This is a poem that was written from a very special girl we met in 3B. Unfortunatey she lost her battle with cancer but her mum found this whilst going through all her writing. RIP Tayla, we miss your beautiful smile and your infinite wisdom!
I’ll Always Remember You,
I remember the first time I saw you.
I couldn’t see your face behind the plastic mask and the blood stained bandages.
A nurse was playing around with one of the hundred cords attached to you.
A woman sat next to your bed with red eyes and a soggy tissue in her fist.
I assumed she was your mother.
You were so still in your bed, entangled in tubes and things I hadn’t seen before
Mum and I both looked into your window and then quickly to the floor.
I concentrated on the wheels of my chair rolling over the cold, white floor until your room was behind us.
I saw you again the next day, I didn’t mean to stare.
I had never seen so many pumps on one stand.
Your eyes were closed and I felt relieved.
It would be soul destroying if you were to see what you looked like right now.
They told me you had come from ICU, had brain tumours and was in a coma.
You weren’t expected to live for much longer.
My heart sank.
A few days later, as mum pushed me up the hallway passed your room I noticed that your eyes were open.
The TV was on but you were staring out the window.
A few more days later when I passed your room again,
You looked at me. I nervously smiled but your mouth didn’t even twitch.
There were no emotion in your eyes, they were hollow and vacant.
And suddenly I felt all your emptiness.
People were telling me you had woken, but you were still very sick.
Over the next week I watched your room become filled with cards, balloons, drawing, and letters.
I couldn’t help but ask “Mum, what’s that?”
“I think it’s a hoist” we both looked away and I didn’t reply.
A couple of weeks later I saw you again.
You were sitting in a chair watching TV, a few less cords around you.
There was still nothing showing on your face, but you looked different somehow.
People told me you had surprised everyone and was recovering so quickly.
I could see it too.
Every time I saw you, your had one less pump on your stand, one less cord in your arm, one more ounce of energy.
One day your mum came in crying tears of joy, it was her birthday.
You had muttered your first words in months.
You said ‘Mum’
A few weeks later when I was in the school room,
Your mum wheeled you into the room in a kind of chair that had so many bits here and there, it looked more like a space ship.
We played uno with the school teacher; we had to keep reminding you it was your turn.
Your words were few and short, your movements were stiff.
But you won, twice.
It was then I noticed you were wearing a nappy and I nearly cried.
No 13 year old should have to do that.
Now months and months later, you’re a walking a miracle.
Today you walked in, a bit wobbly. With plastic things around your ankles.
You still have no hair, but your smile was so overwhelmingly bright.
You sat down and you told me how awesome and ‘fully sick’ you were, followed by a slow nod and raised eyebrows.
I laughed, and wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to tell me you were awesome.
I already knew that.
I wondered if you actually realised how amazing you really are,
You don’t remember the horrendous things that happened.
You just know what is happening now, maybe that’s a good thing.
You gave me a hug and left.
And even if tomorrow you don’t remember me and I have to introduce myself to you for the hundredth time,
I wouldn’t care because I will never, could never for get you.
