Page 70 - CBA 2001 YEARBOOK

In Loving Memory of Theresa
The following is an excerpt from the May 1997 issue of the junior high newspaper The Cellar Dweller Times, the year Theresa Malay died, by Emily Rowlinson
I didn’t meet Theresa until the 5th grade. That was when she was alright. She had reddish hair to her shoulders and was really pretty. She was good at a lot of things, too. She was in the Syracuse Children’s Chorus, played the piano, danced, and was a good basketball player. I was actually jealous of her, but not too much.
We didn’t really get to be good friends until the summer before sixth grade. We were both in the hospital that summer. I had my appendix removed. Theresa was diagnosed, and had her first surgery for the disease that became her nemesis. I was a little scared, but I’d heard so many stories and read so many books about people who had beaten cancer, that I was confident she’d be okay. Actually, it was kind of cool because we both had to miss gym for awhile, and we just hung out and talked.
She seemed all right. When she lost her hair, it
was like, wow, she really is sick. You wouldn’t know from her attitude. She did as much school work as she could, and played piano.
Theresa continued going to parties and things, but as time went on, she spent more and more time sitting rather than dancing. She had surgery many times, but doctors never got all of her tumor. She was determined to beat it, though.
We were so psyched when we both got accepted to CBA. When 7th grade started, we ate together almost everyday, but were disappointed we weren’t in more classes together. She had some really rough spots, but she always came back.
Summer brought some better times. She actually came swimming at my house and slept over, a big effort for her. We told each other a lot. The one thing we almost never talked about was her disease.
When 8th grade started, she just got worse. I printed out dozens of cards on my computer and sent them. I went to visit when I could. I gave her a birthday present. That was the last time I saw her. All I remember was
looking into her eyes and seeing how burned-out and tired she looked. I wanted to shout at her and say “Come back, where are you? You can’t give up!” Nine days later, she was gone. I think she knew she was leaving soon. I felt a part of myself dying as she was. The worst was this hollow feeling in my chest, like someone ripped something out. Nothing has hurt so badly.
I don’t think she wants us to mourn for too long, though. She always put others before herself. She’s happy now, and she can dance and sing all she wants.
I visited her grave today, and it was strange to see the fresh dirt and imagine her under the cold earth. I stayed a little while, then turned to leave. As I did, I saw the view from the hill where she lies. The half-light of dusk was settling in, and all the lights of Dewitt and beyond twinkled with brilliance. It was so beautiful. And all of a sudden, Theresa smiled. So did I.
You will find as you look back on your life that the moments when you have really lived are the moments when you have done things in the spirit of love.
-Henry Drummond
66 Theresa Malay
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