Grown ups like numbers. When you tell them about a new friend,
they never ask questions about what really matters. They never
ask, “What does his voice sound like? ... What games does he like
best? ... Does he collect butterflies?” They ask, “How old is
he? .... How many brothers does he have? .... How much does he
weigh? ....How much money does his father make?” Only then do they
think they know him. If you tell grown-ups, “I saw a beautiful red
brick house, with geraniums at the windows and doves on the roof”
they won’t be able to imagine such a house. You have to tell
them, “I saw a house worth a hundred thousand francs.” Then they
exclaim, “What a pretty house!”

-Excerpt from the book “The Little Prince” by Antoine De Saint-Exupery

I was such a grown up. Maybe it was my training, my education, and
what I did for a living, a finance degree, an MBA, and years of
business planning, analysis, strategic and business counsel. Lots
and lots and lots of numbers. Everything could be quantified.
Everything could be forecasted. With proper preparation, planning
and execution, little was left to chance. Accuracy was highly
regarded; surprises were not.

In fact, I often described my work, and business skill as “knowing
the next question before it was asked, and then knowing the right
answer to that question, and then knowing what question would arise
out of that correct answer” I was a good anticipatory planner,
always two to three steps ahead in my thinking. I was paid to focus
on what was going to happen in the future, as well as to explain what
happened in the past. All too often, because I was too busy and too
preoccupied, I didn’t appreciate, and frequently just flat out missed
what was happening right now, in the present.

A + B always = C in Business and in Life. So, in 1998, when Bridget
and I were told the sobering news that something “Very Serious” was
wrong with our youngest child Kieran, just 15 months of age. I did
what I do best, in the language that I understood. I went after the
numbers.

“Give me all the data; give me the studies; give me all the research
you have. Let me have it, and I will analyze it; and I will
interpret it; and I will understand it. This can be ‘fixed’ on my
terms, and by my definition, using my approach.” A + B will = C!

For the next few years, as we embarked on a diagnostic journey that
took us far and wide, I took the lead in “collecting the numbers.”
Over time, I assembled 6 very large three ring binders, neatly
indexed and referenced, stuffed with all the many, many tests and
medical assessments that had been performed, all the research from
around the world, of all the possible diseases that fell within the
clinical framework of Kieran’s condition. I had the names, the
phone numbers, the fax numbers, the e-mail addresses of all the
doctors that we had met, and that were involved in Kieran’s ongoing
care. The “answer” must be in there somewhere. Somewhere in all
that data, in all those numbers, in terms that I could understand,
was the answer to what was going to happen to Kieran and to us.
A + B must = C

Today’s gospel tells us that the son of man will come when we least
expect it, and the bible also says, a “prophet is not without honor
except in his own country, and in his own house.” Those words rang
true for me. I just didn’t get it at first. Maybe it was because
I wasn’t listening, or perhaps chose not to listen. Maybe I was
just too focused on my own vision of what should be, or how I was
going to make things the way that I thought they should be, to
recognize what was unfolding on a daily basis right in front of my eyes.

You see, while I focused so intently on sifting through all the data,
and all the numbers to find “the answer,” our son Kieran was already
well on his journey of changing the world in his own quiet way with
everyone he touched.

Webster defines prophet as: “A person who speaks by divine
inspiration or as the interpreter through whom the will of God is
expressed.” I do now believe that Kieran was indeed a prophet in
the purest definition of the word. Kieran was an interpreter and an
instrument of God’s will his entire life.

I could share dozens of stories and events that occurred over his
lifetime as examples of his gentle ministry in action. But, for me,
there is one single experience that embodies all the elements of the
great surprise that Kieran brought to my life. It was a birthday
party. We had dressed him up in his best party clothes and wrapped a
gift for the little birthday girl. And then off we went, all six of
us. It was a lovely party, a Harry Potter theme. The little girl’s
parents had set up various games throughout the backyard: pin the
tail on the donkey, fishing for prizes behind the curtain, lawn
bowling, face painting. There was even an inflatable jumpy.

As we entered the backyard, first one, then all the children caught
sight of him. I will never forget the simple and pure joy in their
voices as they screamed “Kieran’s here! Kieran’s here!” They ran to
him like a crowd of paparazzi running after a Hollywood starlet. It
was amazing! We spent the next two hours being escorted by Kieran’s
entourage to every booth and station the party had to offer. All
the while, the kids would be chatting with Kieran about all sorts of
things. “Kieran, what picture should we paint? Kieran, do you like
fruit punch? Kieran, I like your sweater. Kieran, let’s go fishing! “

I remember the birthday girl herself, as she ever so gently, uncurled
Kieran’s little fingers with such great care, one by one, so that she
could place a small bamboo fishing pole in his hand. Then, she
quickly ducked behind the curtain, attached a small prize to the end
of his line, and softly pulled on the string shouting, “Kieran,
Kieran, you have caught something!” In a flash, she was back at his
side, nestled close to his face, explaining, in some great detail,
what a wonderful little prize he had acquired, and how he could have
so much fun with it.

I followed along in utter amazement as the children clustered about
and carried on with him unceasingly. Never matter that he couldn’t
talk back to them with words, or that he couldn’t move out of his
wheelchair, or that he couldn’t even have birthday cake with them.
Not one child ever said anything, and I honestly don’t think it ever
occurred to any of them. They were just having a genuinely fabulous
time together, each child sharing their simple love for our son, and
Kieran sharing his love in his own unique and miraculous way. You
could see, and feel the connection between all of them in a way that
is difficult to describe in words. It was rare and precious.

For me, that experience, that afternoon, is the perfect metaphor of
how the journey went with Kieran and us for his entire life. The
“entourage” may have changed from classmates at a birthday party, to
loving siblings and relatives, devoted teachers and aides, caring
doctors, nurses, and therapists, supportive clergy and church
members, to many generous friends in the community, to all the kind
strangers we met along the way. And the booths and the party
stations may have changed to soft couches and warm laps, welcoming
classrooms, familiar pews with compassionate faces, anxious hospital
waiting rooms, swimming pools on hot summer days, sunny beaches, and
noisy restaurants and ice cream parlors. But the Experience was
always the same: Extraordinary People taking Extraordinary Care of
him and of us in ways that never could have been predicted based on
“The Numbers.”