The Day The Angels Came

The Day the Angels Came
a grandpa's prayer and poem for Kyrie Dawn

Wednesday, April 4, the day we heard of the explosive growth of the tumors

Alas! O, Lord what is it that I hear?
Is it Your angels coming for our Kyrie Dawn?
O, please Lord, keep them at bay--
If just for one more day.

Thursday, April 5, Holy Thursday

O, Lord, what is this I hear?
Is it that You need another little angel to be near?
O, please Lord, please Lord, don't take our Kyrie dear.
Could You please keep Your angels away,
and we could have her just one more day?

Friday, April 6, Good Friday

O, precious, sweet Jesus, is this the day?
No, no, dear Lord, not today--
This is Your day that You died to save.
Again, please Dear God, let us be selfish
and keep sweet Kyrie another day.

Saturday, April 7, Holy Saturday Easter Vigil

Thank you dear God in heaven
for yet another precious day--
For we all know things will be done your way.
Little Kyrie Dawn is fighting so very hard--
Yesterday she three her ball three times
till her tiny arm got tired.

Angel of God, my guardian dear,
To whom God's love entrusts her here,
Ever this day be at her side
To light, to guard, to rule to guide. Amen.

Sunday, April 8, Easter Sunday

Dear God in Heaven, Your angels came last night,
As we all knew that someday they might.
They came around the hour of seven
to take our precious one to her
special place in heaven.
Sweet Jesus, we know that you, too, love the little ones,
so to You we give You our little Kyrie Dawn--
And in the end, it is always Your will that will be done.

Amen.

Love,
Papa

originally published April 7, 2007

Thankful Thursday

It’s been six years.

It’s. Been. Six. Years.

Six years and sometimes it feels like six days.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the adage, “time heals all wounds.” I imagine the sharp pointed hour and minute hands turning into surgeon’s needles, stitching up a broken heart, like Julia Child would sew up a stuffed duck. The punctures afflict as much as the wound, yanking at the gaping muscle. Even time itself can scratch at the injury, a reminder that we are helpless against the distance the time put between us and premature loss.

The operative here? Healing. Some wounds heal quietly, discreetly. Some wounds heal by cells feverishly working to produce a knotted, gnarly, protruding scar, a scar whose tissue must be broken again and again. Not gushing blood anymore, but deeply aching, awful-looking, knotted to the touch and often hidden under a sweater.

During the past six years, I’ve been whispering to myself, “work it for good.” And that’s what the Kyrie Foundation is all about. It’s a group of very ordinary humans working to bring about a miracle. I’ve often felt small in this work … that is until someone offers to lift with me. And then I often hear a voice say, “that’s the miracle.”

Over the years, I’ve watched what and listened to that which the general public gives its time and attention. Celebrity gossip, wasteful organizations, internet memes—any number of meaningless endeavors. I often think of Diane Traynor at the PBTF telling us that is easier to get people to care about stray animals than it is to get them to care about cancer eating children’s brains. I have found this statement to be true.

So in light of all of this, it is quite amazing that this group of supporters has raised nearly a quarter million dollars in the last six years. It’s quite amazing to consider the hospital visits and the handmade blankets to sick children. And the event sponsors, those who come to events, those who work the events, those who share an event. And the ones who come up with ideas to help, the ones who send the emails and stay up late to make things happen.

It’s supremely difficult to flip over the pain to see what's underneath. That’s probably because it takes the strength of more than one person. Thank you to each and every one of you who have made such a real and tangible difference in this fight.

What are you thankful for today?