Thank You, Kara A Tiny Aids Patient Helps Teach One Mother An Important Lesson About Closed-Minded Fear And, Ultimately, Loving Compassion

I first heard about Kara Claypool through the media. They said Kara would be starting kindergarten soon at Willard Elementary, the same school my daughter attends. I felt terrible as a parent reading about a poor little girl with AIDS, such a devastating disease. But I also felt glad that my little girl was a year ahead of her and wouldn’t be in much contact. I guess you think you’re an open-minded person, but when it comes to your kids, well, your perspective changes.

I was glad that I wouldn’t be faced with the feelings of the parents of other students in Kara’s class. I even talked to a few of them who seemed at ease after meeting with school and health officials. I couldn’t imagine what these officials could have said to me to make me feel comfortable and, again, I was glad I didn’t have to worry about it.

Every so often I would read in the paper about Kara in the classroom. It was nice to see our school’s name associated with being so “liberal,” and I took pride in that - as long as it wasn’t something I had to deal with.

Fast forward to the beginning of the next school year. Megan, my daughter, was starting her second year in a class where you stay with the same teacher for two years. I attended the open house and guess what? Kara’s mom was there answering questions about AIDS. At first I was angry. They had warned all the students in Kara’s kindergarten a couple of months before school started. Why had we not been warned?

Then I realized it wouldn’t have made any difference. I couldn’t have removed Megan from Mrs. Haymond’s class even if I’d wanted. Megan would have been devastated. I would also have had to explain to Megan why I was doing it, and I was smart enough to realize that I didn’t want to pass my paranoia on to her. I knew the facts, that my daughter was not in any danger of contracting AIDS from Kara, but this was my daughter!

Soon Megan came home asking questions about AIDS. The school had been diligent about informing the children of Kara’s illness and educating them about what to do if Kara, or anyone else, ever fell down and was bleeding. They told them how Kara had contracted AIDS and that Kara would eventually get sick and die from it. That didn’t begin to cover the questions for my 7-year-old. Megan checked out books on AIDS from the library and we read them together.

Soon I was discussing condoms with my little girl, something that I thought would not be a topic for some time. That led to how babies are made. I felt a little angry having to discuss these issues with my daughter at such an early age. But Megan wanted to know everything about what was happening to Kara and other people with AIDS. She really cared about this little girl, and all the people like her. For the first time I saw Kara through Megan’s eyes. Halfway through the school year I began to help out in Megan’s class a couple of hours a week. The idea of Kara wasn’t so scary to me anymore.

For the first two weeks I didn’t even know which student she was. Then one day, while working with some students on the computer, a little girl walked up to me and climbed into my lap. I was just shocked that this child felt comfortable enough to climb onto a stranger’s lap. Then I realized who I held in my arms. This tiny, adorable little girl with the big, dark eyes and pale skin was who all my fears had been about. I wanted to squeeze her and kiss her right there, but I didn’t want to scare her. I blinked back the tears and just held her. I had been so afraid of her, so scared of my child being close to her, but she wasn’t scared of me. She just plopped herself down and snuggled up. That was Kara.

Not long after that Megan came home and told me that Kara was in the hospital with shingles. We went to see how she was doing. We were required to “gown up,” complete with bright yellow masks, gloves, hair nets and shoes. We walked into Kara’s room and Megan said, “Look Kara, don’t we look like yellow ducks?”

Quickly Kara said, “Oh no, I don’t think so. I think you look like angels.”

You know that big lump you get in your throat when you want to cry, but can’t? That’s where I was at the moment, but not Megan. She laughed and said, “No, I think we’re ducks.”

I knew Kara was getting worse toward the end of the year. She wasn’t making it to school as often, and I saw her once fall asleep on the pillows in the reading area.

One night we were sitting around watching TV and one of the “news teasers” came on. It said that a little boy had been cured of AIDS.

Megan jumped up and started screaming, tears pouring down her face in joy. “Kara can be fixed, Mom! They’ve found a cure for AIDS!”

Instinctively I knew that this was not a cure. I promised to stay up and watch the report and let her know about it in the morning. It broke my heart the next day to look at her and tell her that there had been no cure. They had no idea why the virus had left this boy’s body, and though it was great it had, there would be no cure for Kara.

Once again we sat as we had before at least once a week over the past months and cried and talked and cried some more. Nothing was worse than having to reassure my daughter that her friend was really going to die, and that even if a cure were found tomorrow, it probably wouldn’t save Kara. During these talks, Megan questioned why God would let this happen. She’d ask: “Why didn’t God fix her?”

I told her I didn’t know and as we talked we came to the conclusion together that God wanted Kara with him because she was so special. Kara would get to see her father, who had also died of AIDS.

Once again we got a call that Kara was in the hospital. It was summer, and because I was watching my nieces, my husband offered to take Megan to visit. Paul had never met Kara, so I wasn’t surprised when he arrived home with tears in his eyes and asking “Why?” I think he gave the kids some extra hugs that night.

They went to see Kara again, but this time it wasn’t as pleasant. Kara had undergone some tests, including a spinal tap, and was in a lot of pain.

It was very upsetting for Megan, and she again cried and wondered why, but this time she calmed herself down and talked about all the positives she could think of.

“Kara would take the love of anyone here on earth that had lost someone and pass it out to all their loved ones in heaven,” Megan explained.

Soon after that I was put in the hospital for an appendectomy and then Megan came down with a cold. Three or four weeks went by. We tried to call Kara’s house a couple times. Then one morning the call I had dreaded came. Their teacher, in tears, explained that Kara had gone into a coma overnight and that it would not be much longer. If Megan wanted to say goodbye she would need to come to the hospital.

I didn’t know what to do. Should I tell Megan? Should I take her down there or would it be too painful? I called my mom, who suggested I leave that decision to Megan. After a slight hesitation she chose to see Kara.

We got to the hospital at 10 a.m. Megan held Kara’s hand. She talked to Kara’s mom, who was so patient and kind with Megan. I cried watching this incredibly strong woman who had to say goodbye to her baby, and yet took the time to talk to my daughter and reassure her that Kara was going to heaven. Megan kissed Kara goodbye.

We left at noon; Kara died within the hour. When I told Megan, she hugged me and we sat there together. But she didn’t cry. It worried me and I asked her about it. She said, “I have no tears, Mom. I keep trying to remember that she’s in a better place and she’s with her dad and she’s happy now.”

One of the goals for Kara and her mother was to help people understand AIDS and accept the people with it. I don’t know about anyone else, but I can tell you that my life has changed immensely. A year ago Kara scared me to death. I felt she was a threat to my child. Now all I wish in the world is for Kara to be back.

We knew Kara one short year. But she will affect our lives forever. Not only did she teach my child about dying, but about life. Kara was sure full of that!

I’m still ashamed that my own paranoia might have ruined what I feel was one of the greatest learning experiences in my daughter’s life and in my own. Thank you, Kara.