{"id":1235,"date":"2026-02-08T17:20:39","date_gmt":"2026-02-08T17:20:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/im.wp.mcu.edu.tw\/en\/?p=1235"},"modified":"2026-02-08T18:48:42","modified_gmt":"2026-02-08T18:48:42","slug":"1235-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/im.wp.mcu.edu.tw\/en\/1235-2\/","title":{"rendered":"The Young Genius Painter in the Children\u2019s Ward \/ Dr. Wen-Huei Chen"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\nLily, an eight-year-old girl from Yonghe, lay quietly on a bed in the children\u2019s ward. A nurse gently rubbed the arm where the injection had just been given and asked if it hurt. A few strands of long hair brushed across Lily\u2019s bright eyes. Her round face curved into a smile, accompanied by a hoarse but sincere \u201cthank you.\u201d

\n\nYet before the words had fully left her lips, tears welled up and spilled from her eyes. She lifted her arm to wipe away the thin trail of tears, while her hand still clutched tightly to a familiar paintbrush. She was painting the child in the bed across from her\u2014painting his face. The little boy looked expressionless, but the little girl smiled.

\n\n\nTwo years ago, the president of the Scout Club took my class. Knowing how much I liked children, he invited me to join them in organizing activities at a nearby hospital\u2019s children\u2019s ward. Children are adorable when they are innocent and carefree, but when they are sick, they resemble tender sprouts drying under the blazing sun\u2014no farmer could look at them without feeling heartache.

\n\n\nI was about to decline when I saw the president\u2019s enthusiastic face. I simply couldn\u2019t bring myself to pour cold water on his kindness. At the very least, I told myself, I should go once. Only after going did I discover that the hospital had an auntie who was an elementary school teacher. She often brought Scout groups from various schools to the hospital. In age, she was like the children\u2019s grandmother, yet when she played with them, she was more like one of their companions.

\n\n\nOne of the activities was drawing. Most children love to doodle, because when they can put the images in their hearts onto paper, they enter a world they themselves have created. When we take the time to understand their drawings and speak to them in their own visual language, that world becomes richer simply because someone has stepped into it with them.

\n\n\nI wandered among the children, and at the same time, wandered through their worlds.

\n\n\nLily sat with her mother in a corner near the entrance. She was drawing a zoo, with six giraffes inside. Some had their mouths wide open, as if angry; some squinted their eyes, as if deep in thought. Not a single one had the same expression. One giraffe stretched its head beyond the fence\u2014perhaps she had misjudged the space at first, but still wanted it to poke its head outside\u2014so its neck was drawn especially long.

\n\n\n\u201cWhat is it looking for?\u201d I asked, pointing at the giraffe.
\n\n\n\u201cIt wants to go out!\u201d Lily laughed. I turned my head and noticed that her other hand was still connected to an IV drip.
\n\n\n\u201cHave your classmates come to visit you?\u201d I asked, guessing that she might miss school.
\n\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll be discharged soon,\u201d her mother replied.

\n\n\n\nI later called a friend who taught art. He said this child definitely had talent, and that under such circumstances, it was best not to teach her formally\u2014just let her draw freely. A few days later, I visited her privately and brought her some art supplies. They were about to be discharged, and I thought that if I took the chance to praise Lily, perhaps her parents would be encouraged to nurture her talent more deliberately.

\n\n\nLily happily accepted my gifts, but at the same time, I noticed many other art supplies beside her bed. It turned out that her parents had always supported her drawing. She showed me one sketchbook after another\u2014five in total. She had been drawing since she was very young, and never stopped even during her hospitalization. Seeing a child love something so deeply, I made up my mind to support her.

\n\n\nI told her parents stories about famous painters and handed them my business card, hoping I could help a child with such talent. Yet the more I spoke, the stranger their expressions became. I turned my head and saw the medical note at the bedside: brain tumor.

\n\n\nAfter that, I chose one day each week to visit Lily. Once, I learned a magic trick and went to teach her. I knew children are naturally curious and eager to know the answer. When I performed the trick, she showed genuine amazement. But when I was about to reveal the secret, she pressed her hand firmly over mine, stopping me from uncovering the mystery.

\n\n\nWhen I realized that she understood my intention\u2014that I only wanted to bring her happiness, and that this thought alone was enough\u2014a gentle warmth flowed through my heart.

\n\n\nAnother time, I told her a story about a child who loved drawing, and how the dreams in the drawings gradually came true. After the nurse finished giving her an injection, Lily happily picked up her brush and drew the little boy in the opposite bed, who had only recently been admitted.

\n\n\nThat little boy was also there because of a brain tumor. Children with brain tumors must undergo radiation therapy alone, locked in a solitary room, enduring pain that even adults find unbearable. Lily drew him lying in the radiation room, tears on his face\u2014yet beside him stood an angel.

\n\n\nLily told me that when she first underwent radiation therapy, she was terrified\u2014extremely terrified. But now she was no longer afraid, because angels would protect her. She wanted to tell the other children not to be afraid.

\n\n\nA towel wiped the moisture from her forehead, and the remaining drops slid past her brows, making it hard to tell whether they were water or tears.

\n\n\nAs the cancer spread, the needle marks on her arms grew more numerous. The hair on her forehead fell away strand by strand. Eventually, she could no longer speak properly. But every time I visited her, aside from watching cartoons, she was always drawing.

\n\n\nWith the hand wrapped in IV tubing, Lily sketched the world\u2019s emotions stroke by stroke. One drawing showed a large kangaroo with a baby kangaroo in its pouch. The big kangaroo hopped while carrying an IV drip, and the little kangaroo drank contentedly from it.

\n\n\nLater, I came to understand that Lily knew her time was running out. She was only vaguely aware of what it meant to leave this world; what she truly cared about was leaving her mother\u2019s embrace.

\n\n\nOne drawing was a gift she gave to me. When I told her that I taught at a school, she drew a group of children surrounding me\u2014some grabbing my legs, others touching my head. She always believed that I taught at an elementary school, at a place she deeply missed.

\n\n\nThe last time I saw her, she showed me a series of cards she had collected. One card was missing. I spent a long time searching before finally finding it. But when I went to see her again, she had already passed away. In the hospital, my heart was calm. I thought she had simply gone to another peaceful world. Yet when I left the hospital and walked through the garden, sorrow quietly began to rise.

\n\n\nOn the bus, I could no longer hold back my tears. Because when I opened my briefcase, I saw the drawing she had given me\u2014and on the back of that drawing, I have seen what she wanted to say: an endless love for life.\n<\/h5>

\n\n\n\n
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