Love, Kristen
What is it, you ask?
On June 1st, 2008, our daughter Kristen passed away after a year-long battle with cervical cancer. The only symptom she had was six weeks after graduating from college, her right foot swelled up. Eleven months later, we sprinkled Florida beach sand and sea shells on her coffin before lowering it into the ground.
During that year I learned new words and phrases like HPV, cisplatin chemo, stage IIIC, PET scan, internal radiation and lymphedema, and was haunted by inoperable and pain control. I learned how to put 13 medications on an Excel spreadsheet so my wife, Brenda, and I could keep Kristen's dosage regimes straight. I learned how to build a wooden wheelchair ramp, and later, to recycle the wood to make a sandbox for little Jacob, who Kristen loved like a son. I learned how caring friends, family members, our church family and the medical community can rally to support and care for us.
The toughest lesson I learned was how to say goodbye to a princess. www.kristeneve.org is my goodbye.
Thankfully, unbeknownst to me, Kristen was a prolific and very creative writer, leaving 17 journals behind packed with her life experiences and wisdom. Two of the journals were filled with poetry and song lyrics, and two she penned during her last year. After reading these, a divinely inspired thought came to me . . . why not put her notes together with the e-mail updates we sent during her last year into a three-ring binder - and, later, a book - for little Jacob to read when he is older? He will be able to experience Kristen's faith, hope and miracles sprinkled with her courage and humor.
As I researched HPV and cervical cancer, I learned that there is a vaccine available to fight both - yes, to prevent HPV and cervical cancer. Most of Kristen's friends knew little about the HPV vaccine and its tie to cancer. The lack of knowledge of the lifesaving series of three shots astounded me.
I had seen the Gardasil TV commercials, but never made the connection until we rolled Kristen's gurney onto the oncology wing at St. Vincent's Hospital and heard the diagnosis announced: Stage IIIC . . . Inoperable.
Oh, dear God, this can't be happening.
The rest is in her book: Love, Kristen.
A very proud Dad and Mom,
Kirk & Brenda Forbes
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