A letter to Lyra on her eighth birthday

By Kay Thompson Stillwater NewsPress

STILLWATER, Okla. — My dearest Lyra,

You turned 8 years old last week. Congratulations! You’re such a young lady these days. I can’t help thinking back to the day you were born. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. While the nurse was cleaning you up, you were wailing, so I started talking to you in a low voice. You actually stopped crying and listened to me, until the nurse poked you with something. I felt like we made a connection that day. I feel it now.

We didn’t know until later that your left clavicle, or collarbone, was broken when you were born. No wonder you were crying. We had to swaddle your left arm so you couldn’t move it. It broke my heart when I had to move your arm to change your shirt because you would let out a monumental yelp to let me know I was hurting you. I was so glad when your clavicle finally knit itself together.

When you were about 2, you stopped talking. We had you tested and found that you have apraxia, which is the inability to mimic sounds. We never found out exactly why, but you had to learn how to talk all over again. Your determination and heart shone through. You tackled your vocabulary, and even some sign language, to make yourself understood.

You were only 5 when you were diagnosed with a tumor on your brain stem. You went through brain surgery, six weeks of daily radiation and a year of chemotherapy. You amaze me with how willing and cheerful you have stayed. You get a lot of pleasure out of life, even when you feel bad because of your treatments.

Sadly, your cancer came back last year, after about six months of being cancer-free. This time it is in your spine. It grieves me to say that there are no cures available. The best we can do is to control the growth and spread of the cancer. The chemotherapy you get now is doing a nice job of that. But it won’t do so forever.

We can change to a different variety of chemo, but the truth is that we’ll eventually run out of combinations that work. Your doctor says that we might be able to keep you with us for as long as two more years or as short a time as six months.

I want so much for you to live, to become a teenager, for you to grow into the beautiful woman I know you would be, to fall in love and maybe have children. You’ve had such a hard time in your life, it seems unfair for you to be deprived of continuing. You get simple delight from discovering new things. You’re always teaching me.

Did you know that you’re named for a constellation? That means you aren’t just a star in my heart, sweetie, you’re a whole bunch of stars.

We’re planning to enjoy you as long as we’re allowed to. I will forever be grateful that you came into my life, Lyra. I am infinitely enriched from being with you.

I will never forget the feel of your arms around my neck or the sound of your voice, belting out songs along with the Beatles on the radio. The sound of your little voice, chirping with happiness while you play with your toys, is part of me now. I love you, Little Bit, and I will never stop.

So happy birthday, sweetheart. I pray you will have many more.

Love, Mommy

Kay W. Thompson is a Stillwater resident. E-mail her at kaywt@suddenlink.net.

Text Only