Many of you may know that two years ago, my best friend Maree Ayers died and I gave a eulogy at her service. For me, the most important thing I could do was to honour my friend. Perhaps do her life a small justice. And I felt proud of what I was able to say about her.
Now, as I think of my darling Kessia, I realise what a poor grasp of the English language I have, for I cannot even begin to claim that I have the words to adequately honour Kessia's life, or to describe what a privilege it is to be Kessia's mother. I have no words for you this day, or will have on any other day, that would come near to capturing or encompassing the incredible span of living, of loving, of enjoying, and being, that Kessia achieved.
But as Fr Ken wisely suggested, a child's life doesn't need to be eulogised or justified by achievements and milestones. Instead, as Geoff did, I'd like to share some special, precious memories that will forever live in my heart.
The day Kessia was born was wonderful. She arrived quickly into this world with an eagerness which was to last. During my five hour labour, Geoff and I managed so well the midwives were rarely present. Later, they told us we were the best team they had ever seen. Kessia was born into love; calmly and peacefully, with Geoff getting me through the most difficult parts by holding me tightly. I needed no drugs throughout Kessia's birth, and the three of us went happily home the next day.
The symmetry of life is a mystery. I now look back over these past few months and feel we have come full circle. As with Kessia's birth, her illness was swift. Similarly, Geoff and I required little medical assistance during her care, and everyone told us how well we were managing. Geoff got me through the toughest times, holding and supporting me when I felt I physically could not move. We were and will always be a great team. We couldn't treat Kessia's tumour with drugs, but instead she entrusted herself into our love. She died peacefully, her passing like a gentle breeze in the wind.
Kessia was a sweet and caring soul. She loved rainbows and butterflies and fairies and family. She touched many lives with her beauty and gentleness.
Kessia was the most caring and loving sister. She and Joshua will always be my joys. I am so proud of the two of them in countless ways, and humbled by their natural intelligence and goodness. In all this, Joshua has been a source of pure inspiration and happiness. Everyone that meets him comments on how delightful, charming, fun and polite he is. The word I love best to describe Josh was used by our very precious Ali. She said he was intoxicating, and he is exactly that. I hope to always be drunk with his verve for life, and living all to the full.
Having said earlier I have no need to document Kessia's achievements, there
are a few I take pride in as her mother.
I am proud of the way in which Kessia grew. She started life fairly shyly and blossomed into a quietly confidant little person. She was comfortable with adults; she never liked overly silly things but had a great sense of humour; and she was kind and considerate. Kessia was a caring and loyal friend to those she liked and loved, and had many, many close friendships.
Kessia was a loving and loved cousin, niece and granddaughter. Family was so important to her and she missed them all greatly during our years in Port Vila.
Kessia was also extremely clever and artistic. She received numerous awards and certificates for such things as French, public speaking, and overall excellence. She learnt to swim quickly and it became one of her great joys. Port Vila was a wonderful time for us as a family - many happy weekends were spent swimming and snorkeling in places we all loved.
People have commented to me over the past week about how amazing our journey has been, how incredibly strong and giving we are, what wonderful parents we seem to be, and other similar words meant in recognition of all that we have achieved.
For many days I struggled with these comments. They seemed designed to make me feel better, to affirm our hearts and minds, but instead I felt I didn't deserve to feel good about anything, least of all myself.
Now, however, I realise that in doing so, I ignored that which I had set out to achieve: to prepare Kessia well for dying; to maintain our dignity and that of Kessia's; and to give her a sense of great security, love and hope.
Kessia never questioned her illness, never asked why this was happening to her, never asked what was going to happen next. We had many conversations about heaven; about what it means to love someone; and about God and Jesus and Grandpa Jim and Maree.
I am convinced Kessia saw a little bit of heaven on my birthday in late September. She was extremely weak, having undergone her first and only round of radiation. As I sat by her side watching her sleep, she smiled an enormous smile - one I've never seen before. I instinctively thought, "My God, Kessia is seeing Heaven." She smiled a second time, again a huge smile, a different smile. I thought, "I must get Geoff, he should be here to say goodbye" but I couldn't leave the room. After a longer pause, Kessia smiled a third time. She didn't die then, but I'm sure she glimpsed Heaven and saw what a lovely place it is.
As the weeks passed, we debated the pros and cons of telling Kessia she was dying. The words never felt quite right, but we wanted to find a way of preparing Joshua as well. In the end, hours before Kessia died, Geoff had a moment of wisdom when the right words flooded in to him. And this is briefly what we told Kessia while we were fighting for her life:
Sometimes Sweetheart, very, very sick kids get to see a little bit of heaven. They might even get to see Jesus and have a little play in his garden to help them feel better. If you want to stay and play, that's alright with us. We want you to be happy and well again. But if you don't like it, that's OK too. You can always come back.
Did I mention earlier, one of Kessia's traits has always been a determinedness about her? She was always stubborn, in a very assertive sort of way.
Eventually, after telling Kessia all this, her breathing stopped and she had no pulse. Our most wonderfully, fantastic doctor, Mary Langtry who we can never thank enough, indicated that Kessia had died and we asked people to leave the room. Kessia was like that for many long minutes, no breathing, no heartbeat, while we wept and cradled her.
And then she must have remembered Geoff's words "It's OK if you want to come back". Much to our amazement, after almost ten minutes of being clinically dead, our little stubborn Kessia started breathing again and a faint heartbeat returned.
We gathered her in our arms and reassured her that mummy and daddy wanted her to be better again, like she was before the tumour. We told her that in heaven she could jump and swim and play and be happy. We told her that although it sounds really crazy, God loves her even more than we do, and that although we'd miss her terribly, our love medicine couldn't make the tumour go away but that God's love medicine could. We told her we wanted her to be happy and whole again; that we'd never be apart; that we'd always be with her and she'd always be with us. That that's what true love meant. I told her heaven was just one big, long, wonderful day, so that no matter what, she would see us again tomorrow.
Tomorrow is only ever a day away. I will live my life well, I will take joy in my family, I will honour Kessia's memory and all that she has given to me. But how my heart longs for tomorrow, for that day when I can hold my beloved girl close to me again.
Kessia, you have brought so much into my life. You've brought me happiness and laughter, pretty flowers and priceless treasures. You've taught me the wonders of innocence, and the joys of motherhood.
I thank you for giving me the great privilege of being your mother; for loving me, caring for me, trusting me, believing in me, and making me a better person.
You are precious. You are cherished. You are so very loved and you will
forever live in my heart. Until tomorrow, my precious, darling Kessia.
| Updated 9th November 2002 | Site hosted at immir.com. |