Gary Carter helped save my life.
When I was 8 years old, I was diagnosed with leukemia, then the leading child-killer in America. I was frightened and unsure of my future. I was also a die-hard Mets fan. Gary had lost his mother to leukemia and had become a passionate spokesman for the Leukemia Society of America.
My mother reached out to Jay Horwitz in the Mets front office and arranged for me to meet Gary before a home game in the summer of 1988. Weakened and fattened by chemotherapy, without hair, I met Gary outside the Mets dugout before the game. There, he signed a baseball with the inscription “To Jonathan. Get well soon! Keep the faith. Best of luck. God Bless, Gary Carter.” He gave me some encouraging words, we made some small talk. He went off to play the game, and I went to my seat to watch.
Over the next three years, I received scores of painful spinal taps and bone marrow biopsies as part of my treatment. At every procedure, I held Gary’s autographed ball in my hands for strength.
Through Gary’s work with the Leukemia Society, I saw him semi-regularly at fund-raisers and other events. At first, I just attended because my parents would buy tickets. Soon, however, I became a regular speaker at the fundraisers, telling about my experience and the power people like Gary and others had on my morale and prospects.
Through these events and trips to Shea Stadium and Port St. Lucie, I got to know Gary and his wonderful wife, Sandy. Gary was always kind and approachable, taking a genuine interest in my well-being and remembering details about my life. Gary became a friend.
When he left the Mets to continue his career with the Giants and Dodgers, our relationship did not end. We called it my “Six Month Gary” fix; as part of my recovery, I had to see Gary every six months whether at a game or fundraiser. Every time, he had some inspirational words that left a smile on my face and buoyed my belief in my survival. I told Gary I would see him in Cooperstown when he was inducted into the Hall of Fame.
Eventually, I completed my chemotherapy and was officially done with leukemia. As I got older and Gary retired, I would see him occasionally but my involvement in the Leukemia Society diminished. Gary made it to Cooperstown. I did not attend, a decision I always will regret.
Many years later, I wrote Gary to let him know the impact he had on my life and to thank him. His reply was gracious, disclaiming responsibility and shifting the focus back to me. This was the last time I heard from Gary.
After he was diagnosed, I sent him a letter and a baseball with a signed note in a weak attempt to reciprocate the strength he had given me all those years ago. Understandably, he did not write back, but I hope he got my letter so he knew I was thinking of him. I like to think he received notes like it from the hundreds of children he touched through his good works and his contributions to the Leukemia Society. Gary deserved to know how much he meant to so many.
But now he is gone — too soon, tragically, and without meaning. Gary’s strong relationship with God may have given him the wisdom I lack as to the meaning of the cruel twist of fate that condemned him to death. I have no doubt Gary was at peace with what he considered God’s will.
Thank you, Gary, for helping a scared 8-year-old keep the faith. You will not be forgotten.
Jonathan Krause, now 32, is a lawyer living in Philadelphia, where he still roots for the Mets. He is the father of a 20-month old daughter, with a second child on the way.