Give sorrow words

“Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break." ~William Shakespeare

That quote was a tweet from TAPS4America yesterday. I've been struggling with how to resume blogging here, battling the "what does it matter?" blues. But that quote made me think: if I don't speak about Emily's funeral here on the blog, then I won't be able to keep writing here at all. And I want to keep in honest communication with you. So . . .

a few things I have words for:

Emily was buried with treasures she loved, including a purple hot wheels car, both halves of an "I love you/I love you more" necklace, and a tattered copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

My brother ended his eulogy with this laugh-inducing tribute: when the rest of us get to heaven, Emily will greet us with a brilliant smile and sing out: "Hi, peeps! It's Emily! Heaven is so coolio!"

This was my son's first funeral. We sat together and talked about life and death and love. Emily made that conversation possible, her first of many blessings to me after her passing.

Flying Horse Farms, a "magical, transforming and fun" camp for kids with serious illnesses, will open for family campers next fall. Emily and her dad were scheduled to speak at the groundbreaking ceremony, but Emily was too weak to go, and my brother tried to stay home with her. Emily would have none of it. She insisted that he attend, and he shared her words with those gathered: "Dad, there is no best part of camp. It's ALL good."

Flying Horse Farms Groundbreaking from Jennifer Kerns on Vimeo.

Then, on their last drive from the hospital in Cinncinnati to her home in Cleveland, my brother pulled over the car at the groundbreaking site. Again, Emily was too weak to leave the car. But she saw where the camp would be, just as she saw how the world could be different, a world without childhood cancer, and worked to make that world come to life, just like the magic in her beloved books.

Above one of the stalls in the Flying Horse Farms stable will be the name of Emily Lewis.

Kids can change the world. Emily did. She still is.

Thank you for listening.

Youth in Philanthropy

My niece, Emily, passed away this weekend. She was twelve years old, and in each of those years, she was dearly loved.

She also gave love joyfully and so freely that about a month ago, the Rainbow Babies & Children's Hospital paid her a visit to issue a special proclamation, which read:

University Hospitals
Rainbow Babies & Children’s Hospital
Official Proclamation

Whereas, Emily Lewis and her Family have been energetic and passionate supporters of Rainbow Babies & Children’s Hospital;
Whereas, Emily Lewis has been an inspiration to us all;
Whereas, it is appropriate to celebrate Emily with an award named in her honor;
It is with great pleasure that we hereby announce the creation of the

Emily Lewis Youth in Philanthropy Award At Rainbow Babies & Children’s Hospital

This award is to be given annually to a youth who demonstrates Emily’s awesome qualities of enthusiasm, spirit and zest for life in philanthropic support of Rainbow’s Children.

In witness whereof, this Proclamation is memorialized at Cleveland, Ohio this first day of July 2009.

Signed by Michael J Farrell President of Rainbow Babies & Children’s Hospital and Kim Pesses President of Rainbow Babies & Children’s Foundation.

Emily loved animals, reading, horseback riding, skiing, music, dance, school, going to camp, volunteering at church and having lots of friends. In lieu of flowers, please make a contribution to Flying Horse Farms, 225 Green Meadows Drive South, Suite A, Lewis Center, Ohio, 43035 www.flyinghorsefarms.org

Poetry Friday: Looking them in the eye

I don't like eels. They make me shudder. They are so alien I can't pity them. I can't even dredge up a desire to observe them for the sake of understanding their off-putting power.

So as I watched this slideshow of drawings by author and artist James Prosek, I was delighted to see his watercolors of birds, his first "obsession" from the age of nine. Then he moved on to trout, rendering them in beautiful swirls of color and exquisite details. Just as I was about to laud him for making me care about fish, not just as creatures, but as a spiritual guides, he declares himself to be obsessed with EELS.

Okay. Let me deal with this. He says the eel is "a rare creature that has kept a large part of its mystery from human beings." Certainly, it's kept any allure from me. And me from it. Not Mr. Prosek, though. He's working on a book about them.

I hope his book might do for me what the following poem by Harry Clifton doesn't. It's not that I don't appreciate this poem; it's that it makes me even more aware of how unknowable an eel is. How unknowable most alien things are. Especially if you can't bear to look them in the eye.

The Eel
by Harry Clifton

In the crowded yard, in the oily blue smoke
Of an eel supper, the eel looks on.

He is home for the summer. She is home for the summer,
Metamorphosing, the one in the other,

Androgynous, ambivalent, slipping in and out
Of the local, the universal,

Reading about itself, in the Book of the Eel,
As a disappearing species,

The rest is here.

Please do go watch James Prosek's slideshow. It's incredibly beautiful, plus there's a whole podcast from Speaking of Faith that goes with it, in which he reflects on "preserving the sources of our awe and inspiration." He almost has me believing that me and eels could come to terms.

James Prosek also has this children's book out:

Maybe I should start there.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect