It was under an old Banyan tree on the school playground in Hawai`i that I first met Timmy. I was an elementary school teacher and he was a gregarious five-year-old. As the school year progressed, a special friendship between us began to evolve. It was the 'Summer Fun Program' at our school that really brought us together.
One day in mid-August, I was in the school office when Timmy's teacher came running in with Timmy. He was sobbing and the teacher was nearly hysterical. The bathroom door had slammed on his finger. She had a handkerchief wrapped around Timmy's index finger and wasn't sure how much of it was left because it was bleeding so much. Our school bus driver rushed them immediately to the Emergency Room.

A few minutes later the phone rang at the school. It was the doctor asking if we had found the tip of Timmy's finger. He said there was a small chance of saving it if we could get it to him quickly. Pulling myself out of a daze, I ran to the bathroom. Sure enough, there it was. After carefully wrapping it up, I grabbed my car keys and headed for the emergency unit.

The doctor was waiting for me. Unfortunately, the fingertip had already turned blue. As he took the tiny piece of flesh in his hand, I knew from the look on his face that it was too late. With a sinking heart I quietly asked, "Where's Timmy?"

The doctor pointed to a room down the hall. "He's soaking his finger in a solution to stop the bleeding."

"Can I see him for a few minutes?" I asked.

"Of course," he said and gestured toward the door.

Timmy was lying on a flat gurney. He must have been sobbing a lot because his chest was still heaving as I approached the bed.

"Hi, Timmy," I said, gently brushing the tears from his cheeks. "How are you doing?"  

"Okay," he whimpered, trying to hold back his tears.