George Alexander Churches

♥ ♥ George ♥ ♥
It broke my heart to lose you
but you did not go alone,
part of me went with you
the day you were called home.
A million times I've thought of you,
a million times I've cried.
If loving could have saved you,
you never would have died.
Forgive me, for I'll always weep,
for my George who I loved but could not keep.

* * * * * * *

If we could have a life time wish
a dream that would come true,
then we would wish with all our hearts
for yesterday and you.

A thousand words can't bring you back
we know because we've tried,
neither will a thousand tears
we know because we've cried.

You left behind our broken hearts
and happy memories too,
but we never wanted memories,
we only wanted you.

George Alexander Churches, aged 7, died November 5th (Bonfire Night) 2006. He was a brave,
beautiful and special little boy, who lived with his mummy, daddy and big sister Lucy in High
Wycombe, Buckinghamshire.

George was diagnosed with Burkitt's Lymphoma (also known as Burkitt's Leukaemia), a rare cancer of
the lymph system, in April 2006, when he was 6 years old. At the time George was diagnosed, his
cancer was already at stage IV - it had spread to his bone marrow and was systemic. He braved 7
months of intensive chemotherapy, and we thought the cancer had gone. But with only two treatments
left, the cancer came back in George's spinal fluid. There was nothing more the doctors could do,
so we brought our special little boy home. Burkitt's is one of the most aggressive human cancers
there is, and George died three and a half weeks later.

We miss our little boy with all our hearts, and he can never be replaced. He was funny and gorgeous
and had big blue eyes and dark blond hair, before the chemo made it all fall out. Just before he
died, his hair and eyebrows were growing back, black! George was all about fun. He was always
smiling, even when he felt very unwell. He was incredibly brave and rarely complained about his
treatments. If he felt especially bad, he would sometimes say 'mummy, I don't like having cancer'.
That would be the extent of his complaining. The only time he cried about it was when he had to
have steroid eye-drops which were really stingy to his eyes. Even then, he never fought or said no,
he just cried a little bit and let the nurses get on with it. Not long after he was first
diagnosed, he told his daddy 'daddy, I don't want to die, I want to live.' We reassured him that he
would, because at that time we had no reason to believe that his cancer would be resistant to the
chemotherapy.

George was an avid Dr. Who fan, so much so that when he died we dressed him in his Dr. Who outfit,
complete with sonic screwdriver (!) and we had a special Tardis coffin made. Our funeral directors,
who were completely amazing, provided a quilt with a Dr. Who cover on, to go in the grave on top of
the coffin. At George's funeral, the Dr. Who theme tune and the Tardis sound-effect were played.
David Tennant, the current Dr. Who, sent George a letter and a signed postcard, but sadly it arrived
just after George died. I like to think that he saw it from heaven anyway.

We found a beautiful woodland cemetery for George's grave. To start with, his daddy put a wooden
surround around it and we filled it with beach pebbles and candles and George's collection of shells
and several knick-knacks. It looked beautiful, but nothing makes up for not having him here with
us, where he belongs. Now, we've had a new headstone put up for George, and we've redone the
perimeter of his grave with garden edging, in an orangy terracotta. Orange was George's favourite
colour. The headstone is sparkly and has a heart in the middle and two giraffe engravings on either
side - George's favourite animal. He always said that when he grew up, he wanted to be "a
zoo-keeper who looks after giraffees!"

George's sister Lucy, who's now 13 (she was 10 when he died), misses him terribly. They played
together all the time and rarely argued. She told me 'mummy, I haven't only lost a brother, I've
lost a friend.'

On the day that George died, Lucy was sitting by him, holding her little brother's hand. He was
gripping her finger tightly, even though he was pretty much comatose by that point. He was still
gripping her finger when he took his last breath. Lucy likes to say that she's connected to heaven
by a finger! She asked to be kept completely involved throughout. She even helped us to wash and
dress him after he died, and she wrote a letter to put in his coffin, and came with us to the chapel
of rest to see him a few days later. She insisted on spending time alone with him in there - we
think she must have had things to say to George that didn't involve us. Sometimes I think as adults
we forget that children have their own relationships...she was his sister and we didn't have that
relationship to him. She is lonely now.

The house seems so quiet. There isn't enough mess. There isn't enough dirty laundry, or shoes, or
coats. There is only one school bag and one school lunchbox. I cannot imagine that losing our
precious little boy is something we will ever get over. I suppose it's just a matter of looking for
ways to live with it.

GEORGE NOW ALSO HAS A BABY BROTHER OR SISTER IN HEAVEN, THAT HE IS LOOKING AFTER FOR US.

This is a poem I wrote for my precious boy.

MUMMY-HUG

A mummy-hug. That's all I need,
your little arms around my neck,
and from this pain I would be freed.
But you're not here. I know. I check.

Two muddy knees. And then I could
get out the soap and rubber duck,
and clean you up like mummies should.
But you're not here. So now I'm stuck.

And on school mornings, quiet and still,
there should be not one lunch, but two,
your little tum with food to fill.
But you're not here. There's one too few.

This empty space I cannot stand;
this ache, this longing for your smile.
To feel in mine your little hand,
to hold you once again, a while.

But you're not here. You're underground
in cold, wet earth, despite my pleas.
There's nothing left except the sound
of candles sputtering in the breeze.

How can it be? My little boy,
so full of life, so sweet, so brave.
You brought such happiness and joy
till cancer put you in your grave.

And for your sister's sake I try
to move on forward through the pain.
But silently my heart will cry
till I get your mummy-hug again,

for my heart is broken, yet still beats
because it must. Life does go on.
The world still turns. The sun still heats.
But you're not here. You're gone. You're gone.

love mummy xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx