"The Gift"

By Patricia Ronk
I often marvel about how God works. Sometimes something will happen in such a way that you just know God was in it. The thing that happened was predicated upon something else happening first and the end result was something wonderful. Sometimes we call such events "coincidences" or "luck", but others like me, call them God-incidences or perhaps even a miracle.

Such an event was the day that Mark Stephen Mallory (Stephen as most knew him) came to live with the Lancaster family. Stephen lived his first eight years with his birth family, and during that time he appeared to be a "normal" active boy. He was in foster care between 1995 and 1997 with his Uncle Dickie and Aunt Barbara. He then spent a year back with his mother. It was during that time that he became ill and received his diagnosis of MELAS (Mitochondrial myopathy, encephalopathy, lactacidosis, stroke), a progressive neurodegenerative disorder. So when he came back into foster care in 1998, all knew that it was unlikely that he would live to be an adult. He came to Roanoke in June 1999 and began being served by DePaul Family Services.

In the foster care system, there is often little time to plan ahead. Too often it is "make the placement where there is a vacancy." On May 16, 2002, another placement was needed very suddenly for Stephen. The Lancasters were a family that less than a month before had a child leave, resulting in an empty bed at their home. Debbie came and read his record and then said "yes, we'll take him."

What a gift that sequence of events turned out to be. If he had needed care just one month earlier, they would not have had a bed. Perhaps if it had been one month later, they would not have had a bed. I want to claim it as a miracle that on the day that Stephen needed a new home, the Lancaster home was open.

Now hear me clearly --when they accepted him into their home and into their hearts they knew that a day like today would come. They were told about this disease that would change him from being a normal active boy. His senses, his hearing, his sight, and his mobility would gradually deteriorate; the Lancasters would have to assume most of his personal care; and his memory would diminish so that he would question "who are you" even to his faithful caretakers. They knew he was unlikely to live to be an adult. Still, they said "yes, we'll take him."

Without fail, visitors to their home would hear from Debbie and Garrett what a privilege it was for them to be allowed to care for him. A gift from God, they would say.

Some parts of caring for Stephen was easy, because something about him, something about his spirit, connected to others so that he was easily beloved by almost everyone who knew him. He became not just the foster child of the Lancaster's, but their son. This was evident in the small things, like going with them on family vacations, like wrestling with dad, going "hunting" with the older brothers by watching from the tree stand, going to watch his brother ride the mechanical bull, riding the horses on the family farm in Georgia, going for a walk with the family (in his chair), or vicariously participating in his favorite occupation: policeman.

This was also very evident in the tender care offered him over the last few months, and especially the last week. Debbie and Garrett have slept with a baby monitor in their room for a very long time. Debbie has talked about hesitating before entering his room, not ever sure what she would find. They have needed to be much more involved in his personal care than other youth his age and they have some endearing stories about helping him in the bathroom, including Joseph's favorite story about the long trail of toilet paper through the house. And during his last week the Debbie, Garrett and friends sat beside his bed, talking to him, giving his sips of water, making him as comfortable as possible. Time doesn't allow me to mention each family member or individual who was involved in this process. Debbie kept talking about his circle of family and friends. She was absolutely correct in noting that his care was provided by many more than she and Garrett. But speaking of tender moments, there was that very final one, when the undertakers' stretcher wouldn't fit through the door. Garrett picked Stephen up, cradled him in his arms and carried him out, noting that it was his privilege to provide that final act of care.

As his skills deteriorated more and more over the last three years, he also become very dear to his teachers at school and the staff at DePaul. And not just the people directly involved with him. While at the DePaul office, he went from office to office, asking "do you have any paper to shred?" When he was on vacation, other staff came to me asking, "Is Stephen ok? I haven't seen him for a few days." Many had boxes in their office to save papers for him, so he could have the pleasure of doing "his work-shredding paper." He liked to work. Even when the mentor needed to introduce other activities, he wanted to have them be work. He colored several pages for me and then sent me a message "how much am I getting paid for each page?"

His teacher told me how the cafeteria worker saved back his favorite juice. He had similar connections to the maintenance worker, the principal, the DARE officers, and on, and on. Did you know that the flag at the school was lowered to half mast on Friday in Stephen's honor?

All who knew him considered him a "gift." When one of his classmates was told about his passing, the teacher said "Stephen was your friend" and his friend replied "Stephen was everyone's friend."

Yes, he was a gift to us. The scriptures tell us that God created humans in the image of God, and throughout history God's love to us has sustained us and given us hope. I believe that every once in a while God sends us a Stephen. He was a gift of love and an example of how love could be. When we think of God taking back that gift, how can we be angry? We had him for a little while. We had him when he was a healthy boy, we had him when he was progressively loosing his body functions and we had him at the end when he was suffering. We cannot begrudge God for taking him back. And as one of our DePaul staff said this morning, "he was special to us; just think how special he must be to God."

Debbie said yes on that day back in 2002. On January 26, she and I sat by his bedside watching his labored breathing. "I pray to God that he just be allowed to go," she said. "Have you told Stephen that?" I asked. "I've been praying it," she reiterated. "Sometimes they have to hear it, so if you could find it in your heart to tell him, I think it would help." She swallowed hard, kissed him on the forehead, and stroked his cheek while saying, "We have loved every minute of your being with us, and we will miss you, but it is okay for you to go." She gave him back to God. He died just a few hours later.