In loving Memory of KIER : Universe of LOVE

I have never met Kier, nor have I spoken to her on the phone. As a matter of fact, the more I think about it, we had never "directly communicated".. We both visited eachothers "cyber life".. she as she visited this blog and me following her journey through her Care Page. But I cared for her and worried for her and hoped for a miracle even though I knew that it was going to be really tough to get one. Kier was 22 years old when she valiantly lost her ultimate battle with the Big Monster C. She had spent most of her teenage years fighting it and if I may pass a compliment that was once given to me : KIER was equal parts TENACITY and GRACE. My heart ache to know that she is gone , not so for her as I do for her family, in particular her parents Mimi and Larry that have so gracefully shared her journey and made out of the most horrific of situatios in the whole world a lesson to all of us... Many of you have heard me say that I will take this disease a million times if I could save children from it and egoistically, my child.

I share with you a post from Larry, not to make you cry ( as I am sure many of you will) but as another lesson that life is worth living and that truly tomorrow is promised to no one.
May KIER find her peace, may she hang out with Miles and the many other people that have left so soon. I HATE CANCER!
with love ,
F

From Kier Care Page:

Today is the day of Kiersten’s wake. I hope each of you knows that you will be with us, whether physically, emotionally or both, this day. I have asked that you, especially those of who cannot make the viewing, take some time to listen to “Love, Love, Love” and “Dear Prudence” by The Beatles. Substitute “Kiersten” for “Prudence” and you will have two songs that are relevant to Kier’s message to us and to our wish for Kier to be able to play with us again. We will feel your presence in your listening and singing along with these songs. I meet this day with deep sadness and dread. Today I will see my daughter’s body laid out in a casket, a harsh reminder of the fact that she is no longer alive and that she will not return. In the days since she died, I have felt a deep sadness and a deeper loneliness. There is a hole in the center of my heart for now. I have just begun to fill it with remembrances, but this viewing will tear open that hole again, even as those who attend the viewings fill it with their love and memories of Kiersten. On Thursday I found myself in a downward spiral. The intensity of taking care of Kier during the previous six weeks was over. And Kier had died, only the day before, though it felt like forever ago. I was numb; I was empty; I felt so, so distant from those around me. I was irritable and angry. I felt like I wanted to be left alone, even as I wished people to hold me close to their hearts. What I really wanted, the only thing I really wanted, was to have Kiersten back. I told Mimi that several times. “I want our Kiersten back,” I repeated all day. “I want our Kiersten back.” I tried to nap several times, but I couldn’t. I could cry. I did cry a lot, inside and out. I cried about Kier’s pain and suffering, about Kier’s being robbed of the possibility of a longer life, and about Kier’s dying, despite her indomitable spirit. I cried for my loss, our loss. I cried that I no longer had my daughter, my baby girl, with me, with us, even as I was relieved that she was no longer suffering. I cried a lot. I still cry when I think about Kier, when I feel the loss of her mighty presence, when I see a little girl run up to her Dad and hug him because—just because. Every little girl now seems like she is our Kiersten in some way. I envy every Dad who can still hug and play with his Kiersten. I want to walk up to him and say, “Hey, you know what’s going on here. You know how lucky you are. You know how much that little kiss and that little hug really mean, how they really make your life worth living. And you know how easy it is to lose that little girl? To take this moment for granted, or to miss it by paying attention to something that seems more important, thinking that you can count on a million more hugs and kisses?” But I don’t. I wouldn’t say those things. I think them. I feel them deeply. But I don’t say them. I don’t want to take away the beauty of those moments by traumatizing the Dad (or Mom) with the reality of the tenuousness of life, of their children’s lives. But I do envy those Dads. And I do remember the little kisses and hugs that Kier and I had together when she was young and in the last weeks and moments of her life. And now I know what life is about. More than ever, I know what life is really about. I have lived many loving moments with Kiersten. I cherish the memory of those moments. Yet, I cannot help feeling the enormous loss of the thousands of moments that she and I have been robbed of forever. So, I go to the wake today, feeling so sad, so lonely for Kiersten, so proud of what she has accomplished, but so wanting a million more little moments of love between us. Moments that we share together. Moments yet to come. Moments never to come. Thank each and every one of you for listening to and for loving us. Please love each other, especially your children. While I may envy the moments you have with your children, I honor your love and know that in loving, we all are Kiersten's spirit and love alive. Love and Peace, Larry