Cline McMurry’s life was a miracle. It just ended far too soon, at 13.
As his body broke down, Cline McMurry apologized to his family when nothing was his fault.
He was a 13-year-old boy with cancer, and there was nothing more anyone could do.
He didn’t want this for his mom. His dad. His grand dad. His two sisters.
He was more frightened for them than he was for himself. They were his priority.
On Tuesday, July 19, Cline sat in his living room surrounded by his family and a few friends, and asked God for a miracle.
The effects of the cancer that invaded his body were evident, but his voice was sharp. He was strong in mind, and faith.
If you talked to him without looking at him, you would not know cancer resided throughout his body.
Amid his calls to God he thanked his family and the community that supported him over the last several years.
Four days later, Cline’s fight was over. He died on July 23, at home in Fort Worth, surrounded by his family.
Thank God that he is no longer is in pain.
Please, God, be with his family as they now manage their own.
I’ve seen athletes play with broken bones, and concussions, all in the effort to win a trophy; I have never seen courage like Cline McMurry demonstrated to live another day.
There is nothing more heart crushing than watching a young person fight cancer.
There was nothing more inspiring than watching Cline deal with his.
Watching a kid deal with cancer is instant humility, and life-altering perspective.
Not long after Cline was born he was diagnosed with neutropenia, a rare white blood cell disorder that makes a person vulnerable to infections.
In those years where he dealt with neutropenia, you would never know this kid was sick, but visits to the doctor were routine for Cline, up to and including stays in the oncology floor at Cook Children’s hospital.
The threat of cancer was Cline’s invisible shadow.
During this period of his life, the family and community looked for a bone marrow match in case he may eventually need one. Eight years ago, they held a donor drive, which thus far has yielded matches for 11 people and counting.
During this period of his life, he was good. Not perfect. Good.
In February of 2020, the family received the call that they feared for so long. A blood test indicated there was cancer, specifically Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML).
For the next six months Cline lived in the hospital. Because of COVID restrictions, where only one person could be in the room with him, his mother and father took turns.
Either his mother, Elena, or his father, Cliff, were with Cline every hour of the day while he was in the hospital.
One month later, Cline’s bone marrow transplant with his younger sister, Milly, didn’t work.
Two months later, he tried one with his father.
When Cline came home in August of ‘20, the quiet, prevailing thought was he had weeks.
He had years.
For reasons that baffled doctors, the graft with his father had worked.
Maybe that was the miracle and we all missed it.
It seems cruel to consider that option when he’s gone at 13.
He hated the special treatment he received as a result of his condition; the personal get-well videos from Dallas Cowboys running back Zeke Elliott, Mavs owner Mark Cuban, Rams quarterback Matt Stafford, Troy Aikman, et al.
Cline knew what this meant. All of them, despite their youth, know exactly what it means.
Despite his youth Cline knew exactly what he was up against, and all he wanted was nothing more than to be able to go to school, and to lead a normal life.
He didn’t need to win the Super Bowl, Academy Award, or Nobel Prize.
He wanted to just live without the fear of cancer every time the phone buzzed.
In between all of these visits to the doctors, or the hospital, both Cline and his family squeezed, pressed, and hugged life.
Cline fished, and tormented his father that he was the superior fisherman (he was).
Cline hunted, and tormented his grand father that he was the superior marksmen (he was).
The family celebrated holidays together.
Took a few trips, including one in the summer of ‘21 through “A Wish With Wings,” to Glacier National Park in Montana.
All the while Cline’s body was not operating the way it should. He knew it.
Never once did he flinch when he was asked to try one more treatment. To see one more doctor.
He grew sick of it, but at no point did Cline give up, or concede. He wanted to live.
Both he and his family did everything in their power to make one more day possible.
The stress that cancer, and the torture that is cancer care, puts on families has no equal.
Cline saw how hard this was on his mom and dad, and sisters Milly and Carmen.
This wasn’t a couple of weeks. A few months.
This was years.
It ended on Saturday, July 23, 2022.
The statistics to indicate cancer claimed another patient, but the life Cline led indicates otherwise.
Rest in peace, Cline McMurry.
In your 13 years you did everything possible to live, which, in the end, is a life well lived.
This story was originally published July 29, 2022 at 6:00 AM.
