Jessica Moorhead
Jessica's Story and Legacy
From her earliest childhood, Jessica Lynn Moorhead made the most of life. She was a ballerina and a ball player. She enjoyed cooking but also planned a career in law or medicine. She loved elegant evening gowns but also big, clunky shoes. She was both a debater and a peacemaker. She was confident in the spotlight but equally content to cheer from the sidelines when it was someone else's turn to shine.
Jessica was a girl who loved babies. When a child was placed in her care, she made sure that every moment was an experience to remember for that child. She was a girl who could converse with adults, always polite, but never afraid to offer her opinion. She was Tata, one of the first words uttered by her brother Christopher. Of four children born to Jenifer and Jeff Moorhead, she was the only girl. For brother James, she was the voice that said someone believes in you. For Christopher, she was a refuge. No one understood him the way Tata did. For Nathan, fascinated with the bravery of firefighters and soldiers, she was the ultimate hero. To her dad, she was a princess. To her mom, she was a wise counselor, a fun-loving friend, and a reflection of every shining dream the mother of a daughter could imagine.
Jessica loved to dream and plan. She and her cousin Amy designed two luxurious mansions where they would live someday—next door to each other, of course. When Jessica planned a party, her own or someone else's, she thought about every detail and made sure it was perfect. Every Thanksgiving, she coordinated the annual Christmas gift exchange with her cousins. With great organization, efficiency, diplomacy, and, above all, patience, she helped the littlest ones write down three things they wanted (and that their cousins could afford), managed the chaos of getting one slip of paper into each hand, and made sure all the parents knew who had whose name. Horrified at the thought of seeing any small child disappointed, she'd also make gentle reminders in mid-December to forgetful older cousins.
In the summer of 1999, Jessica was looking forward to entering eighth grade at Immaculate Heart of Mary School in Austintown. She was excited about cheerleading. She was planning her thirteenth birthday celebration to be held September 30. But instead, in early September, Jessica entered Tod Children's Hospital to begin a battle with acute lymphocytic leukemia. Jessica's parents, Jenifer and Jeff, faced an immediate decision: Keeping Jessica at Tod Children's Hospital in Youngstown or transferring her to a larger medical center in Cleveland or Pittsburgh. Although friends and relatives were willing to do whatever was necessary to see that she received the best possible care, Jessica, Jenifer, and Jeff chose Tod. Their confidence in Dr. Ayman Saleh was a big part of the decision.
By staying in their community, Jenifer and Jeff gave Jessica a precious gift—the daily life she loved. They gave her the gift of helping Christopher with his homework, laughing at Nathan's antics, and watching James play baseball. They gave her the gift of grandma's comfort and grandpa's potato leek soup any time she had a rough day. They gave her the gift of Ursuline, where the faculty did whatever they could to work around her treatment schedule and where she developed many genuine, beautiful friendships. They gave her the gift of family gatherings, where she cuddled with two new baby cousins, calmed the rambunctious boys, and whispered with Amy, Sarah, and Kady.
They also gave her the gift of a friendly environment when she needed to be hospitalized. She had doctors and nurses who absolutely loved her and who gave her the best possible treatment and care. She had a Child Life Specialist who saw not just a girl with cancer but a girl who was Jessica. She had a comfortable place to heal, where her artwork decorated the walls and ceilings, where her music played, where her friends and family hung out, where her pastor prayed with her.
And they gave her the gift of this community—people who sacrificed their time and hard-earned money without even thinking about it, people who continually thought about ways to bring her sunshine, people who surrounded her with faith, hope, and love. Through two rounds of chemotherapy, Jessica stayed active, reached out to other patients, and kept smiling. "I'm good. How are you?" was invariably her response when people asked how she was doing. No wonder she soon found herself at the center of her community's prayers, the big sister to children on the Hematology/Oncology floor, and a popular speaker on behalf of Tod Children's Hospital.
When Jessica relapsed in September of 2000, and it became clear that she needed a bone marrow transplant, the community's response was amazing. Hundreds of people were tested to see if they were matches. Members of Immaculate Heart of Mary Church and many other churches in the area, the Austintown Police Department, businesses of all types, local media, and citizens throughout the area went to work to help raise funds to pay for the costly procedure. People who had not done much charitable work in the past changed their perspectives. "She made me a better person," was the tribute paid her by numerous people-some of whom she had never met before.
On January 24th, 2001, Jessica underwent a stem cell transplant at Fairview University Medical Center in Minneapolis. Cards, letters, and emails from back home poured in. Jessica treasured every one of them and answered many. Through most of the four months spent in Minnesota, both in and out of the hospital, Jessica was very weak and sick. She longed for home. But as was her way, she would not waste a day. She cooked, explored the city, and entertained the family members and friends who flew out to visit her.
Her homecoming in early May was jubilant, but her summer was rough. She had many health setbacks, and cancer took her best friend Whitney, whom she had met at Tod. But in September, she began to blossom once again. After two years of being unable to attend school, she went back as a tenth grader in September 2001 and took both algebra and geometry. She had a huge party at Pioneer Pavilion for her 15th birthday. She went to her first formal dance. She participated in Ursuline's speech and debate team and seldom missed an Ursuline football game. At Christmas, her beautiful curls were coming back and she looked radiant. She finished her sophomore year with excellent grades. Summer 2002 arrived and she spent lots of time with her godchild Lauren in Virginia. She helped make her cousin Ana's second birthday party a day to remember, skillfully taming the birthday girl's hair into pigtails and working her magic with creative games and just the right kind of attention each child needed. Wearing a brace to support weakened leg bones annoyed her but did not slow her down. Eleventh grade started and she was busier than ever with studies and social life. She visited New York City. She attended a dance with her golden hair swept up into an elegant crown of curls—truly a woman in her bearing. For Christmas 2002, she out-shopped everyone. Although concerned about the cast on her arm, another reminder of her weakened bones, her family began to breathe again.
In mid-January of 2003, she was doing all-night study sessions to prepare for mid-year finals and planning a trip to Minnesota scheduled for early February. Finally, she could spend all day at the Mall of America without worrying about low immunity and fatigue. The trip was for her two-year check-up, a milestone for transplant patients that usually meant a successful transplant. A few days before the two-year anniversary, she became ill. By the time the tests were completed, verifying that the leukemia had returned, she was in a coma and the systems of her body were failing. Her mother Jenifer stayed by her side and prayed for just one more day, one more opportunity to talk with her.
In the meantime, the community was rallying once again. Members of her church brought food to family members who were camped in the waiting room near intensive care. When platelets were needed, community members lined up at the hospital. The prayers were innumerable.
Through the dedicated doctors in Tod's Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, God answered Jenifer's prayer. Jessica regained consciousness. In February, she had some good days with the people she loved. She knew her cancer was back and was determined to fight once again. Her beloved "Nanny Beth" drove from Virginia with little Lauren, filling Jessica's face with sunshine. Her godmother, Aunt Beth soothed her with sweet singing. Uncle Paul, who had been so faithful throughout Jessica's battle, relentlessly pursued the platelets Jessica needed. But complications set in, delaying the chemo. The pain became unbearable.
Jessica decided it was time to stop fighting, time to be free, time to go home to her Heavenly Father.
Shortly after saying goodbye to family and a few friends and dictating a note about hope and faith to the rest of her classmates, Jessica began to let go of the life she loved so much. "Mommy," she said, "you have to take care of Lauren and Mya." Always the protective godmother.
The nurses and doctors who had fought to save her were equally determined to keep her comfortable and to give her time with family and friends during her final days. Most of the time, at least 10 family members waited nearby, everyone's life as frozen in time as the icy world outside the hospital windows. Like any of the other nights Jessica had ever spent in the hospital, Jenifer was beside her each night of her final week—anticipating every need and aware of the tiniest change in breathing. Every night, Nurse Karen Himes was a compassionate angel, silently slipping in to relieve Jessica's growing pain and to console Jenifer's breaking heart. Every night, Jessica's Daddy—the man whose steady, determined heart and hard-working, able hands had labored tirelessly to make so many of her dreams come true, stood watch by her bed. He had few words to say, but whenever Jenifer was reaching the limits of her endurance, she felt her husband's quiet strength flowing into her. Every night, Jessica's big brother James was there, looking out for her as he had always done—and as she had always done for him. He alone saw the very last smile that ever came to her face.
Cradled in her mother's arms, Jessica passed away in the early morning hours of March 5, 2003.
Once again the community came together. As Jessica's family grieved and reminisced, countless people helped with food, prayers, and kind words. The funeral was "both tragic and beautiful," as one of her friends expressed it, largely because the girl who displayed unwavering hope throughout her battle had, nevertheless, planned the entire service months before. A battalion of young men from Ursuline High School carried her casket with a dignity that would have made Jessica proud. Her classmates sang for her. Cousin Megan and Aunt Debbie, reading passages from Scripture chosen by Aunt Beth, reminded the mourners that Jessica had "finished the course" and "kept the faith." Uncle Paul sang a song that expressed both the heartbreak of everyone's loss and the hope that all would see her again. Nathan read his unforgettable poem that began: "I look up to my sister, and what I see is good." Sue Moran gave a beautiful eulogy that she insisted was sent to her from heaven, and Father Popovich shared memories of Jessica the saint and Jessica the scamp, who used to trade shoes with her friends between classes. Immaculate Heart of Mary Church was filled—with people, with sorrow, and with love.
It was the end of a chapter, but not the end of the story. The story that Jessica began will never end. The Jessica Moorhead Foundation for Hope, as well as the many lives she touched during her short but beautiful time on this earth, will continue her story of faith, of courage, of caring, of hope.