When I was at Brown Maurice Sendak came to speak. He told the most amazing story that had the entire audience in tears. I can’t do it justice but it was so great it is worth retelling.

At the time Maurice was heavily involved in children hospitals and care for terminal children. He led an acting troupe that would travel to children’s hospitals and put on plays that involved the children and acted as a nice distraction. His troupe just finished a play at one of the hospices when a mother approached him. She explained that her daughter Elizabeth was a huge fan of Where the Wild Things Are and read it nearly every day. Elizabeth had been really looking forward to the play but was too sick to attend. Her mother asked if there was anyway Maurice could come up and spend a little time with her sick daughter — she had a form of cancer that was terminal and most likely had less than a month to live. Maurice agreed and followed her up to the hospital room where Elizabeth was staying.

When he entered the room he saw a tiny girl in this big bed, her back propped up against the headboard. She was acting very shy and was a little embarrassed her mother had made a big deal about how much she liked Maurice’s books. Her mother tried to introduce Maurice but Elizabeth refused to acknowledge him. She sat silently in the middle of the bed with her arms crossed. Maurice sat down on the edge of the bed and started sketching characters from his book on a sketch pad he carried with him when he visited hospices. After a few minutes of sketching he felt Elizabeth slide up next to him and watch him draw. Another few minutes and Elizabeth was asking about the monsters he was drawing. After about ten minutes both of them were huddled over the pad sketching a full scene. They were talking, Elizabeth was laughing and drawing.

Overcome with what I can only imagine was a terrible mixture of emotions — so happy to hear her daughter laughing and yet trying to grapple with the harsh reality of the time remaining — her mother sat on the edge of the other side of the bed and started silently crying. Maurice watched as, while still sketching with her right hand, Elizabeth pushed her hand across the wide bed and grabbed her mom’s hand to comfort her. It was as if she was saying “it’s OK Mom. I’m OK. It is going to be OK.” They drew, they told stories, they laughed, and Elisabeth’s hand never left her mother’s.

Seven years old. Here was a seven year old child with a month to live comforting her mother.

The children are so much stronger than anybody gives them credit. We think that knowledge and age make us stronger but we have grown old and forgotten where the wild things are and the wonderfulness of now.