December 6, 1998…fifteen years ago. Feels like a lifetime in some ways, like yesterday in others. You came to us, chose us, to be your parents and we were honoured by your gift of brief life. Everyone who met you, whose finger you squeezed tightly in your tiny fist, commented on how serene you were, that you had a presence. You watched as things beyond your control went on around you, as nurses poked and doctors prodded, all with the same goal of making you better and then later, simply making you comfortable.
No parent ever thinks even briefly that their first child will come into this world with anything but 10 perfect fingers and 10 perfect toes. You had that in spades. But the vessel you were given simply wasn’t capable of a longer voyage. So you left us and our lives are now richer for having known, touched and held you. The anger and sorrow of your passing has long since left me. In its place I feel completely awed that someone so tiny can still move me to tears if I invite the emotions to enter.
Indeed, on this journey in your name I’ve found myself riding along more than once with eyes watering and cheeks wet inside my helmet, having revisited powerful memories of your short days on earth, of the pain and fear you surely felt. But look what you’ve inspired, my child. Look at the countless lives you continue to touch every day. I made you a promise that we’d never forget you, that your future siblings would know they had a big sister.
And here we are today, your little sister Holly behind me on the motorcycle, rolling through the Guatemalan jungle on the anniversary of your gentle passing. How fitting that this day would arrive when we are tucked deep within the ruins of the Mayan city of Tikal, where the trees, ants, and humidity conspire to pull these magnificent structures back into the ground and yet here we are among people from around the world, revisiting their lost world, keeping the memory alive.
This day cannot come and go without mentioning and properly thanking Toronto’s Hospital for Sick Children (SickKids Hospital) and the Children’s Miracle Network. They enveloped us when we needed support the most, removed the unnecessary so we could focus only on the necessary. I even credit the nursing staff with helping us learn how to properly grieve by asking us to share our story with others, when it would have been easier to return home and lick our wounds.
15 years. Enough time for the lazy jungle here to send more ceiba tree roots deep down into another temple foundation, displacing the hard work of many from long ago. But still we know they were here, living. And when Mary and I sat together in that quiet room 15 years ago today, the world’s tears falling as rain outside the windows, and we finally got to hold you free of all the machines that kept you with us, the world cracked open for me as you drew your last breath and peacefully passed in our arms. And you continue to leave tiny footprints on our hearts every day. Thank you for choosing us, Alyssa Rae.