Today I attended a funeral for Caiden Peters, a little boy who died 2 months before his 6th birthday.
He had battled AML, Acute Myelogenous Leukemia, for 26 months before he became one of the rare people to die from the disease itself; apparently most people die from the treatments. Either way, this brand of leukemia is pernicious and horrid.
His mother, Lisa Peters, had kept up an
online journal detailing his progress.
We all read along, rooting for his progress. We cheered when he had good days, where he could run over the nurses' toes with his tricycle. We held our breath when he had bad days, when his pain was so bad he required morphine.
We cried when his friends in the hospital died. We hoped his outcome would be different.
We agonized when the journal told us that he was terminal. Over 91% of his white blood cells were cancerous. He would not survive the preparations for a bone marrow transplant. All there was to do was to make him comfortable.
He died 8 days later. 2 months before he turned 6. He never even had a visit from the Tooth Fairy. He never got to blow out six candles. He won't get to see Santa.
So many people were crushed. The poor little boy. The poor family.
Today was his funeral. So many people were expected, that they had attendants in the parking lot.
His urn was at the front of the room, with his blankie wrapped around his stuffed kitty, and both of them leaning on the urn. His little suit was hanging near his favourite toys.
The service proceeded as they do, with people speaking, the minister offering words of comfort, pictures of Caiden on the screen while lullabies played. Noses were being blown throughout.
Caiden's mom's best friend, a lovely sweet little young lady named Pam, came up to speak about him. She could barely speak for the tears. Her voice shook with strain as she tried to offer a tidbit about him. She had nothing prepared; she just spoke.
Then she told this story:
"Caiden was a poltergeist alright. He always was a crazy little man. Even when he was in palliative care, he still had spunk. He said to me," ...here her voice really trembled... "'Auntie, sniff my butt!'" We all roared with laughter! Then she finished with, "So I did. But I made him sniff mine first!"
What a perfect tribute to a 6 year old boy! This was a fine illustration of his personality, and to hear it delivered by a sweet young lady who couldn't hold back the tears just made it even more perfect.
When I talked to her at the reception I told her how excellent her story was. She said she was shocked that she'd even told it; she'd had nothing in mind when she went up to the microphone, and was surprised to hear that story coming out.
I don't doubt that Caiden was behind her, whispering in her ear to "Tell that story, Auntie Pam!".
Godspeed, Caiden.
images courtesy of Caiden's blog at http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/Caiden. See link above
