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Small things with Great Love

Susan Vreeland, who wrote the best seller "Girl in Hyacinth Blue" while fighting lymphoma, carefully catalogs the many ways people made a difference to her.

"If you need anything, just let me know" is a common, well-meant expression of concern when people learn of others' misfortunes or illnesses. They want to do something but don't know what. Yet the remark requires the sick or needy person to do the asking, to particularize the need, and sometimes one doesn't quite know what one needs, or who is best equipped to supply it, or to what extent a friend or neighbor or stranger is willing to go.

Better that we plunge ahead and just do something rather than be paralyzed by the situation. "We can do no great things -- only small things with great love," Mother Teresa told us wisely.

When I was diagnosed with lymphoma in 1996, the news spread quickly through the high school and community where I taught, and many people came forward -- some of whom I barely knew, or didn't know -- to give or do what they could. Their acts, each one a lift, showed their own beliefs, background and personal histories. I offer them here in gratitude and as evidence of the wide range of creative and loving ways a person can respond without waiting to be asked.

Many people sent books -- about cases of cancer cures, and the tricky matter of eating well while undergoing chemotherapy, books of humor and inspiration and the power of Spirit. One person sent a single page, Psalm 91 in her own hand-illuminated calligraphy. I read it morning, noon and night, especially the verses "There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling" and "He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust."

Some gifts were practical: a blow-up neck pillow to use during chemo drip; complete leftovers from a former neighbor's Thanksgiving dinner; a tub of Cherry Garcia ice cream, my known favorite; peppermints to counteract the metallic taste of food during chemotherapy; access to a computer database to learn of recent research on my type of lymphoma; and a collection of hats, head wraps and scarves for my bald head. The best part of that gift was that it came from a survivor.

Some were symbolic: a child's drawing of a rainbow; a hand-crafted silver and gold necklace made by a new friend and embossed with healing symbols from many cultures; a candle with a decal of the Virgin of Guadalupe; a professorial teddy bear wearing glasses just like mine, given by the English literature class I would have taught that year -- they'd known me only five days.

Some were exotic and stretched my understanding: teas and herbs to heal the digestive tract; tapes of healing sounds for meditation; fine powder from the floor of a Swiss healing grotto that can be eaten or absorbed through one's bath water; the laying-on of hands by my sister-in-law's chiropractor boyfriend, whom I had just met that day.

Some people put their concerns and support into action.

A friend took part in a Sioux ceremony of women's healing, dedicated to me. Another e-mailed me an uplifting quote or poem twice a week for two years. My mother-in-law's sister, whom I didn't know, undertook to make me the subject of her prayer circle at her church 3,000 miles away for those same two years.

A former student of mine sent me research on windmill engineering that I needed in order to continue writing one of the stories in Girl in Hyacinth Blue. He knew that if I kept writing, my chances of survival were better because my heart and mind would be engaged in a creative project.

While I was in a Los Angeles hospital for a month having a bone marrow transplant, my husband's employer in San Diego allowed anyone the day off with pay to drive to L.A., 2 1/2 hours each way, to provide a steady source of platelets, which involved a four-hour procedure. Teachers from my school did the same. I had more platelets than I needed, so they were used by patients throughout Los Angeles.

When my weight dropped shockingly low, a colleague from my high school took her preparation period every day to drive to my house and entice me with food. Perhaps the most difficult: A newly retired teacher who had looked forward to retirement for a decade came back to take my classes.

While I was humbled with gratitude at every turn, I came to feel that these actions were doing transformative things for the people who offered them.

The giving continues, and I'm thankful that now I can be the one offering help. My oncologist puts me in touch with some of his current patients to help quell their fears, give practical advice and offer hope by example.

You don't have to do the grand gesture to heal the world. It can happen one person at a time.

Susan Vreeland's next book, due in February, is "The Passion of Artemisia".
Photo by Brian Davis for USA WEEKEND

Next: Brad Meltzer ("The First Counsel") takes his "Little Brother" to the boy's first ball game, where Meltzer learns a valuable lesson.