From the heart: How can she be gone? a mother’s tragic story
Full of life, Vicky Whyte’s daughter was a force of nature – until a shocking illness struck her down...
As I sorted through a pile of well-worn school jumpers, a figure appeared at my shoulder. I knew who it was without turning around. ‘Hello, Leah,’ I smiled. ‘Have you written your list?’
it was august 2012 and i was taking my children shopping for new school uniforms – one of our favourite family traditions. as she did every year, leah, then 14, had compiled a shopping list, noting every item we needed for herself, her younger brother simon, 13, and sister Miriam, nine – right down to the exact number of pairs of socks. in previous years, before she had finished school, her older sister rachel, 18, had also been on the list. leah had always been organised. she’d follow me around, saying, ‘Mummy, have you done this?’ i’d tell people, ‘When leah goes away, the house falls apart!’
Bright future
But more than anything, she loved making people smile. Ever since she had leared to write as a little girl, she would leave notes around the house, with messages such as, ‘Mummy, i love you xxx.’
she had lots of friends and a lovely boyfriend, nic, and enjoyed family get-togethers and picnics. But she was happiest at our home near limavady, northern ireland, with me, her dad Horace, 55, and her brother and sisters, baking her speciality, Fifteens – a traybake made with chocolate chips, biscuits and marshmallows. and she loved children – her ambition was to become a youth counsellor one day.
so setting off in the sunshine that morning for uniform shopping, we could never have known how life would soon change; how in just 17 months our precious leah wouldn't be here at all.
it started with mouth ulcers in november 2012. then leah caught flu and couldn’t shake her tiredness. a blood test on her 15th birthday – 31 december 2012 – revealed a low white blood count. Finally, in april 2013, a biopsy confirmed the worst. ‘your daughter has myelodysplasia,’ the consultant explained over the phone. sitting beside me on the sofa, leah heard every word. she began typing into her smartphone. By the time i had hung up, she knew more about her condition than me. ‘it’s a rare form of blood cancer,’ she said. it was caused by a genetic mutation, Gata2, and her only hope was a bone marrow transplant. thankfully, tests then revealed her brother simon, 14, was a perfect match. ‘i’ll do anything to help leah,’ he said. in July 2013, i had to watch two of our children enduring major procedures at the Bristol royal Hospital for children. it was a nightmare but they were both so brave.
‘Above all, Leah loved making people smile’
While the transplant was a success and simon recovered in a matter of days, leah battled complications, including life-threatening septicaemia. she also had to have chemotherapy, which made her long hair fall out.
Ups and downs
When the rest of the family had to return to northern ireland, i stayed with leah in Bristol. Weeks passed and sometimes she was well enough to leave the ward and stay with me at sam’s House, clic sargent charity accommodation for young cancer patients and their families.
one day, leah asked if i could buy her some biscuits and marshmallows from the supermarket. ‘i’m making Fifteens for everyone,’ she smiled. But within days, her condition had slumped again and she was back in isolation, fighting a blood clot and urinary infection.
against all odds she pulled through and in october 2013, doctors allowed her to fly home. it was great to have her back, but she had to keep indoors to avoid infection. Miriam kept her company and that christmas was a happy time. But on 27 december, on the way to her weekly check-up at Belfast city Hospital, leah was sick in the car. ‘don’t tell the doctors,’ she begged, desperate not to miss a family party that night. But, of course, i had to say something and within 24 hours, she was admitted to the intensive care unit, struggling to breathe. ‘she’s developed idiopathic pneumonia syndrome – a rare complication of a transplant,’ a doctor explained. With her lungs filling with fluid, she was put on a ventilator. two weeks later she slipped into unconsciousness. sitting at her bedside, i was reminded of the times i’d held her tiny hand as a toddler.
if only love could have kept leah alive, there’d be no doubt of recovery. But now doctors asked us to face the unthinkable – saying goodbye. ‘i want leah to die surrounded by family, free from wires,’ i said. initially we were told it was impossible but finally, on 16 January 2014, we were allowed to move her to the northern ireland children’s Hospice
Hours later, with her favourite music, a Beautiful life by Mike’s chair playing and her family around her, leah slipped away. she was just 16.
Hundreds of people came to her funeral at Kilfennan Presbyterian church. she’d touched so many lives in her short years. But in our grief, nothing made sense. How could someone so young and vibrant, so full of life and love, be gone?
‘it’s all wrong,’ i’d sob to Horace. occasionally i’d find one of leah’s notes hidden inside a drawer and grief would hit me anew. things she’d loved doing – picnics and baking – were off limits. How could we have fun without her? our annual school uniform trip, in august 2014, was agonising. Without leah, we felt lost. then a charity referred our family for a therapeutic break at daisy lodge in newcastle, county down. there it helped to talk with other grieving families and counsellors.
Four years on, we’re still adjusting to life without leah. Miriam and i now bake Fifteens together in her honour and we all remember her through happy memories and gifts, like the jar of sand she gave her dad from their favourite beach.
as for me? When i want to feel close to leah, i dig out those little notes she left me, and slowly trace my finger over the outline of her words. despite our sense of loss, i’m grateful for the time we had with our precious girl.
‘Things she loved doing were off limits’