Fresh Perspective

The other day I got caught up in blog-hopping You know, where you go from one blog to the next, clicking on the links that other people find interesting. Well, I hadn't been hopping long, when I reached a really absorbing site. www.kyahsjourney.livejournal.com  got me reading well into the night. Now before you go clicking through, let me warn you that it isn't for everyone. Not me even. And yet, it was the most moving, and thought-provoking site I have come across in an eternity.

Basically, the site is a journal that has been kept by Kyah's parents for just over a year. It documents their ordeal around Kyah's diagnosis with, and journey through neuroblastoma cancer. It is heart-wrenching. So raw are the emotions on a day to day basis, and typed with such honesty and openness, that I just couldn't put it down (or so to speak). It's a terribly tragic story. Kyah is in the final stages of what seems like an incredibly painful and brutally unforgiving experience. Her parents record her every day, reporting the good, the bad, and the obscenely ugly, in clear, yet fragile, terms. Their baby is dying, and they have to live.

Now why I did that to myself needs to be explained. Reading this disturbing tale is not recommended, but I just felt so moved by her parent's honesty, that I was glued to my screen for hours. Mostly I read through tear-flooded eyes, but sometimes all I could do was cover my mouth in utter hopelessness at their situation. The thought at the back of my mind always: what if it was me? What if my baby was suffering such an unfair and merciless disease? What would I do?

One thing in particular stood out for me. In the early stages of her diagnosis, when chemotherapy and radiation therapy were being considered, Kyah's parents were concerned about the side-effects these treatments would have on her (naturally). Among these side effects were growth retardation and sterility. How appalling to have to weigh these things up when considering your child's treatment. A little into her treatment, and as her condition worsened, her mother made a comment that really rang a bell for me. She said something along the lines of gladly accepting the side effects of retarded growth and inability to bear offspring just to have her baby back.

Wow.

Something about that really struck a chord with me. There are so many times when I wish things about my children. I wish they were more obedient. I wish they were tidier. I wish they were more musical. More concerned about punctuality. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I feel really ashamed. I am so so very fortunate to have two beautiful, radiant, happy little girls. I am so so so very lucky that they are healthy, and growing, and bright, and funny, and just like little girls should be. And I have realised, thanks in part to the beautifully honest writings of Jason and Shanell Milne, that I don't need more than the wonderful blessing I have in my daughters. I cannot possibly ask for anything more than these two wonderful sunbeams. I can't tell them often enought how much I love them, how glad I am to spend time with them, what fun it is to be together with them, talking, laughing, singing, playing. It is a drug for me. It keeps me wanting more.

My heart really aches for Kyah's family. I wish that there was some way to make it all better. I wish there was some way to wake them up from this torment and say, "Hey, it was really just a bad dream, folks. Now go on a nice vacation with your little family, and you'll all feel better." But all I can do, like so many others, is to sit by and watch this awful tragedy unfolding, offering cyber-sympathies and digital encouragement as they approach the greatest loss of all. 

And as they face this unspeakable episode in their family, familiarising themselves with death, and the things surrounding death, I can't help but think that this tiny little mite, not even three years old, has reminded me of why I want to live.

Thank you Kyah. Your story has touched me deeply. I wish you great peace.