Pictures - A lesson of love


Caroline “Calle” Cronk, 5, of Norwell was diagnosed with diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma, or DIPG, in November 2012. This rare brain stem cancer has no effective treatment, no cure, and a pattern of killing its victims within nine months to a year. Up to 200 children in the United States develop the brutally aggressive tumor — referred to as “the monster” by pediatric oncologists. Her parents, told there had been no new medical advances in 30 years, threw themselves into social networking and major fund-raising to build awareness and, hopefully one day, a cure. Their daughter’s last months were filled with a community’s unwavering support, her parents’ devotion, prayer, faith, and love.


During the course of her treatments, including a grueling six weeks of radiation, Caroline never lost her sense of humor and love for life and making her parents laugh.



Caroline “Calle” Cronk, 5, of Norwell was diagnosed with diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma, or DIPG, in November 2012. This rare brain stem cancer has no effective treatment, no cure, and a pattern of killing its victims within nine months to a year. Up to 200 children in the United States develop the brutally aggressive tumor — referred to as “the monster” by pediatric oncologists. Her parents, told there had been no new medical advances in 30 years, threw themselves into social networking and major fund-raising to build awareness and, hopefully one day, a cure. Their daughter’s last months were filled with a community’s unwavering support, her parents’ devotion, prayer, faith, and love.


During the course of her treatments, including a grueling six weeks of radiation, Caroline never lost her sense of humor and love for life and making her parents laugh.


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Radiation and steroid treatments shrank Calle’s tumor so that her balance returned and she could enjoy favorite activities like wearing princess dresses and singing and dancing along to Taylor Swift songs with her friend Lilah MaGee.


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When a visiting nurse came to Calle’s home to check her vital signs and clean her port, which tunnels directly into her heart, she needed her mother’s help to manage her fears. For each contact with the nurse — temperature taking, blood pressure checking, cleaning the port, and the actual blood draw, Rachael calmly managed her daughter’s stress with soothing words and coupons for the Build-A-Bear store. Rachael bargained with and soothed her tearful daughter before having her blood pressure taken.


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In February, barely three months after their daughter’s diagnosis, Kevin and Rachael Cronk presented a check for $100,000 to Dana Farber/Children's Hospital Cancer Center’s Jimmy Fund. After the ceremony, Rachael and Kevin consulted with Calle's doctor, Dr. Peter Manley, before heading over to get Calle her first MRI since the radiation treatment. Kevin soothed a hungry and cranky Calle on this morning when she had to fast before the MRI.


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A visiting nurse came to check Calle’s blood. Calle refused to use a numbing cream when the nurse, Pat Hayes, accessed her port. Rachael stayed calm as Calle cried out in pain.


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While the visiting nurse accessed Calle’s port she cried out in pain as her mother, aunt Sharon Ramos, friend Lilah Magee, and Lilah’s mother, Linda, held onto her. Within a minute, Calle was laughing and joking around with her friend.


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Since her diagnosis, Calle has never spend one night or afternoon nap alone. Either her mother, father, aunt, or grandparent has kept her company while she slept. At night next to Calle’s sleeping body, Rachael sometimes wept softly and whispered apologies into the dark. “I’m so sorry this happened,” she said. “I’m so sorry I can’t fix it.”


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In the spring, an MRI showed that the tumor had shrunk. Calle was a busy girl — going to birthday parties, dance classes, and pony-riding lessons donated by a supporter.


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The Rev. Chris Hickey led a prayer vigil at Notre Dame Academy for the Cronk family. “She has touched literally thousands of hearts around the world, inspired the Hope for Caroline foundation to end DIPG, united the community, and brought people closer to God,” Calle’s father said.


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Calle’s spring dance recital was moved up as her tumor began to grow again. The dance community responded by changing the date, giving her a chance to dance while she still could. On May 21, Calle held her balance by improvising on the fly, taking the stage with singularity and courage. But by the official recital on June 20, Calle could not dance.


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In June, Calle and her mother had a shopping spree at the American Girl Doll store in Natick. The tumor had continued to grow and Calle struggled for balance. The disease progressed almost daily. Calle’s left arm became clumsy and stopped working. Then her left leg. She started slurring her words, and facial expressions began to fade.


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During lunch at the American Girl Doll store, Rachael grabbed Calle and hugged her tight.


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On the last day of kindergarten in June at the William Gould Vinal Elementary School, Calle and Rachael took the elevator to the ground floor after saying goodbye to her teachers and classmates.


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On July 9, the backyard pool was finally ready to be filled with water. The Cronk family rushed to get the pool completed so that Calle could enjoy it. Older brother Connor, 7, brought over a raft for Rachael to place Calle on.


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Rachael and her mother, Kate Sowdon, played with Calle and her brother Connor in their new backyard pool. “I feel like she is scared inside. She knows she can’t walk, she knows she can’t talk, and things are changing ... I don’t want to look back and feel like I wasn’t there when she needed me. I am not going to say no,” she said.


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At the end of June, for the first time Calle could no longer stand on the scale during her routine check-up at Dana-Farber/Boston Children’s Cancer and Blood Disorders Center. Rachael rushed to scoop Calle in her arms. Mother and daughter were weighed in as one. At the same time, the family’s fund-raising efforts brought in more than $700,000 for the Hope For Caroline Foundation.


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In the exam room, a pediatric oncology nurse drew blood from a port directly tunneled under Calle’s skin to the heart.


When Calle yelled, “Stop it!” Rachael held her tight. “It’s OK to say stop it,” she said in a soft maternal voice. “It is OK to be upset.”


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Calle had an especially tight relationship with her aunt, Sharon Ramos of Salem. Sharon carried Calle into the backyard of a friend’s house for her 6th birthday party, which was moved up to mid-June from the actual Aug. 27 date due to her deteriorating physical condition. “She just loved everybody,” said her aunt. “She would throw her little arms and legs around you, and you would be sucked right in.”


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Calle was always a fearless swimmer — learning the backstroke the summer before her diagnosis. At her early birthday party, without use of her legs and left arm, Calle asked her mother to put her floaties on her so she could swim for a few minutes on her own.


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Calle’s friends poured fistfuls of candy on her lap after they broke open her birthday pinata.


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Even as the children at the party gathered around a table of cookies, smeared with icing and candy, and sang Happy Birthday to Caroline, her mother resolved that there would be another party. On the date of her daughter’s real birthday in nine weeks time, they would celebrate again, Rachael thought to herself.


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Calle and Kevin rested and warmed up by the side of the pool at her early birthday party.


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No longer able to eat whole food, Calle was fed baby food on a spoon by Rachael, with her beloved dog Fluffy on her lap. Calle was a girl who knew her own mind: She liked Peppa Pig and Scooby-Doo cartoons. French onion soup and lobster were her favorites, and a cheeseburger with extra pickles became known as a “Calle Special.”


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In July, Calle was barely able to move or speak. With the pool heater set high, Rachael swam with her daughter. In the last hours of her life, Calle listened attentively to stories dating back to her birth nearly six years earlier. She rested a hand always on her mother, Rachael, and heard her say, “If you see the angels, it is OK to go with them.”


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One July night Rachael lay next to Calle in the room where she and her daughter slept. “Do you see God?” she asked. Calle could no longer speak and had only slight movements. Her faltering system had begun to hunger for air, and all at once Rachael was coming to the realization that her daughter would not live, that the chemotherapy would not work, and that no new cure would come. She felt a catch in her throat and began to cry. “Is he talking to you?” Rachael said. “Is he calling you?” Calle stared back at her mother and slowly nodded her head.


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Caroline “Calle” Cronk died in her parents’ embrace on July 18. At her funeral, Rachael wore a white dress and Calle’s red toenail polish. She carried a piece of soft fabric, one half of a blanket Calle loved that went by the name Light B. The other half they left to be buried with her.


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After Calle died, they asked that the cancer be removed. The tumor would be valuable to medical researchers, but more than that, Rachael could not bear the thought of it remaining inside her daughter.


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After Caroline’s funeral services, family members came to the house and ordered boxes of pizza and talked and laughed. She and Kevin took down the “Believe in Miracles” sign above the front porch and replaced it with one that said, “Thankful for Norwell.” After everything, Rachael does not know for sure that there is a God or any eternal promise in love. But she makes herself believe that there is. If she doesn’t, she says, “then I don’t know where she is.”


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