently wake up Bernard, comforting him and assuring him that he will see his Mommy soon. Then they return Bernard to  his patient’s room, where he is welcomed by his Mommy and the nurses. He’s hugged and kissed, given medicine and something cold to drink, and tucked into his bed. Children who go through this program are bonded to Bernard, and such was the case for Charity.

The next day, on a Friday morning, Melody underwent surgery. When I left that day, Melody was sleeping soundly. That evening, while in her mother’s arms, Melody had a seizure.

Monday morning, Charity was waiting for me. With great urgency she said to me, “Hurry, Ms Diana, get Bernard! I’ve got something to tell him!” Holding her hand, we walked to my office, and “woke up” Bernard. Immediately Charity cried. “Bernard! My sister is going to die! But it’s okay, I’m going to get a puppy!” Then she hugged Bernard in a grip that would not let go. I looked into her Mother’s eyes in disbelief. Her mother nodded her head acknowledging that what Charity said was true. Over the weekend, Melody had entered into brain death. It was a matter of time. There would be no miracle for this sweet baby girl.

During our short time together, the bond between Charity and Bernard grew. Charity cared for me too, but whenever she needed to talk about her feelings, she always told me to “put Bernard on”.

On Charity’s last visit to ICU, she chose to take her friend, Bernard, with her. She walked Bernard to Melody’s bed. It was a touching moment that is hard to describe. Charity wanted to explain to Bernard what the tubes and equipment were, so she started with what her three-year-old mind could understand. “See, Bernard. This is the uh . . . uh, blanket that keeps Melody warm. See, it has Care Bears on it. This is her bunny rabbit. I get to keep it after she dies. This is the bow in her hair. It’s pink. Doesn’t she look pretty, Bernard?!” And then in a changed tone, she gently said, “It’s okay to be sad.” Charity then kissed Melody with a maturity and tenderness that one would never expect of such a small child. It was as if she knew she would never see her sister again.

When we left the unit, her mommy was sitting on the floor in the hall right outside the door, waiting for us. Charity ran up to her, threw her arms around her and said, “I kissed Melody goodbye, Mommy.” And then, wiping her mother’s tears away, she said: “It’s okay to cry.”

Two years later at Bernard’s party, in the midst of so many other children, Charity made her way to my side, and whispered in my ear (so as not to hurt the other children’s feelings), “Does Bernard want his best friends to sit on the front row?”

In spite of the other children there, Charity Pinter knew where she stood.