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 a
match. 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.

 

Letter to Jessica from Her Family

It's not the same without you, Jessica. We miss you. Even our
celebrations have an overtone of sadness that was never present in
family gatherings when you were here. Ordinary actions--praying,
reading a poem, seeing a young girl--bring the tears. Nathan's letters
to God are heartbreaking but true: We all would give anything--even
a body part--to have you back. But borrowing the words of singer Eva
Cassidy: We "know you by heart."

In the sorrowful year after your death, you were always close to us. As
your dad lovingly crafted a white wooden cross so that your resting
place would not be unmarked even for a little while and your mom
searched for the perfect stone angel to comfort those who prayed
there, you felt their love--a love that had given you sixteen beautiful
birthdays and countless happy memories. When the butterflies left
our hands and took flight early one summer morning, released at the
exact time your spirit flew into God's embrace, you were there. When
Uncle Paul sang: "Jessica, can you hear me?" the night of the Relay
for Life, we knew you did. When we walked on the beach in the Outer
Banks, you walked with us. When the children opened their Christmas
gifts, your delight mingled with ours. When the Jessica Moorhead
Foundation for Hope went from idea to reality, you cheered us on.
When Laurelin floated down the aisle to meet her groom, her cousins
and bridesmaids wearing the same exquisite dress you modeled in
your last fashion show, we felt your joy. When we held little Joey, the
first child born to our family since your death, your smile was on our
faces.

As we go through our days, we remember you. When a rainbow
unexpectedly appears or the purple irises bloom, we think of you and
smile. When Nathan puts a protective arm around Anais or when
Christopher smiles his knowing smile, we see you. When Samantha
proudly wears her Immaculate Heart uniform, when Caitlin cradles a
baby, and when Lauren dances, we remember you. When Mya talks
about her beautiful dreams, we know you are there watching over her,
whispering in your gentle voice.

When the future unfolds, you will be with us. As Kady, Amy, and
Sarah go through college, making the most of each day, they take
your dreams with them. When we see a child or a family in need, we
will see them through your eyes. When challenges come, when we
need inspiration, when we need hope, what you taught us will see us
through.

You will be with us always.