Hope is important because it can make the present moment less difficult to bear. If we believe that tomorrow will be better, we can bear a hardship today. – Thich Nhat Hanh
This was the first time many of us had been to the Ronald McDonald House and, like most, I think we had assumptions of what it would be like and what we would see there. I think a lot of us were unsure about the strong emotions that we would have, seeing sick children and wanting to do as much as we could to help. Our day’s events were to cook lunch for the families and kids staying here, and receive a tour from one of the volunteers.
One of the lead volunteers, Elaine, greeted us at the door and her husband, Brian (who has been a volunteer since the house opened in 1985) took us on the tour. Brian was a soft spoken man with a kind nature that you could sense right away. He took us to the third floor, which could almost be mistaken for a small hotel—except that each room has a mantle outside which holds pictures of the families staying there, and acknowledgement of the room’s sponsor.
Brian unlocked one of the rooms and spoke about how some two hundred people stay here at any given time. The minimum stay for a family is six weeks, but some families stay for more than two years. I asked him how he got involved with the charity and in his quiet voice, he told us the story:
“In 1981, Elaine and I lost our son to leukemia when he was 8 years old, and Elaine volunteered with the house shortly after. Elaine said to me, “this is where my heart lives,” and we have been here ever since.” Hearing his story welled up tears in the eyes of those in the room—I think all of us were reflecting on our own lives and how blessed were are. Hearing Brian’s story and knowing the hardships, losses, and sometimes overwhelming stress that these families go through had an impact on us all. Brian and his wife, like all the other volunteers, are the lifeblood of the Ronald McDonald House family—they are the stable faces who understand and empathize with what these families are going through.
After the tour, the PPM team cooked lunch for the families. I met a young mother who was sitting with other parents and laughing while showing videos of her young son. It was very evident that these families, from all walks of life, are brought together through their ordeals—they become friends and a support system at the house. This mother’s son was born eight months ago and had serious breathing problems. She showed me a picture of her baby, beaming with a smile that only a baby could give. She pointed out in the picture the small tracheotomy he uses to breathe. She said, “The trach is slowly getting smaller and hopefully he can breathe on his own soon and we can go home”. She said she hopes he can leave the Stollery Children’s Hospital so they can go back to their Northern Alberta town and their real home.
‘Home’ is one of the themes that is ever-present when you visit here—it’s written on the walls, whiteboards, and you hear the word being used many times when you speak to the parents and volunteers. The pictures of the thank-you cards from families that have stayed here adorn the walls and greet you when you come in. These letters speak to being able to go home and thank all the volunteers for the assistance they provided during their trying times.
‘Family and Community’ are also other themes that are widespread—they have their own school for K-12, as it’s not just the sick children and parents that stay here, but the siblings of these children. The siblings are supporting their sick brothers or sisters while trying to have a sense of normalcy like attending school, playing sports, or going to a concert—they are just trying to be kids. On the walls of the school, the children post some of their projects. They write about what they want to be when they grow up, their favorite TV shows, names of their friends, and their favorite video games. Sharing meals, going to school together, and sharing a home creates an extended family and a microcosm of a community within these walls.
There is also an unwavering sense of hope here. Whether it is the quilt room where every child can pick from one of the hundreds of homemade quilts, or the family praying at the lunch room with their sick child, or the love that’s given from the kindest of people like Brian and Elaine—hope is essential here. It’s the hope that this child will heal or will take to the transplant and get a chance to go home again.
Nothing prepares you for the stories you hear of the day-to-day battles these kids go through waiting for their transplants, battling cancer, or the double-lung transplants. These bravest of the brave children endure with their parents by their side.
The end of the tour brought us to a small library that has a streetlight in the corner. It is filled floor to ceiling with books, and a snow village that lights up. The streetlight represents life and loss in the house—when the light is off, there are no losses that day, which is typically the case. This Sunday, sadly, the light was turned on as the community had lost one of its own.
As heart-wrenching as some of the stories can be, the amazing thing about the House is that many of the children recover, or get the transplant they need, and do get to go home. As Brian said, “the good far outweighs the bad”. It is an uplifting place—you see both sick and well kids playing together in the backyard without a care in the world, and children unwrapping their new toys from the Magic Room (where they can pick any gift when they are feeling down or hit a milestone in their recovery).
The Ronald McDonald House is more than just that—it’s more than a house, more than just a building, more than a place to stay—it is a home. It’s a home to families that are from rural towns, and that are uprooted from a sudden turn in life that impacts their family. It’s a community for these kids and their families, and the volunteers that try every day to make a difference like Brian and his wife Elaine are making.
We do hope that the small gesture of cooking a meal made their day a little bit easier, and hopefully brought a smile to some of those families that were able to eat with us. There’s so much we can do and many of us are doing these things now. Jen Rollins’ little girls give up their gifts from birthdays and Christmas and donate them to the House. Even one of the dads started playing his acoustic guitar and singing to the children and families in the lunch room as we were leaving. Anything to give, even a song, means so much to these families.
Elaine was spot on when she said “this is where my heart lives.” It truly does, and this home has touched the hearts of the rest of us who got the chance to visit this special place on Sunday. I encourage all of you to do the same in your community.
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