My heart is heavy today. I was given the saddest news. 

An old friend from college had been out of touch for a year or so. I had emailed him several times over the year, sent his family a Christmas card, and for the last three days had been thinking about him, determined to get back in touch. I sent another email yesterday asking about him and his famiy.  A few minutes later the phone rang -- he asked if it was a good time to talk. He then told me he just lost his 3 year old daughter to cancer.

When she was two, E was giving her parents a difficult time, throwing tantrums, screaming. They thought it was just typical toddler behavior. Then an odd thing happened. Her left eye began to turn inward. The doctors found a tumor on her cheek bone that had reached around her eye socket and ultimately grew into her brain. Called "Rhabdomyosarcoma" it is extremely rare. There are only about 200 new cases per year in the US, and it only afflicts children. By the time my friends discovered E's tumor it was already stage 4, and virtually incurable.

E endured ongoing treatments, in and out of the hospital, losing her hair, becoming weak. With a younger sibling for company E initially enjoyed and then only tolerated playful antics. T is a year younger and just wanted to interact with her sister like she always has. It was only a year after the diagnosis that E ultimately fell into a comatose state, and passed away just 12 days ago.

What can I say about this? As a parent I am gut-wrenched. I cannot imagine how they went through the entire ordeal. The shock of the discovery, the horrific news that it was stage 4, the despair at not being to heal your child, not being able to save her. The difficult decision to tell her what was happening, that she was going to die. And then saying goodbye, rocking her to sleep with her favorite lullabies. Only 3 years of life. Only 3 years to experience everything this world and her parents had to offer. 

What could be worse than losing your child? I wrote them a card and told them I knew there was little to nothing I could do to comfort them at this time. But that every time I hold The Bees, every time I feed her, change her, read to her, sing or play games with her, I am honoring their daughter.

My head hurts thinking about it. The weight of their pain is sinking down through my body into the ground.