”It is so hard to grasp that we will never make these fun memories with Holly again. We already feel her loss as she is no longer able to do anything. There are stabs of pain at the most surprising moments; checking out books at the library and seeing her card that she will never use again; signing up piano students for a piano festival that Holly always excelled in, even while on treatments, and not including her on the list; eating family dinners without her or grocery shopping and wanting to buy the things she loves but knowing she can't eat them. I know these stabs of pain will continue for years, probably the rest of my life.
But we are anxious for her to be done. It's becoming so hard. The tumor in her mouth and down her throat grows rapidly and new tumors have come up in other places. Eating is impossible and talking is difficult. She is so weak and so tired. It's remarkable that her body still holds on but humans have a way of clinging to life, not wanting to let go of what they know and love. It's hard to know what to say to her, what words of comfort I can offer. We talk about death because we all know it is the only way for all this to go away. "But I don't get to choose when it happens." In response to this I asked her if she could choose, would she want it to happen soon? She hesitantly said yes and I told her if I could choose I would want the same thing for her. I don't want her to suffer another minute.
I don't understand suffering. There is so much of it in this world that doesn't make sense. But I do believe that seeing others suffer, especially young, incredibly innocent children, can inspire us to act. Perhaps if those who know of Holly's suffering could act on what they are feeling, whether it's showing a little more love to a stranger, helping fund research for childhood cancer, appreciating our friends and family a little more, then maybe her suffering won't be in vain and the world can be a little brighter and more beautiful because of it.”