Stevie | Conglomeration of Joy

After a two-year, hard-fought battle against Acute Myeloid Leukemia, Stevie’s little heart stopped early Friday evening. She was such an incredibly spunky little girl, whose sass was evident not only in her relationships with family, friends, nurses and doctors, but also as strength and tenacity in fighting hard against her cancer for so long. Yet in the very end, Stevie at long last ceased her struggle and ended her four years of this life in sweet peace.

I longed to sing over her a blessing, yet my voice and words failed me. Stevie comes to me in bright snapshots of joy. She was a little girl whose bright spirit made me want to come down close so I could see into those shining, laughing, mischievous eyes. The sweet smallness of her voice made you want to lean in and hear anything and everything she had to tell you. Yes, Stevie, show me again how your tongue can reach all the way up to your nose. And off they’d go, she and Allistaire racing down the hall, glee in their eyes.

Other snapshots cut like a hot blade. There was her pole. Just standing there outside her door. Empty. Devoid of lines. No longer attached to her. Strange how strange and out-of-place it looked standing there alone and empty, abandoned. I hadn’t realized until that moment how the IV pole of a child with cancer is almost like some bizarre extension of themselves. They are rarely without it. They are unable to do the simplest tasks without it. That pole must accompany them to the bathroom, to the bed, to brush teeth, to go for a walk. And there it was like a bashful naked girl standing all alone, out-of-place, making no sense at all standing out in the hall with nothing to do.

The double stroller slammed my heart when I caught sight of it in the corner of my eye. Oh, oh. A stroller for Stevie and Finlee, a stroller meant for two. I knew the car seat would sit staring back empty in the rearview mirror. Stevie’s absence its own presence. When I walked out of their room at Ron Don I happened to see Stevie’s bath toys. The little wind up mermaid, identical to the one Allistaire has. The clip-on Disney princess dresses just like those Allistaire plays with.

Keshia and Michael had to wake up today for the first time in nearly five years without Stevie, without her right there where she has been for so long. How can you care for a child every minute of every day for years and then just wake up without them? To care for a child with cancer is an attention to detail that defies description. All your motherly senses are on constant high alert. You attend to your child with an unwavering intensity, always taking in every single nuance. Nothing escapes your notice and you mull these bits and threads of information, tiny nubs of data, over and over in your mind, examining from every angle, breathless that you might miss something and that ragged toothed beast will find its way in and tear at your child’s flesh.

The days behind have been long, long, long and wearying, tear filled and have flown so fast, not nearly enough, and joy that just makes you hope for more time to know, to love, to delight looking into those eyes. The road ahead is long, long, long. From this point forward, every day will dawn without Stevie and all of Keshia and Michael’s life will be oriented to some degree along this line, this dividing line of with Stevie and without Stevie. No words will ever, ever undo the death of Stevie. No words can erode this loss or dampen the pain. But may we each, who have loved Stevie, never cease speaking her name, recalling with joy our memories of her. May we grab those snapshots and hug them round, not shying away from them because of the pain, but allowing the deep hollowing wound to bear witness to how great a bounty it has been for the world to have held Stevie in it. May we be faithful friends to Keshia and Michael and may Finlee’s childhood be filled with stories of her big sister whose life overlapped with hers for only a few mere weeks.

Thank you compassionate-hearted folk, you who know Stevie and Keshia and Michael and those who have never met them, all who look in on this sorrow and say, we love you and we stand by you as you mourn. We mourn with you, heavy grief that we live in a world where Stevie no longer dwells, grief that children die of cancer, of just so much brokenness.

Keshia and Michael, and little Finlee, are back at Ronald McDonald house as they wrap up their time here in Seattle and sort out what’s next. For those who have signed up for meals, thank you so much for your generosity of time and resource. If you have signed up for bringing dinner, it would still be a great help for Keshia and Michael to have dinner delivered (details below). However, they will not be needing lunches given their need for flexibility to be out and about during the day. Financial assistance is still a great way to show love and support as they make travel and housing arrangements in the days ahead. From this point forward, please direct your giving to their “www.YouCaring.com Stevie Strong,” site.

Blessings on your sweet head Stevie. And from Allistaire, who loves you truly, a blow kiss…

Please deliver dinners to Ronald McDonald House A (5130 40th Ave NE, Seattle, WA 98105), under the name “Stevie Rasmussen.” It’s helpful if you let the front desk folk know that the delivery is food and request that it be refrigerated. The house staff will leave a message on their room phone to inform them of the delivery.

Updates on How to Help at the bottom of post.

“I still can’t believe this is happening. What I’ve feared most for the past two years is becoming reality. I’m having to watch the most precious thing in the world to me die. I seriously don’t know how to move forward, nor do I want to. I will miss her sweet voice and beautiful smile so, so, so much. Always wondering what she would have been like as the years pass without her in my life. This is truly the most awful feeling in the world.” Keisha, Stevie’s mom

Stevie’s marrow and peripheral blood are full of leukemia. She has a serious bacterial infection that also infiltrated her Hickman catheter, requiring her line to be pulled. Her breathing is fast, 70-80 breaths a minute. Her fevers are constant.

Stevie’s parents, Michael and Keisha, had to make the brutal decision yesterday to stop any further treatment. All the monitors are off. No vitals are being taken. She has limited access to get meds in because IV team is unable to place a line. At this point, there are no more chemotherapy options for Stevie, so advanced is her disease and infection. She is incredibly uncomfortable but is being provided the best pain management available.

The room is dark and the bed laden with more girlish colors and patterns than you can imagine. Keisha longs to pull Stevie into the curve of her body but Stevie feels so “yucky,” that she only wants the constant sensation of her legs and body being rubbed, tender hands ever-present.

Stevie’s baby sister only came out into the world three weeks ago. So little time for two sisters to know each other, to bond. As one is just arriving, the other is departing. The pain like your rib cage being torn open with blunt force.

Not nearly enough tears will come. I think about Stevie and her family clustered in that small room; all day and night they enter my thoughts. It is like watching a version of your own life. Like Allistaire, Stevie was almost the same age when she was diagnosed, just two years old. Both diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia. Two little Montana girls. Their room is across the hall from ours in Ron Don. They have matching unicorn pants. In the stunted confined way that is the only possible way in this strange labyrinth of pediatric cancer, Stevie has been Allistaire’s closest friend. I can picture perfectly where I stood at St. Edward’s State Park when I first learned of Stevie’s story. I can still see her fantastically chubby legs the first time I met her in person soon after she was diagnosed. I remember so clearly pulling off to the side of Kelly Canyon Road before I lost cell reception to hear news of Stevie’s relapse. So many points stand bright and vivid, in part because they have been so like our own. In part because Stevie is a wild cat, full of glee and mischief and just straight up adorable. There is so much to love about that girl. It seems incomprehensible that the world can exist without her.

As her family, mom Keisha, dad Michael, grandmother, aunt and baby sister dwell minute by minute through all the minutes left for Stevie, I am yearning to care for them in any way that is possible. There is nothing any of us can do to stop the careening path Stevie is on, but what I want to do is to support their ability to remain together in that room as a family and specifically to take away the time-consuming task of figuring out meals. This is where I’d like to ask for your help. It is my goal to have all meals covered for Stevie’s family for the coming days. If you would like to show tangible love for them, please see the details below on how you can sign-up to bring a meal, give money to contribute to meals and/or give money directly to Stevie’s parents.

Thank you for all of you who so faithfully pray on our behalf. I ask that you would do the same in this agonizing time for Stevie and her family. I pray that the Spirit of God would bring Stevie comfort.

***Updated Thursday morning 1/28 @ 10:45am

Thank you for your overwhelming response in wanting to help!!!! There are three main ways to do this:

1. For those of you in the area that want to provide a meal, please follow this link to Take Them A Meal and sign up to bring a lunch or dinner for four adults. Enter the last name Rasmussen and password stevie2016

Meals can be dropped off at the River Entrance front Security Desk at Seattle Children’s Hospital (4800 Sand Point Way NE, Seattle, WA 98105)

Not too spicy as Keisha is nursing, just enough for a meal as they have limited fridge space to store extra food, and they only have access to a microwave so please supply food in easy to use portions and cut anything requiring cutting as they do not have access to kitchen utensils. Please review what others are bringing so you don’t inundate them with too much of the same type of food. No one wants to eat lasagna 5 days in a row, no matter your circumstances.

2. If you’re out of the area and want to give money to help provide meals, you can do so through this link Square Cash. Online you can only use your debit card. If you get the iPhone or Android app you can use either a debit or credit card, though there is a 3% fee for credit card use.

If you’d like to send a check, please mail it to Ronald McDonald House, Attn: Allistaire Anderson, 5130 40th Ave NE, Seattle, WA 98015 and please write “Stevie” in the menu line to make it clear that you are giving for meals for Stevie’s family.

Any money that may be raised that exceeds the amount needed for meals, I will give directly to Stevie’s mom and dad, Keisha and Michael.

3. I am sure Keisha and Michael will have many expenses in the coming days and weeks on top of the financial strain of the last two years, so if you would like to give directly to them, you may do so through their Stevie Strong You Caring site.