Your little cousin Lane says he has been talking to you. He is only four so I listen hard when he tells me this. He wasn't big on saying his prayers until your angel wings brushed his cheek. It was then that he would pray, always mentioning that I missed you.
But just as quickly as this began, it stopped. Lane told me he stopped hearing from you. He hasn't said a prayer since.
I remember the last time I saw you. It was two days before you died. You were in your bed on the eve of your eleventh birthday. We talked about your uncle Brenner bringing you pizza for dinner and how your cousins were downstairs wanting to see you if you felt up to it. I only had a moment but I stopped to wish you a happy birthday and gave you a swift kiss on the cheek before leaving. How was I to know it would be the last time I would see you?
Your cancer was like a thief in the night. It stole you away from your mom and dad all too soon, sweet girl. It stole you from all of us and we've barely had a moment to stop and figure out how we got here.
I remember the morning you left. A woman at the hospital was checking your grandma and me in and told us your little sister and Lane weren't allowed to go in with us. I looked at them dancing across the corridor without a care in the world and nearly choked on my words, "They told me she might not make it." Tears were falling and the woman began to cry too. A few keystrokes later and we were all heading to see you.
I was met by a few nurses who whisked your sister and my Lane away. I saw your mom. She was crying, wailing. You were already gone. I stopped for a moment but I pushed my way through the door to see you. I looked through the nurses waiting in front of your room as they stared helplessly at me. I walked in and there you were. You were surrounded by a roomful of nurses and doctors that had just come down from furiously working to keep you with us. Your dad pulled me to you and kept telling me to talk to you. That you could hear me. I didn't understand. Weren't you gone? I took your hand. I held on for hours. The room was thick with your presence, and later your grandma would tell me she wished she'd looked up to see you testing out your new wings. I wish I had too.
We watch for you now, hoping God will let you brush our cheeks as well. Hoping you will let your mom and dad know you are ok. Hoping your little sis knows too. I took her to a movie the other day and darned if the preview for Annie wasn't playing. I looked down to see her singing along. I knew she learned that song from you when you played in Annie last year. I can still hear you stomping on that stage when I hear that Hard-Knock Life song.
I am sure that you were my angel as I recently went under the knife to cure my own cancer. I imagined you were there as I was wheeled into the OR and I felt a little more at peace. Thank you.
Your cousin Rowen misses you too. You were his first best friend. I am sure he's sorry that he drove you a little nuts as you got older, but we'll just say that's how he knew to love you. Ok, and annoy you. What are cousins for, right? He sure loved you though. He always will. We all will.
So from time to time, feel free to brush our cheeks. Let your mom and dad know you are ok. We love you, Kenna. Always will.
Love,
Aunt Amanda
P.S. I was listening to an old Amy Grant song today, "I Will Remember You." I thought of you. Let's meet someday on golden streets. Deal?
I Will Remember You (excerpt)
I will be walking one day
Down a street far away
And see your face in a crowd
And smile
Knowing how you made me laugh
Hearing sweet echoes of you from the past
I will remember you
*This letter was shared with permission from my sister, Kenna's mom.
