Spring 08
Vol. 15/ No. 1

Bill Haring

Silently the quiet young man wrestles with a mental puzzle. Placing the pieces one by one where he believes they belong, and then slowly rearranging them until they fit together snugly, tightly.

Or that's how Bill Haring, a senior nursing student, sees song writing. “The craft of writing a song is a lot like putting together a puzzle,” he says. “There are so many parts to a song and you have to look at each piece to get them to work together.”

Focusing on the complex, yet creative, process of song writing is how Haring deals with the stress of being a nursing student. As his family's second generation to attend MU, Haring started at the College of Agriculture , Food and Natural Resources — just like his dad. However once in Columbia, he felt drawn to the health care field.

“I wanted to find a career that had many different opportunities,” the curly-haired 23-year-old states. “From what I could find out, nursing had more pros than other health care professions.”

Song writing has been a large part of Haring's life since 8th grade. Although he laughingly refers to that period of time as not so much writing, but just making a lot of noise. But for him and his buddies it was a great way
to spend the long afternoons and weekends of their high school years growing up in Belle, a little town south of Jefferson City.

However, some things don't change as we grow up. Haring and friends he met at Mizzou practice their music in an uninsulated, translate that into no heat or air conditioning, storage unit; similar to the garage/barn of his high school days except smaller. But the environment is less important than the music.

Music can be the most important thing. Putting emotions into words — giving grief an outlet. That's the role music played for Haring during his rotation at the Children's Hospital at University Hospital. A little 3-year-old boy loved his nurse so much he called Bill “him.”

“Bill had seen this child before,” says Arlene Merrell, nursing instructor, “his smooth bald head, the tennis shoes that lit up as he walked, the dimples.”

Haring decided to take this toddler as his patient. He did all the things they talked about in class — spoke with the toddler's mom, investigated the chart, prepared his care plan, reviewed medications and thought about games to play.

“The next day, I watched the toddler tease Bill as Bill ‘chased' bugs out of his belly button that somehow had escaped during bath time,” reflects Merrell. “I watched Bill try to keep up with the never-ending energy and imagination of this toddler. I heard him tell his peers that this toddler needed two care givers — a nurse and some one to play with.”

Days later Merrell stopped in to say hello to the toddler and his mother. “Where is Him?” the little guy kept asking. Merrell turned to his mother for additional information. The mom explained that since Haring had cared for him, the toddler had looked for him every day.

“I asked Bill to say hello as time permitted,” Merrell says. “I told him he had charmed this boy.”

Every day he would ask when Him would come and visit. Every day, Haring would try to fit in a short visit with his favorite patient but some days were busier than others. Right before a big test, Haring couldn't find enough time to see the little boy.

However, all those who cared for this toddler knew his prognosis was poor. He continued to fight, but the cancer grew stronger. The little boy who had adored Haring went home to live the last days of his life before Haring could make it back for that long visit.

“The week before spring break I had planned to visit him,” he recalls. “Arlene told me he had been discharged through hospice care the week before. I had told him I was going to visit, but I put it off too many times. Right before I left for spring break, I checked my e-mail; that's when I found out he had passed away.”

On the car ride home, he thought a lot about the little boy with all the energy and his failure to fit in that last visit. It was hard to live with. But during the hour-long drive, Haring's mind kept going back to a song line he had written earlier in his life and from it a song for his little friend gave him the solace he needed.

“Hearing of the toddler's death, he grieved and then began healing by putting lyrics to music,” Merrell says. “Bill shared his song in class with those who had met and cared for this toddler during his hospital stay.

“None of us were aware how deep this attachment had been. We unknowingly witnessed them exchange gifts, the gift every nurse dreams of, making a difference in someone's life. Bill and this precious toddler shared that gift,” she states softly.

“Each song comes together differently,” Haring says quietly while looking at the floor. “Coming up with lines to a song is kinda like fishing. You mess around catching different size fish and then you have to get serious and figure out which ones are the keepers. That's what happened when I wrote this song. I had a line that was a keeper, and once I recognized that, the rest fell into place for this very special person.”

To read Haring's lyrics to the song titled “More Time,” go to Mizzou Nursing at nursing.missouri.edu; you can also listen to Bill sing this song on-line.

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