Naomi
was our second child, our fist daughter, and the last baby to be born with a
doctor present. She was born in 1996, a year that proved to be turbulent. Even
at an early age, we learned from her. I stand by my belief that parents don’t
really know a lot about children until they have more than one. Naomi was
different than her older brother. As an infant, she cried less. But as she grew
a little older, she became more high maintenance.
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| Naomi at one |
While Harrison was
an easygoing baby who would sleep anywhere and play quietly by himself and not
cry in the church nursery, Naomi desired attention and stimulation. She was not
happy unless things were her way. When we tried to introduce her to baby food she
refused it. Then she shrieked and thrust her hand at Prajna’s plate, opening
and closing her fist. So Naomi didn’t eat baby food and went right to what the
rest of us were eating.
Naomi had a will
like a hurricane. She may not have always known what she wanted, but when she
experienced what she didn’t want, she let the world know. If anyone thinks putting a two year-old in a
snowsuit should be easy, they should try restraining the Tasmanian Devil and
putting him in a burlap sack. (And you’re not allowed to hurt him.)
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| first steps and she heads for the door |
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Naomi carried this
fighting spirit into her illness. She was diagnosed with cancer when she was
three and a half. Neuroblastoma starts in the adrenal gland and can quickly
spread. It was stage IV by the time it was discovered. Doctors were not hopeful
and once gave me the option of stopping treatment.
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| in the bone marrow transplant ward |
But we didn’t stop and Naomi
fought on. She went into remission and relapsed twice.
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| second relapse, her last picture with hair |
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She was cheerful
and boisterous at the hospitals. She wore pink rubber boots, sang loudly and
loved interacting with people. The staff enjoyed her, most of the time at
least. One day when it was time to access her portacath with a needle stick,
Naomi decided that it wouldn’t happen. It took me and four nurses to hold her
down and get the needle in. I’m sure the nurses were frustrated, I was. But at
the same time, I was proud of her. This was the girl who had an uncompromising
attitude. Perhaps other patients would not have made it that far.
Outside of the
hospital and life of cancer, Naomi loved dance. She performed in a recital and
had a ballet costume. She played with her siblings and wasn’t the least bit shy
about being bald most of the time.
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| proud of her radiation markings |
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| holding her baby brother, Jamie |
But late in 2002
the cancer was not being beaten back anymore. The blood transfusions she needed
were not from the chemo wiping out her blood cells, but from the cancer that
was taking over every part of her. She died at home in our arms.
Today would have
been her 18th birthday. Sometimes I wonder what she would be like
now. She had blonde hair, but it may have darkened. Would she still like to
dance? Would she love to read like most of her siblings do now? Would she still
be something of a drama queen? I can look at my kids now, Nathaniel, who’s 10
has the personality closest to what she was like. But like I said, every child
is different.
And nobody fought
like she did. I wonder if God equipped her with that ferocity, knowing that she
would need it. But more than that fighting spirit, Naomi was very loving. She
cared so much for everyone, family, strangers, the hospital staff. Her only
fear from dying was that she knew we would miss her. She wasn’t afraid.
One could say what
a special girl she was. Of course I would agree. She touched many lives. But I
have to say this: Naomi wasn’t that unique. Anyone can be as loving as she was.
If she could sing and dance in an oncology ward, if she could face pain and
suffering with marked audacity, then why can’t anyone? She found joy in everything,
infectious, courageous joy and it still resonates today as we remember her and every
day in every life she touched.
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