Her name was Daisy.
The first time we met the air was frigid.
And neither of us had hair.
But we were both smiling.
Her name was Daisy.
Her soul was surely 87.
Her body was 8 or 9.
Her cancer was new to her body.
Ewing’s Sarcoma.
A cancer known to be a beast
had found its way into this beauty.
Her name was Daisy.
Her smile was truly infectious.
Her voice had this melodic cadence.
She drew attention at every turn.
She just had this thing about her.
She also had cancer.
Until she didn’t.
For a bit.
Her name was Daisy.
She spoke beautiful Spanish.
She spoke beautiful English.
She spoke with a matter-of-factness that was unique to a human who had been around only two handfuls of time.
Her name was Daisy.
She loved pink. And purple. And yellow.
Just like her namesake, she sparked joy wherever she was.
She made me laugh.
She made everyone laugh with her wit.
She made everyone pause in her wisdom.
Her name was Daisy.
And she loved daisies.
Their happiness.
Their simplicity.
And when her cancer came back with a vengeance, hundreds of strangers sent daisies, for Daisy.
Her name was Daisy.
She loved to read.
When I saw her reading “Fault in our stars” and told her it was sad, she said, “why? Because there’s death and cancer? That’s just life.” And she wasn’t sad. She was just real.
Her name was Daisy.
She understood things.
She understood how much her family loved her.
And she knew how deeply she loved them.
She understood how to talk with adults, perhaps better than most adults do.
She loved drawing. And writing.
She loved her mom’s cooking.
She loved dancing and singing.
She especially adored Camila Cabello.
And she planned to dance to her music again.
If attitude was all that it took to smash cancer, Daisy, like so many others, would have done so.
But Ewing’s Sarcoma… it’s a heavy hitter.
And it found its way back.
Into her back. Again.
Her name was Daisy.
Her mother, Josefina, was ever-present, always-fighting, always-joyful with her only daughter.
She smiled when she talked about her brothers.
She loved her dad.
She filled her home with laughter and light.
She would dance until a day in the Fall when her legs no longer allowed for it.
Her name was Daisy.
She wanted to see Japan.
And invent a medicine to cure infant cancers because it made her sad to hear them crying in pain when she was in the PICU.
She told me she knows God is good.
And that Heaven is real.
And I do believe she’s right.
On the 4th of July, her earthly battle with cancer gave way to her first dance with the angels. To a Camila Cabello song, I am sure.
We talk in past tense when someone is no longer present. We are left with memories so happy that they make us sad.
We start to say “was” instead of “is.”
But Daisy, she is…
She is so much more than a patient.
She is so much more than cancer.
Truly, Daisy will always be.
She is your favorite song on the radio.
She is your heart beating — BOOM BOOM BOOM — from dancing yourself sweaty.
She is the bit of sunshine peeking through an overcast sky.
She is the feeling that overwhelms you when you know life is a gift.
She is the hope of tomorrow when today feels dismal.
She is the reminder that it is never simply our years on earth that measure our worth.
Her name, is Daisy.
She changed the world, in-person, for 12 years.
And she left it changed forevermore.
++Daisy’s mom, Josefina, shared the information about the Mass. if you plan to attend, please wear pink, purple, or yellow to honor the bright light that Daisy was and will always be.
