To be brave...

At the young age of 14, our oldest daughter was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. Glioblastoma is not a cancer with stages. It is only stage four; that's how deadly and impossible it is to heal from. When the pediatric oncologist sat herself onto Kate's hospital bed to share the awful news, Kate simply and stone-faced asked if she was going to die. "Do nothing and yes, you will." Kate's diagnosis and she shed no tears. Whereas I had minutes ago been sobbing into my husbands chest wishing I could die instead. 

Kate was fortunate(?) to live two and a half more years. Two and a half years without hair, without pursuing her dreams, without...a lot. She bravely and boldly walked into the high school any chance her body would allow wholly different and beyond recognition from the girl she once was. Two and a half years after diagnosis on a chilly November 21st, I read the MRI report minutes before we were to meet with her oncologist. The report was damning. Seated next to Kate in the pediatric waiting room and knowing the end was near, I remained quiet and promised myself to follow Kate's emotional lead in her appointment. 

A nurse called us to back. I wheeled her past the desk lined with unlimited stickers for kids to take home, past the cheery greetings from various nurses and into a small examination room with five, somber-faced medical staff waiting for us. If Kate knew, she didn't let on. Her doctor leaned toward Kate and gently told her there was nothing more to be done. The cancer cells had advanced to a point of no control. She didn't cry and by some miracle from the heavens, neither did I. If Kate could be brave, then so too could I. But I was brave while also digging my nails so deep into my flesh that I bled. 

On December 10th at the age of 16, Kate took her last breath. On the following Saturday with a church full of family and loved ones, I learned yet again how to be brave. At 14 years old I still had my cabbage patch doll and a poster of Jon Bon Jovi hanging in my bedroom. When Kate was 14 she endured radiation and chemotherapy. And when Claudia was 14 she wrote a eulogy for her oldest sister. We've always known Claudia has a natural gift for public speaking and leadership but to independently choose to stand behind her sister's casket and eloquently speak to 150 wet eyes staring back at her is something I will never forget. 

I did not necessarily pick up on their bravery at the time they were both 14 years old. I was for a good while settled deeply into a grief abyss. My lowest was when I sat next to Kate's dirt covered gravesite and honestly considered digging up her casket. The dirt looked loose and she was only six feet from me. Thank God logic took hold. Thank God I have people at home waiting for me. 

Our two older daughters; brave, strong and bold. Kate whom we will never hold again but will love until our last days. And Claudia who has demonstrated maturity and confidence throughout an unimaginable situation.

I pray our younger two daughters never have to be as brave when they reach 14 but I'm proud of the two amazing role models they have to look up to.