A Story of the Iron Hunter

Somewhere on the other side of the Pacific Ocean, not too far from my home in Portland, there is a little boy named Hunter. I first met Hunter, and a whole bunch of other amazing children, as a volunteer on the 10^th floor of Doernbecher Children's Hospital in Portland. Ever since I first met Hunter and his family, they have been a tremendous source of inspiration for me. Hunter has Leukemia, which means he has spent a great deal of time in the hospital. Sometimes he has even had to stay inside the small walls of just one room, for days and days and days. On afternoons when I walked into his room and was lucky enough to find him awake, I always got sucked in by his hilarious personality, his eager playfulness, and his great sense of style-- especially when it comes to dancing. This kid can dance with his eyes alone-- who knew that was even possible? It is recorded on video, with a link from his facebook site.

I was lucky every single time I got to play with him, or see him strolling the halls in one of the red wagons, the 10^th floor Cadillacs. His energy, his huge eyes, his wonderful little voice, his determination to have a good time in the face of all kinds of crazy things his cancer forced him to deal with, made my whole spirit smile with joy and awe, time and time again. It makes my spirit smile now just thinking about how truly incredible this 3-year-old is. He and his family have had to go through things no one should go through. And yet, anytime I would spend even 5 short minutes with Hunter, in a small room he wasn't allowed to leave, I always felt that I was in the best place in the whole world, with this most amazing young child. Hunter brings the whole words with him everywhere he goes. In everywhere that he takes his smile, his spirit, his dancing eyes. He has a special gift to be able to do something like that. To put so much life and energy into the very smallest of places.

And somehow, in spite of his amazing gifts, his delightful spirit, and his wonderful family, his cancer is trying to take over. Again. It has gone and come back once already. And then it went away again, only to return for what they say is the final time. This time to take him away. And I don't understand how that can possibly be. How that can ever be, for any child. It is heartbreaking.

I have a message for the cancer in Hunter's body: If you think you are so bad-ass that you can destroy Hunter's salient spirit, then think again. Because Hunter is so much more bad-ass than you can ever dream to be. Maybe you haven't heard, but they call him the “Iron Hunter.” He has already built such strong skyscrapers of hope and inspiration that even the strongest of earthquakes, the tallest of tidal waves, could not even think of breaking them down. You, the awful cancer in Hunter's body will never be a match for what the Spirit of the Iron Hunter has already done, what it can still do. Hunter's spirit will build walls of his legacy to cover any damage you make.

My message for Hunter: I think the world of you. You rock. You continue to amaze me. And I am sending waves of love and hope and smiles to you and your family across this vast Pacific Ocean. And I am certain they will reach you; the ocean, afterall, is pretty strong. Almost as strong as you.

To anyone reading this who doesn't know Hunter, you can check him out on his bad-ass website: www.healinghunter.com or on facebook (look for Hunter Zen Thawley). He's a pretty tech-savvy 3-year-old :). And please, keep Hunter and his family in your thoughts, your prayers, your hearts, as Hunter's cancer tries unashamedly to take his body over.

When the tsunami warning arrived at my doorstep last Saturday at 4am, and I headed for the hills in the dark with the rest of my village, and then sat and waited for signs of its passing, I thought about the merciless cancer that creeps into the bodies of children. How it comes on sometimes just like the earthquake, with no warning sign. And then as you see what happens, you fight against it, you run from it, and then you are still more or less left waiting on a hilltop hoping the waters don't rise over you. Hoping you've reached high enough ground, in case the tsunami really does come. We need to tackle this problem of ruthless uncertainty and horrible potentials, this problem of pediatric cancer or of any illness that literally threatens the lives of children. Just as it is with pediatric cancer, so too is it with epilepsy, the disorder that ultimately led to the death of my most wonderful nephew Carlos. And that there is so much that we simply don't know about these illnesses is something we need to change. It's something we can change.

For now, I am thrilled to hear that my bad-ass sister is running the New York City marathon this year with Fred's team, a group that raises funds to support the work of Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in New York City. Naturally, I am also a bit jealous that I can't run the race as well! But I can support her effort. And I support my friend Stori Miller's effort as she raises funds for the triathlon she will do for Team in Training, a group which raises funds for Leukemia and Lymphoma research. And here on Tanna Island, the children of Loukatai School will get to read stories from Hunter's blog. They will see his pictures. They will learn the word Leukemia for the first time. They will learn why it's important to know about illnesses like Leukemia, and why it's just as important to start asking questions. Why does this happen? What do we already know? What do we need to know? What can we do about it right now? Education, awareness, and compassion, will come together as a step toward what I believe is the right direction. At least that's what I can do here and now, in honor of the Iron Hunter, on this small island of Tanna.