I Have a Sad Story to Share
Once there was a little girl. Her mum and her dad hugged her hard. She was just a four- a young, redhead, smiling, active child.
Then her stomach swelled, she got constipation. She was weak and felt dizzy all the time. She could barely walk and couldn't go to the toilet and had stomach pain.
So her parents hugged their little girl and promised that she would be alright.
And they took her to the doctors. And they were sent by ambulance to hospital.
Once there were four people, sitting in a room in the hospital. Two parents. A little girl who fiddled with her hair. A doctor. The parents were crying and the mum begged the doctor to tell them she was lying, that it wasn't true.
But it was true.
And they sat through a meeting with a care team, having to listen, silently, to care plans and treatment options, lost in a new world of horror.
And then they had to physically hold down their little girl, so she could have the drugs to make her better. They watched as she vomited so violently, more violently then ever imaginable.
They watched after piece after piece of her beautiful russet hair fell out, leaving a clear, bald head. They hugged the little girl and told her she was beautiful, and found some wigs and bandanas and even painted face paint on her head- anything to make their daughter feel pretty and special again.
They watched as their daughter became weaker and weaker. As she couldn't go to school. As, slowly, she could bare,y walk and they'd lift her onto the sofa and lift her into bed and lift her into the car to drive to hospital.
They watched their little girl lying so, so still. They watched as harmful rays zoned in on her, concentrating on her. They watched their girl go through a treatment which could leave her infertile, or handicapped, and every minute of pain, they hugged her and kissed her through it.
And then, two and a half years of pain and misery later, they sat in the office.
Once, two parents cried and cried and cried. Because it wasn't true. They begged the doctor to tell them she was lying. But she wasn't. And all the time, their ill, weak, bald daughter sat in a hospital bed with drips and fluid and a tumour.
And they shared just a few months left, and went to Eurodisney and hospices.
And once, two parents sat on a bed at home, hugging their then seven year old. Telling her it would all be alright. It would be okay. She would be fine. She was their beautiful beautiful little girl.
And once.....two parents watched their own daughter breathe slower, they cuddled her, and hugged her, and watched her die. A nurse who was doing the palliative home care was with them and was constantly reassuring them about pain relief and that it was okay to let her go.
And once....two parents carried a tiny, tiny coffin up the church. They watched the tiny, tiny coffin go end a curtain to be burnt. They said goodbye to their little girl and smiled for the seven years they had shared with her.
I miss you, my angel girl, Emma. Such a short life- but a life which has touched many. I want you in my arms, Emma, but I hold you in my heart. I miss you every day Emma, why do we have to be apart?
