But I love the photograph of Nicholas at 10 months, in Switzerland, standing alone for the first time, the Matterhorn in the background .
Six years later we were again in Switzerland and we took
another picture of Nicholas against the backdrop of the
Matterhorn.
Nicholas never got to compare it with his baby picture because four days later he was shot during a robbery attempt on our car in southern Italy. When he died after two clays in a coma in a hospital in Sicily it seemed that the resole nation of Italy joined in our grief. When Nicholas's heart, liver, kidneys, pancreas, and corneas helped seven Italians including several children who were near death, a firestorm of emotion and soul-searching followed. The resulting dramatic increase in organ donations in Italy has been called "the Nicholas effect."
We've been praised for saying yes to donating our son's organs but now what seems important are the times when we said yes to Nicholas. Not yes to more television or yes to a new toy but yes to building a train track with him or yes to playing dominoes again. Afternoons spent at the beach even though there was laundry to be done have become a treasure in my memory, and best of all are those times I agreed to help build the sand castle. Why did I say no so often?
I'm glad I said yes to reading an extra chapter. I said yes often last year when we were reading The Chronicles of Narnia and we went through all seven books. I wouldn't have wanted Nicholas to miss them.
I'm glad I said yes to helping in his classroom once a week. I can picture him at work there learning about rocks or math. And when his teacher shares a memory of how affectionate he was I can see him on the playground giving each of us a hug before running off to find a child who had no one else to play with.
I helped out with his class play and made his Saint George costume. Nicholas was a natural Saint George because, he pointed out, he was half English. The real reason he was a natural was that he always wanted to do what was right. I was also given a part in the play: the dragon. I'm glad he didn't have to do battle with someone else. There has never been a dragon who loved Saint George more.
A mother sitting next to me on a bench at the park once said she hugs her kids as often as she can because she knows they won't let her when they are older. At 7 Nicholas still loved to be held. At bedtime he didn't ask for another glass of water; he always asked for another hug. I told him I would never run out of hugs especially if he would give me one back.
We really have very few years with our children, as long as they may seem to stretch right now. You will undoubtedly have your children for more than the seven years I had with Nicholas, but all too soon they will stop asking you to play with them or read to them.
I'm trying now with my 5-year-old daughter Eleanor to say yes more often. When she asked to carve the pumpkins two weeks before Halloween I said yes. And then we had to light the candle in it every night after dinner -- for two weeks. She loved it. We loved it. Breaking with all family tradition we put up our Christmas tree almost a month before the big day.
My husband has said that he hopes parents who have heard our story will give their children an extra hug before they go to school or read them an extra page of the book at bedtime. I have been so pleased by the letters from parents saying that's just what they're doing. I can't imagine a more important thing to come out of our tragedy.
Or visit these related pages:
Nicholas'
memorial web page
"A Simple
Act," an article by Reg Green
"A Cub Scout's Final Gift,"
by Reg Green
The Bell
Memorial for Nicholas Green and the Children of the World
