Jill S.

Jill S., 27 October 13, '69 - January 3, '97 cancer

MESSAGES FROM HEAVEN

Fall is once again in the air. The cooler temperatures and the smell in the air is a daily reminder that Jill’s 29th birthday is fast approaching. She loved this time of year as did the entire family. Everyone good naturedly complained about raking the leaves. The backyard was always thickly covered in leaves by her birthday, October 13th. Celebrating a birthday was not sufficient cause to be excused from the job of raking.

Since Jill’s diagnosis of leukemia in June of 1995, and her subsequent death on January 3, 1997, we have not had the emotional or physical strength to rake leaves. The neighbors cannot be very happy but somehow, after the snows of winter have melted, the leaves are gone, just as Jill is gone in her physical form. She has not left us completely. She lives on in the many, many messages she left behind.

No one knew more than Jill the impact her illness had on her life and on the lives of those she loved. She learned to live one day at a time, believing that today might not be so good, but tomorrow would surely be better.

She loved life and the many, many people in it were loved unconditionally. By her example she reminded us to "show and tell" the people we love how we feel about them as often and openly as we can.

Those of us who loved her were so often the lucky recipients of greeting cards from Jill. It didn’t have to be a special occasion such as Christmas or birthday, it might just have been a card to say, "I love you" or "I’m thinking of you". It was her practice to always underline the most important words of the message and also enclose a more personal handwritten note that would always warm your heart. The cards were signed with a smile face and "x’s and o’s" to signify hugs and kisses. I always kept the cards Jill sent to me. They were too precious and personal to ever dispose of. They were tucked in a drawer here or a box there and temporarily forgotten. Our lives became very chaotic during Jill’s illness and even more so after her passing.

But it was during the very difficult time after her passing that the cards began to "show up" when least expected. It seemed that when I’d reach an extremely low point, I would conveniently come upon one of the cards containing a warm note from Jill. The card always seemed to convey an appropriate message of encouragement to fit the problem at hand.

Who would have ever thought that simple greeting cards would become life’s valuable treasures. These greetings from Jill are truly gifts from Heaven and help me keep her beautiful memory alive. I believe she smiles down on me each time I read her messages. They are a constant reminder of the sunshine of her smile, her zest for life, and her love for all of us who love her.

So on her birthday, I’ll wish her a very Happy Birthday in her new home where she is free from all pain, and pull out her "love notes", and search for a message from my precious child.

Jill's Mom, Ann S.

October 13, 1997

To my precious daughter Jill,

Today marks your 28th birthday. For you, we know it will be the best ever. As a child the excitement of the day came second only to Christmas. Even as an adult in the workplace your birthdays were always full of surprises. You'd come home loaded down with cards, gifts, flowers, and cake. It was almost as if you were once again a child for the day.

The last two birthdays were spent in the hospital, but even being there couldn't take the excitement out of your day. Two years ago you had just completed high dose chemotherapy which achieved a remission of the leukemia, but you were still in the hospital fighting an infection. Your spirits were high even though you'd spent most of the summer hospitalized and in isolation to protect you from infection. The staff at Henry Ford filled your day with surprises. There were cards, flowers, and gifts from friends, even gifts, cards, birthday cake from staff members. Doctors and nurses performed their rendition of "Happy Birthday". We gave you a giant hot air balloon with gold earrings hidden in the basket. Your smile lit up the entire F-1 wing of the hospital. We were all so full of hope. You'd beaten leukemia and were successfully responding to antibiotics for the infection.

Last year's birthday was spent in Harper Hospital. You had just been admitted to have your frail body prepared for an unrelated donor bone marrow transplant. You had overcome the disappointment of a relapse in June and endured a second summer ritual of chemotherapy and radiation. More bad news and another summer of isolation still could not break your spirit. Fortunately, another remission was achieved and you looked forward to the transplant - your only hope for survival - all possible because of the gift of life from a total stranger. This was the greatest gift anyone could ever give to you. October 13 was the third day of intense chemotherapy, but you still looked forward to your birthday. Unlike the staff of Henry Ford, the Harper staff didn't acknowledge your day, but that didn't really make a difference to you. You just kept smiling for us. You were able to leave your isolation room to celebrate with your family in the lounge. We broke the rules about food in the lounge by sharing chocolate birthday pie. It was a quiet celebration, unlike so many others, but still filled with hope for recovery.

We have so many pictures of other birthdays but none of this last birthday celebration. Maybe that's your way of helping us remember the healthy days.

We doubt there's a need to celebrate your 28th birthday in heaven because every day must seem like the best birthday ever.

We know you are with us in spirit today. You promised us that and we believe. We in turn promise to mark the day, not with tears, with whatever smiles we can muster. Traci, Alyssa, and I will attend a mass in your memory this morning, followed by lunch (just like we've always done on our birthdays). In the afternoon we will plant tulip bulbs in our backyard surrounding the angel you gave me for Christmas. When spring arrives we'll have a living reminder of one of the many beautiful things that you loved.

We will miss your beautiful smile and your unforgettable laughter on this day, as we have every day since your death. But the thought that you are now free of any pain and are awaiting us on the other side will help us through.

I love you baby, Mom.

Jill's Mom, Ann, writes:

Her co-workers at Atlas Corp. AFS have continued to raise funds for the Children's Leukemia Foundation in her memory. These efforts to continue to honor her memory while supporting such a worthwhile organization gives us great comfort. The enclosed "Tribute to Jill" was composed by her caregivers at Henry Ford Hospital. It was presented to us at the funeral home by several of the nurses who came to the funeral home to pay their respects.

" A Tribute to Jill "

Dear (Jill's) Family;

It was important for us as Jill's nurses to share our thoughts - for many reasons - but most importantly because of the tremendous impact she had on our lives. As oncology nurses, we all understand the risks when we become "too attached" - when we "cross over" those inviisible, emotional boundaries with our patients. For Jill we "broke all the rules" - the boundaries just didn't exist. There are so many things that collectively we remember. Her smile is probably the first - how wide and beautiful, it lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle; and how easily it turned into that hearty laugh which touched our hearts and warmed our insides. It easily gave way to hugs, which I know you understand can be a "no-no" on F3. Jill didn't seem to care! Her sense of giving and humor were often combined. You're aware of how much we (and our waistlines) appreciated the non-nutritional "stuff" - chocolate, chocolate and more chocolate which sat in a bowl by Jill's sink - within easy reach as each one of entered and washed hands … Jill always remembered to encourage us to take some. At certain times, the bowl was missing - Jill, when she couldn't keep anything down, would just smile and wink "if I can't eat it, neither can you". Jill always went along with our stories and practical jokes - she never said a word when her collection (and I mean collection!) of hats mysteriously disappeared from her room, only to reappear intermittently throughout the day on the heads of each nurse who entered,. She'd joke and we'd take bets about what color and texture her "new hair" would be. We heard Jill complain once when she paid for new highlights in her hair and found out the next day "more chemo". Jill was a lesson to each of us - a lesson in perseverance, determination aand always, always in patience. Determination to go home in spite of retching, was having her bags packed and at the door at 7:00 a.m. (we actually think they had been there all night and just hidden from our sight!). Her patience, with our constant interruptions, even when they came during Thursday night "must-see-TV". No one, not even us, can imagine what it's like to remain secluded behind closed doors for weeks at a time. Were there down moments? Absolutely! Did it ever affect the way she interacted with the staff? Never! We'd tease Jill that we'd pay her to be a consultant for some of our "other" patients. When I tell you that the staff would literally "step over and on each other" to have Jill as our patient for the shift, I'm not exaggerating! It was a joy to take care of her and to have her "take care of us". Jill also shared with us her joys - about her co-workers and friends, her condo, her dog, especially her goddaughter and niece. We always knew the unspoken - to you, her family, who so unselfishly an lovingly supported her - every moment of every day - it's a commitment that only we as nurses can truly understand and appreciate. You were always thinking of some way to brighten her day (and ours too)., From answering machines, to warm woolly slippers, socks, pajamas, blankets, stuffed animals, food - and those love notes secretly hidden under her pillow at night time. You made our job so much easier. You became the strength - and it's that strength that you passed on to Jill and ultimately to us. Jill was an inspiration and a constant reminder to all of us - of how small life's problems really are in comparison to the challenges she encountered and faced each and every day. Jill was God's gift to us here on each and has now become his treasure in heaven. She will always remain in our thoughts as we remember you now in our prayers.
Stay close ...

With love from the F3 staff - Henry Ford Hospital 1/4/97