It's hard to believe that just a year ago I visited you in the hospital. You had just had your first Dialysis. You were bright and smiling, and when you saw me you yelled out like you always did… ROBERT! You were always happy to see me. Your braided hair (which had been tied up in two buns on either side of your head) was disheveled, and I said, “You look like Princess Leia after a bender”. I took your picture with my Cell Phone… I could not know it was your last picture.
I remember when Mom picked you up from the Hospital; you were only a couple of weeks old, and the cutest baby we had ever seen.
I fell in love with you immediately. We all did, you were our Pamela…
Growing up I was you’re your big brother and protector. Nothing would hurt my baby sister while I was around.
Like everyone in our family at the time, I was devastated when I heard you had cancer and was told you would not see your seventh birthday. But…
You were a fighter, and with the help of Radiation and Chemotherapy you defeated cancer in short order… The only casualty was you pretty hair, and one Kidney. Your hair would soon grow back more beautiful than before.
You had a dragonfly creeper that allowed you to run amuck, in and outside of the house. Proving you were just as rambunctious as any other five year old. When you got your wheelchair it was my privilege to transfer you to and from the car, and to your bed every morning and night. You were never heavy.
I often fought tooth and nail with my other sisters and brothers but I never fought with you, and could never be mean to you.
You were sick or in the hospital many times, but you always triumphed. Each time though, the fight took its toll.
When I heard your last kidney had given it’s all, I thought you would easily beat this one… Until they told us they were putting you on Xigris. I looked it up and found it is only given to patients who are desperately ill. Only then did I realize our Pam was facing her most serious foe, and possibly her final battle.
I was not there when you passed away. I did not get to say goodbye and tell you how much I loved you. I arrived just minutes after the fight was lost. This time I could not protect you. My heart broke when they said you were gone.
I will miss your smiling face. I will miss your excitement when I would visit. I will miss the game of earthquake we played with you in your wheelchair. I will miss how you would follow me around like a puppy dog. I will miss the way you jealously guarded that giant bag of M&M’s you once had (though I never saw you eat a single one). I will even miss the way you cussed like a sailor when you got teased just a little too much.
I remembered the picture I took with my phone. I copied it to my computer, but was so terribly disappointed when I found that it was blurry.
I could still see that you were smiling; you were always smiling, and I will always remember you that way.