By Bob Bole, January 7, 2015 — It was in early September 2004, a few days before school started, and I was sitting in my friend’s kitchen talking about the upcoming girls’ tennis season with the coach, Debbie. All of a sudden behind the doors, I heard the sound of a piano playing. What really surprised me was the piano player—a nine-year-old girl wearing a chest pump to protect herself from cancer. Paige had passed her survival prognosis by four years and was now nine years old.
We started talking, and she told me all her plans about making a wish to Orlando and her intention of getting married at the Pitman Presbyterian Church. She invited me to the wedding, and I accepted.
The wedding ceremony was wonderful. A mom made Paige a gorgeous dress. She said “I do” to all the people there. Downstairs everybody danced with Paige, and it was as warm a feeling as I could remember.
In the few weeks Paige had remaining, Paige, Debbie and I went to Wawa, walked in the woods, and sat and talked. Never did Paige sound unhappy. She cheered us up and kept us going. On December 13, Paige baked me a cake for my 60th birthday. Sadly, Paige died on December 18th. In the short time I knew her, it was the only sad time I saw her. In the short time I knew her, she was the greatest person I knew.