That day, and other days spent with her, I held on to each laugh, each reaction to new toys, hospital food, or the parade of people to her room. I listened as she tried to tell the nurse she liked the macaroni & cheese at home, but not the hospital macaroni & cheese. At 5 1/2 she was already an expert hospital food critic. She giggled as she told me how she liked pepperoni pizza with lots of pepperoni, and when I asked if the pepperoni was too spicy for her, she giggled more. It was a giggle that said, "What's the matter, Grandma, is pepperoni too spicy for YOU?"

Over the next year, both from a distance and up close, I watched how she touched others. The hospital staff, those at the school she attended, people where family members worked, those who knew her personally, and those who only knew her through us. They all prayed, they all showed concern, kindness, and compassion for this petite little red head with her winning smile.

My last days with Katlin were spent knowing that her time with us would not be long. She climbed into my lap one day and we sat watching television while her Mom and Dad ran some errands. It was my time with her and as she leaned back against me, with her head near my chin, I held her close. I took in her warmth; I smelled the auburn wisps of hair that formed a halo around the edge of her bald head, and I felt her fingers curl around mine as I rubbed her hand with my thumb.

She had talked with her Dad about being an angel, and in our quiet time together she started to talk to me about it as well. Her eyes never left the television; she just started talking... confidant I would be listening. She talked about being the “head angel in charge of puppies and kittens” and how she would take care of them. I was glad her eyes were focused on the television so she couldn't see the tears in mine.

When she was quiet again, I sang to her, told her how lucky we were to have her, how much everyone loved her, and that I thought she was the bravest little girl I have ever known. We never had another quiet time like that, and it was something I will always cherish. Nothing will ever fill the void that has been left in our lives, but memories will keep her alive forever in our hearts.

Since Katlin has passed away I am more aware of the children around me. My heart ached for the toddler in the market who was grabbed by her arm by a very young mother. I cringed as I heard the young mother loudly tell the toddler how bad she was, and how she wished she didn’t have to take her to the store with her. Then she turned sharply, still hanging on to the toddler’s arm and pulled her down the isle as the little one began to cry. I whispered a quiet prayer that the mother’s heart be touched and softened, and that the child feel loved.

At the park with another grandchild, Katie, I watched children run, and laugh, and play. I saw parents lovingly teaching them how to share, how to be considerate, and that they were there to help them on the larger playthings. I smiled and prayed they would always have happy memories of kind words for each other.

In her brief time with us Katlin taught me a lot about life. She taught me to live every moment to it’s fullest, to smile when things seem hopeless, and to do what is in my power to help make a positive difference in my world, even if it is to just give a smile to someone who looks like they need one. We will miss you Katlin, but know the puppies and kittens are in good hands.

Susan Stevens
Copyright 2003

Katlin was diagnosed with AML on February 16, 2002. It is a very aggressive leukemia with a much lower cure rate than ALL. She was a brave little girl who lost her battle April 2, 2003. You can see photos of her at www.katlingoard.com