A woman who loses her husband is called a widow. A child who loses their parents becomes an orphan. We have words for so many things, but there is no word for a parent who loses a child. Perhaps it’s because such a reversal of the natural order is beyond what our hearts, let alone our language, can comprehend

Our hospital witnesses many farewells between parents and their children. It’s something you can never get used to. We get angry at cancer. We ask ourselves why such young children, who have barely begun to know the world, already have to say goodbye. Something tightens in our chest when we see a half-empty juice bottle being cleaned away by the staff—it was the favorite juice of the boy in room five. These are someone’s children, not statistics. These are Filip, Dawid, Neema, Denise.

Sister Agnieszka, seeing a child’s condition worsen, sometimes rushes to the market to get corn and fruit juice. Late into the night, after finishing her daily tasks, she makes popcorn that the children love, and the juice sweetens those sadder days when everything hurts, and they have no appetite. She takes the children who can no longer stand on their own on little rides so they can still enjoy the world and not be confined to the hospital room. Sometimes, a colorful toy car appears in her pocket – it’s a gift for a child whose desire to play has been rekindled by palliative care. This place teaches us that while we may never accept the presence of suffering and evil, we can still act—we can strive to give each child a good farewell.

Every child has different dreams, and we do our best to fulfill them, even if they are their last ones. Grant a last Wish to a child who, despite a terminal illness, still dreams!