“One day,” you said to me, “I saw the sunset forty-four times!”
And a little later you added:
“You know—one loves the sunset, when one is so sad…”
“Were you so sad, then?” I asked, “on the day of the forty-four sunsets?”
But the little prince made no reply.”
― Antoine de Saint Exupery, The Little Prince
—
This was Alex’s last sunset—the view from her hospital room as the sun set over the Baltimore skyline.
The next morning, we struggled to get her out of bed. She couldn’t sit up or stand on her own, but she was determined to prepare herself for a visit from her college roommates. It took a while, but we got her ready and her friends arrived.
I excused myself to get some lunch. About five minutes later, I got a text from Alex.
“Can you come back?”
I hurried back to her room. Her friends stepped out and she looked at me with fear in her eyes and said, “Something’s wrong.”
I calmly replied, “Okay, we’ll call the doctors.”
She said more urgently, “You don’t understand. Something’s wrong.”
I did understand. This was the end, and she knew it.
“I understand,” I replied as calmly as I could. “It’s going to be okay.” I didn’t really know if it was going to be okay. I just knew what was coming. But that’s what we do as parents, right? We tell our kids things will be okay and hope they find comfort in the belief that we have some wisdom they don’t.
The doctors arrived quickly and started asking questions. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain? What are you feeling?”
Alex became more agitated. She couldn’t answer their questions. She couldn’t explain what she was feeling. She just knew something was wrong.
I suggested a medication that helped her sleep. The doctors asked Alex if that would be okay. She said yes.
She reached out, grabbed my hand and said, “I love you.”
I told her I loved her too.
Those were the last words we spoke. She never fully regained consciousness and died peacefully in her sleep the following night.
Alex fought for her life with everything she had. She never quit, even on that last day. So I am doing my best to honor her and continue that fight. Dakota and I have spent the month participating in the Million Mile to raise funds for pediatric cancer research. Our hope is that Alex’s story—at least the end of it—doesn’t have to be anyone else’s story. It already has—for more than 600,000 families since Alex passed away.
Thank you to everyone who has donated this month. It means the world to me. And if you would like to help, you can do that here.
Mitch and Dakota are participating in the Million Mile this month in Alex’s memory. They are raising funds for childhood cancer research so Alex’s story doesn’t have to be someone else’s story.
You can donate here.
All donations are matched by Alex’s Lemonade Stand Foundation.
Over the Rainbow
Here’s a compilation of photos of Alex taken throughout her life set to Eva Cassidy’s version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I loved this version of the song the first time I heard it, but I knew nothing of Eva Cassidy. Turns out, she’s a Maryland girl whose life was cut short by cancer.