Bryce Sealock

Bryce Sealock never tells us his father is dying.

One cold day in January, he and his sister Brynn, as conscientious and sweet as Bryce is funny and flippant, fail to come to school. Tumbling into class, my American Lit students tell me the news.

Bryce Sealock

"Bryce's dad died."

We stare at each other, our faces mirroring shock.

Then we pray. For Bryce. For his sweet sister and good mother.

A day or two later, we all attend Tom Sealock's wake. Bryce greets my husband and me. He is pale but composed. And very grownup.

"Why didn't you tell us?" we say.

Bryce shakes his head. "Couldn't deal with the attention," he says.

Later, his mother Shari will tell me that Bryce, when the time comes, reassures his dying father. Tom Sealock struggles against death unwilling to leave his young family. But Bryce holds his hand.

"You can do this, Dad," he urges his father. "You can go. We'll be okay."

It has been nearly a year since Tom Sealock's death. Bryce is a senior at Grand Island Central Catholic, a kicker for the football team and a speech enthusiast. He is the same, he says, but different.

"I'm more serious about the decisions I make now, and I get on my friends if they're not making good long term decisions." He grins. "They get a little annoyed with me."

Since Bryce has been eight, he's lived with his father's health issues. Tom Sealock's kidneys fail him. Because his own parents and two siblings succumb to early deaths, Tom never talks about a future or retirement. Instead, he teaches his son Bryce.

"Mostly mechanical stuff," Bryce says. Bryce is mowing the lawn when he's in third grade. His father teaches him to change the oil in their vehicles, and Bryce understands he's being prepared for life without his father

Now in his senior year, Bryce throws himself into the busy world of high school. But he is protective of his mother and sister, and he is nagged by the relentless regrets that haunt all of us after a traumatic loss.

"I should have made more of an effort to spend time with my dad," he says. "I guess I thought we'd have more time."

School, however, is helping him to heal. "Everybody supports me. My faith is more personal for me now," he says, and the atmosphere at Grand Island Central Catholic is helping him to move on with his life.

Bryce and his sister have grown up in the Methodist church, but he has never felt awkward about attending a Catholic school. His religion teacher, Father Richard Piontkowski, is the "best in the region," Bryce says. "He's so knowledgeable about not just the Catholic faith, but all faiths. He's down to earth, respects everybody and is a great teacher."

Father Scott Harter, the GICC chaplain, has helped Bryce with his perspective on life. "He's pretty awesome and cool," Bryce says. "None of his homilies at Wednesday morning Mass are ever about judging. He's just got this great positive energy."

Wednesday morning Masses, in fact, have become very important to Bryce. "It's like my church, The school, as a whole, is all about making you a better person spiritually and morally."

With the support of his mother and teachers and friends, Bryce says his faith has grown. "I sometimes question God, but I believe in Heaven. I know my dad is there with Jesus. It would petrify me to wonder where my dad is. But I know he's okay,"

Grand Island Central Catholic has helped to give him "closure" and to look forward to the rest of his life.

Next year, he'd like to play football, possibly at Drake University, and study pre-law.

But now he's enjoying his senior year. He misses his dad at his football games, he says, even though his dad, because of his health, always had to watch from the car. "My dad really enjoyed watching me play last year."

When I ask to take his picture, Bryce pulls out a jacket. "Can I wear this?" he asks. It's a Grand Island Central Catholic football letter jacket.  "My dad gave it to me last Christmas just before he died. It's the last thing he ever gave me."

Pulling it on, he smiles resolutely into the camera. I look at the boy in the lens, this 17-year-old kid who has stepped up to the plate to take care of his family.

And I know his father would be proud.

The Ortega Triplets

The Ortega brothers are teasing their sister.

"Jacqui's bossy," Alex claims. "The only time she talks is when she wants something."

His sister shoots back. "If I wasn't bossy, you'd always be late for school. You don't pay attention," she eyes her brothers, "so I have to."

Alberto, Jacqui and Alex Ortega

Her brother Alberto concedes that Jacqui really does keep them all on track. If he forgets his lunch, which he frequently does, Jacqui packs it for him.

In the Ortega home, a modest house with a manicured lawn and abundant flowers, I am treated like a special guest. We are settling back to watch a DVD of the triplets' quinceanera, the traditional Latin American custom of celebrating a girl's fifteenth birthday and her transition from childhood to adulthood. Maria Ortega, however, mother of the triplets, is adamant that both her sons will be included in this festive occasion, too.

The DVD begins with a very, very pregnant Maria. She recalls the shock of seeing, for the first time, the ultrasound which reveals three babies. "I only have two arms!" she wails to her husband. "It will be very hard!"

Her good husband, Alberto senior, assures her they will manage, and they do. Sister Ann Ference, a wonderful nurse, comes to Maria's hospital room the day after the triplets are born. "I'll help," she promises, "and I'll bring others."

For the first year and a half of their lives, the triplets are cared for not only by their parents but also by a round-the-clock team of six or seven people. Sister Ann, however, loves Alex, Alberto and Jacqui like her own, and they adore her. She becomes their surrogate grandmother.

When they're toddlers, she tells them it's time to abandon their pacifiers. "You can't go to college with a pacifier!" she scolds.

The triplets nod solemnly and obediently remove the pacifiers.

As soon as Sister Ann departs, however, the toddlers pop them back into their mouths. Every day after that, they take turns keeping watch by the window. When Sister Ann arrives, there is a mad scramble to hide the pacifiers.

On the DVD, the triplets grow up before our eyes. They are in kindergarten sharing the swing their father has made for them in the backyard. Elementary school is a collage of Halloween costumes, First Communions and happy smiles.

When they are 11, Sister Ann urges their parents to send them to Grand Island Central Catholic. It is a monumental sacrifice, but Alberto and Maria are impressed with the school. It's small, their kids are taking religion classes, making good friends, and receiving a great education, Maria says.

Before the kids leave for school every morning, Maria tells them, "Pay attention and be nice. Remember this is important for your future." She and Alberto were not able to attend college, and they want their kids to make the most of this opportunity.

The triplets love GICC.

"I like learning about my faith," young Alberto says. "It's a family environment, and you know everybody. It's made my relationship with God very strong."

Alex loves band performances and trips they take together, and Jacqui loves Art Club. She enjoys, too, her religion classes with Mrs. Dee Hanssen.

Central Catholic is everything Maria and Alberto want for their kids. "I see the good things that are happening for them," Maria says.

The sacrifices their parents make are not lost on the triplets."They do without to give us the best," Alex says of his parents. "They've always given us everything they have, and even when we get in trouble, they stay calm. I don't want to disappoint them."

One day the Ortega kids say they will give back to their parents and make them proud. All three plan to attend college. Jacqui wants a career and a family, and Alex hopes to one day be an orthopedic surgeon. Alberto is leaning toward law enforcement.

Sister Ann is always on the watch to steer them carefully to their goals. She reminds them of the great "checklist", and the reminders are more and more urgent.

"First high school, then college, then the religious life or marriage, and only after marriage," she fixes her gaze on Alberto who has a serious girlfriend, "can you start on the babies."

The triplets are in good hands, it seems, from every direction. "I ask God for help every day," Maria says. But she needn't worry. God is alive and well in the Ortega house, a home full of love and faith and laughter.

Before I leave their house, Maria packs a Hefty bag of homemade tamales. "You and your husband enjoy these," she smiles. "Freeze them and eat them whenever you want." I accept them gratefully and do not tell her they will be devoured long before the day is over.

On the step outside, Maria and I talk alone. During her own struggling youth, she confides, she prays to God fervently. "Please," she begs him. "All I want is a happy family of my own."

Maria Ortega is 35-years-old before she delivers three babies.Be careful what you ask for, she laughs.

From inside the house, I hear the commotion. Maria's patient husband talks to his children. Alberto will no doubt sneak away to call his girlfriend while Jacqui nags her brothers to pack their lunches for school the next day. They are the sounds of a happy home.

And I know a sweet mother's prayer has been answered.