She was eleven years old, born September second. Standing a modest four foot seven, she was small in the eyes of her elders but a giant in her own world. Her name is, or was, Elizabeth--Eliza by her friends, and her stay at Camp Sunshine was one that will remain imprinted in my memory for years to follow.

Camp Sunshine is a respite for families-- that is, brothers, sisters, parents, aunts, uncles, friends, everyone--whose children have been diagnosed with a terminal illness. I was there as a visitor on my church’s 2003 mission trip. Originally our plan was to help repair the grounds and fences, but I was eventually offered a counselor position for the remainder of my short stay. When I first met Eliza at the camp’s pool, she hid behind me as a volleyball splashed beside me. I led her out of the pool and we chatted for a while. She told me she was eleven years and eight months old, which would seem strange to some, until I told her I was fifteen years and five months. With that, a connection was forged, a double-edged blade to be sharpened until it was finally driven into my chest.

A few hours later we encountered each other once more; this time at the archery range at noon. The bow was almost as tall as she was and her slight muscles strained to pull it back. She looked at me and waved, forgetting the arrow, which fired into the ground. Her crystalline blue eyes were so beautiful and there was a carefree spring in her gate during that week, but they shine brightest in my memories of that afternoon. They were filled with hope, the completely blind and unjustifiable kind that only a child can possess. I helped her pull back the string and we released together. The arrow landed in the wrong target, but we just laughed.  We were both alone. For her it was the first moments of solitude in years; she savored it. I was familiar with the dark, to be alone would just be an ordinary night, week, year, for me.

That night, long after darkness had set upon the camp, I lay on my bed staring into the pillow that turned wet with the onset of tears as I remembered that Eliza had noted that she was an only child. The week had been for children with terminal bone cancer, ninety percent of whom wouldn’t live a year past their visit. She hardly seemed to care, walking with a bounce in her step and a bright glow in her eyes. This ineffable kind of hope, even with what seems like a guaranteed death sentence, is a truly beautiful thing to see. All that she wanted was to be just like everybody else-no special treatment, just to be normal. At the end of the week our lives chose their own paths, and I was forced to part with one of the few people I had held close to myself and given a love that I rarely give. Just like all moments of true happiness, the end came before it was due. I don’t think she even knew the power that all her actions had over me, over everyone she touched. It was then that I realized who Eliza was to me. She was everything I wanted to be, the persona I wanted to shine back in the water but never saw. The blade penetrated my body like a piercing arrow, but the wound only stung for a moment, replaced by clarity. When she left Eliza also left me with a lesson- with just one smile, one flash of her shimmering eyes I learned how to taste life and I have savored it ever since.

Now, she has disappeared from my life and eventually the memories will fade into a murky black pool of lost thoughts that once rang so clearly. The memories are dying within me and I cannot see her face when I close my eyes and try to remember. But even with her passing in my mind, I can rest with a solemn sense of peace, because I know that the life she lived touched to another and left it changed forever. She was so strong inside, and she gave everything she had in her spirit without any thought of her misfortunes.