On May 6, 2011 Tim Murray sent the following note to his friends and supporters with a story that he wanted to share for the Mother's Day weekend:
Dear Friends,
As you know, from time to time I write to you to discuss various issues or policies we're dealing with at the State House, and to seek your input and advice. This note, however, is something different. With Mother's Day approaching, I wanted to share with you a story about two women whom I recently had the honor of getting to know.
It all started last year, when I received a very moving email from a friend's mother. She wanted to know if I was related to a Tim Murray who had died at the age of three in 1958, and whom she had been told was from Worcester. What followed from that email is a story of a mother's love, a nurse's dedication, and an emotional bond that formed in a fleeting moment of sadness and tragedy, and has lasted for more than 50 years.
In her email, this woman explained to me that in 1958 she was a 19-year-old nursing student at Boston College who was assigned for a month to Boston Children's Hospital on the Jimmy Fund floor for children with cancer. Soon thereafter, young Timmy was admitted to that floor. She fell in love with him, and he responded to her right way.
She would spend as much time with Timmy as she could, given her other duties, and would come to the hospital for extended visits on her days off. She broke hospital protocol and allowed Timmy to call her by her first name, Josephine or "Jo" for short, instead of Nurse Ryan. Timmy couldn't pronounce it exactly right, but would excitedly jump up in his crib/bed and shout "Doe, Doe, Doe" every time he would see her.
Unfortunately, in just 17 days, Timmy succumbed to his cancer. Jo Ryan was at his side, along with Timmy's mother, when he drew his last breath. Jo was devastated, as was Timmy's family. Yet dealing with death is part of a nurse's education--especially those who care for the terminally ill. Jo understood that, and she continued on in her training, but she never completely let go of Timmy.
More than 50 years passed. Nurse Ryan became Mrs. Josephine Sears. She raised six children who brought her and her husband 16 grandchildren. Yet through the years, she would often find herself thinking of Timmy and wondering how his mother had dealt with the loss.
That tugging of emotion prompted her to email me and ask if I could help find out something about Timmy's family. I wrote back and started an extended conversation with Josephine. I wasn't related to young Timmy Murray, so I reached out to Worcester City Clerk David Rushford to see if he could track down a birth or death certificate to give us a lead, but there was nothing on file.
This April, I had the chance to meet Josephine in person near her home in Springfield. Listening to her, and watching her body language as she talked about the experience she'd had, it was clear to me she was still very much affected by Timmy's death and was genuinely concerned about how his family grappled with what is a parent's worst nightmare-- the death of a child. I thought to myself, this was a woman who epitomized her profession and demonstrated a level of empathy that is too uncommon in today's society.
That evening, driving back home to Worcester, I found myself thinking of my conversation with Josephine and whether there was any more I could do to help bring her some answers and a measure of closure to a traumatic experience.
Over the next few days, with the help of Boston City Councilor Maureen Feeney, I learned that little Tim Murray was from Fitchburg and I got his parents names. Digging deeper in Fitchburg, with the help of state Rep. Steve DiNatale, I learned that his mother was still alive.
I got Mrs. Murray's phone number, and with some trepidation I called her, introduced myself, and told her why I was reaching out. To my relief, Mrs. Murray was happy to speak with me. In an incredibly warm and loving way, she also shared with me some stories about her young son that brought him vividly to life. Like how he couldn't say the word "elevator" but would pronounce it "alligator" and would often run down the hall and wait at the "alligator door" for his mother to come back to the hospital.
She said Timmy had been a good and happy boy, even through his illness. Looking back, she took some small measure of solace knowing that her son didn't suffer too long. She related the tragic memory of the day he died, and she remembered the nurse at her side, but she didn't remember her name. I asked Mrs. Murray if I could arrange for her to speak with that nurse, and she said yes.
They spoke for nearly an hour by phone. They shared stories of Timmy, and of each other's lives and families. They had a lot in common. Mrs. Murray had three other children (one who was only 11 months when Timmy died) and now has six grandchildren and six great grandchildren. They'd both made their way in this world, and Mrs. Murray was touched that Josephine had so often thought of Timmy--about the joy he expressed in his brief life, and the hurt of his young death. Josephine was equally touched by Mrs. Murray's gratitude.
Over half a century has passed since these women first met, and their feelings of loss for the young boy they both loved still endure. Yet these two special mothers also teach us, through the example of their lives, that the qualities of empathy, compassion and love also endure.
Sometimes we question what, if any, positive impact we have in our relationships and our careers. Did we touch anyone in a meaningful way? Did we make a difference in someone's life? If we did, will anyone care or remember? I think this story of a boy who died too young, his mother and a 19-year-old nursing student, helps answer these questions for all of us.
I hope this Mother's Day will be a day of remembrance and gratitude, for my family and yours.
Sincerely,
Tim Murray
Dear Friends,
As you know, from time to time I write to you to discuss various issues or policies we're dealing with at the State House, and to seek your input and advice. This note, however, is something different. With Mother's Day approaching, I wanted to share with you a story about two women whom I recently had the honor of getting to know.
It all started last year, when I received a very moving email from a friend's mother. She wanted to know if I was related to a Tim Murray who had died at the age of three in 1958, and whom she had been told was from Worcester. What followed from that email is a story of a mother's love, a nurse's dedication, and an emotional bond that formed in a fleeting moment of sadness and tragedy, and has lasted for more than 50 years.
In her email, this woman explained to me that in 1958 she was a 19-year-old nursing student at Boston College who was assigned for a month to Boston Children's Hospital on the Jimmy Fund floor for children with cancer. Soon thereafter, young Timmy was admitted to that floor. She fell in love with him, and he responded to her right way.
She would spend as much time with Timmy as she could, given her other duties, and would come to the hospital for extended visits on her days off. She broke hospital protocol and allowed Timmy to call her by her first name, Josephine or "Jo" for short, instead of Nurse Ryan. Timmy couldn't pronounce it exactly right, but would excitedly jump up in his crib/bed and shout "Doe, Doe, Doe" every time he would see her.
Unfortunately, in just 17 days, Timmy succumbed to his cancer. Jo Ryan was at his side, along with Timmy's mother, when he drew his last breath. Jo was devastated, as was Timmy's family. Yet dealing with death is part of a nurse's education--especially those who care for the terminally ill. Jo understood that, and she continued on in her training, but she never completely let go of Timmy.
More than 50 years passed. Nurse Ryan became Mrs. Josephine Sears. She raised six children who brought her and her husband 16 grandchildren. Yet through the years, she would often find herself thinking of Timmy and wondering how his mother had dealt with the loss.
That tugging of emotion prompted her to email me and ask if I could help find out something about Timmy's family. I wrote back and started an extended conversation with Josephine. I wasn't related to young Timmy Murray, so I reached out to Worcester City Clerk David Rushford to see if he could track down a birth or death certificate to give us a lead, but there was nothing on file.
This April, I had the chance to meet Josephine in person near her home in Springfield. Listening to her, and watching her body language as she talked about the experience she'd had, it was clear to me she was still very much affected by Timmy's death and was genuinely concerned about how his family grappled with what is a parent's worst nightmare-- the death of a child. I thought to myself, this was a woman who epitomized her profession and demonstrated a level of empathy that is too uncommon in today's society.
That evening, driving back home to Worcester, I found myself thinking of my conversation with Josephine and whether there was any more I could do to help bring her some answers and a measure of closure to a traumatic experience.
Over the next few days, with the help of Boston City Councilor Maureen Feeney, I learned that little Tim Murray was from Fitchburg and I got his parents names. Digging deeper in Fitchburg, with the help of state Rep. Steve DiNatale, I learned that his mother was still alive.
I got Mrs. Murray's phone number, and with some trepidation I called her, introduced myself, and told her why I was reaching out. To my relief, Mrs. Murray was happy to speak with me. In an incredibly warm and loving way, she also shared with me some stories about her young son that brought him vividly to life. Like how he couldn't say the word "elevator" but would pronounce it "alligator" and would often run down the hall and wait at the "alligator door" for his mother to come back to the hospital.
She said Timmy had been a good and happy boy, even through his illness. Looking back, she took some small measure of solace knowing that her son didn't suffer too long. She related the tragic memory of the day he died, and she remembered the nurse at her side, but she didn't remember her name. I asked Mrs. Murray if I could arrange for her to speak with that nurse, and she said yes.
They spoke for nearly an hour by phone. They shared stories of Timmy, and of each other's lives and families. They had a lot in common. Mrs. Murray had three other children (one who was only 11 months when Timmy died) and now has six grandchildren and six great grandchildren. They'd both made their way in this world, and Mrs. Murray was touched that Josephine had so often thought of Timmy--about the joy he expressed in his brief life, and the hurt of his young death. Josephine was equally touched by Mrs. Murray's gratitude.
Over half a century has passed since these women first met, and their feelings of loss for the young boy they both loved still endure. Yet these two special mothers also teach us, through the example of their lives, that the qualities of empathy, compassion and love also endure.
Sometimes we question what, if any, positive impact we have in our relationships and our careers. Did we touch anyone in a meaningful way? Did we make a difference in someone's life? If we did, will anyone care or remember? I think this story of a boy who died too young, his mother and a 19-year-old nursing student, helps answer these questions for all of us.
I hope this Mother's Day will be a day of remembrance and gratitude, for my family and yours.
Sincerely,
Tim Murray
