Hope Street Kids

Back - Index - Submissions - - What is RSS? Date: May 08, 2000 Source: The Columbus Dispatch Submitted By: For her sake, Caroline's parents keep promise Sunday, May 7, 2000 By Barbara Carmen Caroline's art desk, still in the den, is scattered with her markers and toys. In her bedroom, a bookcase holds Heidi and Little Women. Her treasures -- a package of unopened Barbie stickers and a Halloween mask she never got to wear -- remain on the dresser. Nearby is a small brown wig, braided and tied with bright pompoms. Deborah Pryce picks up a music box and turns the key; the Winnie the Pooh theme pierces the quiet. On Sept. 4, as 9-year-old Caroline Pryce Walker lay dying, her father searched the house for that favorite toy -- to ease her suffering. The imp with cornflower-blue eyes, a dazzling smile and a dusting of freckles had successfully fought neuroblastoma for a year -- before the cancer sneaked into her brain. Pryce, the congresswoman from Perry Township, and her husband, Randy Walker, took their child home to die. And, one last time, Walker wound the music box. "You could see the pulse in her neck slowing,'' her father said. "Within 10 seconds, she was gone.'' "I washed her hair,'' her mother said. "I painted her nails with a little pink polish she loved. I dressed her in her favorite Gap dress, blue with sailboats. "And, for as long as they would let me, I held her. She had been in so much pain, we couldn't touch her. So I just held her. She looked so pretty, so at peace.'' Caroline Pryce Walker Peace has yet to come for her parents, who have a promise to keep. "Caroline wouldn't give cancer the time of day,'' said Walker, a real-estate developer. "She was a fighter. She thought it was pretty awful that kids got sick.'' While cancer is known as a leading cause of death in children, research dollars and information about treatment options are sparse. So Caroline and her parents, urged by families of other cancer-stricken children, started a foundation. "We named it Hope Street Kids,'' Pryce said. "It had a rhythm she liked, like the Backstreet Boys.'' Hope Street Kids will offer a family- support network, in the hope that no other parents will have to stumble blindly. At first, Caroline had a sore leg -- which was dismissed as "growing pains.'' Doctors then diagnosed Ewing's sarcoma, a type of bone cancer with a 60 percent survival rate. "Let it not be Ewing's,'' her parents prayed. It wasn't. It was something worse. Neuroblastoma, a nerve cancer, strikes only 500 children a year in the United States. Her chances of survival were less than 20 percent. Pryce and Walker found an aggressive treatment at Memorial Sloan- Kettering Cancer Center. The family packed the New York visits with fun, visiting favorite restaurants and Broadway shows. On an outing in Central Park, Caroline came upon a patch of four-leaf clovers -- a good omen. By late summer 1999, Caroline was in remission and planning a ninth-birthday bash at an adventure- climbing course. "Next year,'' Caroline said with her usual spunk, "I'm going to be 10. I'll be in the double digits.'' On Aug. 24, her second day of third grade, her gait became unsteady, her speech slurred. The battle was over: Tests detected the cancer in her spinal fluid. In intense pain, Caroline realized she was dying. Pryce sang a favorite lullaby: "Hush now, baby, don't you cry; I'll see you in the morning.'' This time she changed the ending: "I'll see you up in heaven.'' The day after Caroline died, Pryce and Walker set up Hope Street Kids. (Donations can be sent to Hope Street Kids, Cancer Research Foundation of America, 1600 Duke St., Alexandria, Va. 22314.) "Pediatric cancer has been too long neglected,'' Pryce said. "The numbers are small, but the impact is devastating.'' Friends and other members of Caroline's family also are finding a way to honor her memory: A playground, built at Wellington School this weekend, will bear her name. "At Christmas, we put up an angel tree. Everyone brought an ornament.'' Pryce said. "At Easter, we cleared out a place under a tree where Caroline used to play and everyone planted a flower. "I don't know what will make Mother's Day bearable. But we know Caroline was a gift. "Every second, she was filled with happiness. She taught us that you can't measure a life by its length but by its fullness.'' Walker, who has a grown son from a previous marriage, finds himself telling friends: "Go home. Hug your children.'' The couple fight back tears. They are exhausted from the day's labor at the Wellington playground. "I'll just never stop doing something, whatever I can, for Caroline,'' her mother said. "I feel her near. I still see her in the sunsets, in the clouds, in the four-leaf clover.'' Barbara Carmen, a Dispatch Metro columnist, can be reached at 614-461-8855 or bcarmen@dispatch.com. Comment on this item. Next Item: Staying in Shape Prev Item: A Backstreet Boy goes out on his own (CNN on Johnny No Name)