Light from light

By Jon Ransom

October 5, 2005: Second worst day of my life.

Sitting in the emergency room of T.C. Thompson Children’s Hospital, I was told that my 2-year-old daughter, Emily, had cancer—neuroblastoma, to be specific.

Cancer is supposed to be an adult thing, right? I mean, we all know about Susan G. Komen and breast cancer. I had already lost my father to cancer when I was 21. But kids don’t get cancer, do they?

Well, yes. In fact, according to the National Cancer Institute, cancer is the leading cause of death from disease for children from newborn to age 14.

So as a dad, what was I supposed to do? I’m not the best cuddler, I couldn’t tell Emily to rub dirt in it, and I couldn’t fix it. I had to turn my daughter over to the doctors and trust that they knew what they were doing. But I’d keep tabs on them, I’d research, I’d drill them with questions, I’d… I didn’t really know what to do.

The information I found on the Internet was not reassuring—30-percent survival rate. The doctors at T.C. Thompson patiently answered all my questions, but I quickly realized this problem was way above my head.

So I tried to make things as normal as possible for Emily. There were a lot of stays in the hospital. My job was to haul enough stuff into her hospital room to complete our own version of Extreme Makeover. We hung Dora the Explorer Christmas lights on her IV pole, and decorated her walls with wonderful “get well soon” cards from her friends at St. Peter’s school. I brought in a DVD player, a flying unicorn as big as Emily was, her wildly colorful blanket, and Bear—her favorite stuffed friend.

Jon Ransom, a financial planner for First Tennessee, father of Jon Pat, 12, Max, 9, Molly, 21 months, and Emily (left), who died in 2006 at the age of 2. Wendy and Jon Ransom are president and board member, respectively, of Emily’s Power for a Cure.

After moving day came the hard part. I had to leave. Emily would not let her mom leave her side, and we had two amazing boys who still needed their parents. I still had to work. I don’t know that I could have sat in a hospital room for days like my wife, Wendy, did. But I was at Emily’s beck and call. I delivered chicken nuggets, sweet tea, ice cream and whatever she wanted in between my appointments. I was there whenever she needed me.

In the end, that was my job—just being there, loving my daughter. When she said, “Hold me, Daddy,” that’s what I could do.

My wife and I held Emily for the last time on February 20, 2006. While in surgery to remove the massive tumor, she left us.

Worst day of my life.

But I’m still a dad, and I had to keep breathing and, eventually, moving. Two boys needed me, and many other children with neuroblastoma needed help. So, trying to emulate the strength Emily showed during her treatments, my wife and I began Emily’s Power for a Cure Neuroblastoma Foundation. With the assistance of countless friends, we’ve managed to give over $300,000 to T.C. Thompson Children’s Hospital to purchase a state-of-the-art pediatric CT scanner, which will be installed soon. In addition, we have funded two research projects ($150,000 each) in hopes of finding new treatments—and eventually a cure—for neuroblastoma. I now have another child, Molly, and she and her brothers, Jon Pat and Max, keep me very busy.

I miss Emily every day, but I can still hear her say, “It’s not darking—it’s good morning.” And I wait patiently for the morning when I wake up and see her again.