My Angel Tree © Kirsty Bilski 2007
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As Patron of Children’s Hospice South West, Noel Edmonds kindly wrote the foreward for
‘My Angel Tree’
Foreward Kindly Written by Noel Edmonds
Television Presenter & Patron of Children's Hospice South West
I first became involved with Children’s Hospice South West over 15 years ago in the
run up to the opening of Little Bridge House. I am to this day extremely proud to
be patron of such a wonderful organisation. I particularly remember one young man
usually confined to a wheelchair, who was thrilled to join me in my helicopter for
a short flight. It was when he said in answer to my question ‘Have you enjoyed the
flight?’ -
I always had a standing joke with the founder Jill Farwell that she must never thank me for my visits. I told her that I should be the one saying ‘thank you’ because I am the one who gains so much from spending time with the children and meeting their families.
People often tell me they would rather run a mile than visit a children’s hospice, they fear that it will be depressing, bleak and full of sick children suffering in their beds. The reality is that it is not depressing, but uplifting. A child’s life might be short, but they live each day with courage and to the full, so the hospice rings with life and laughter and although there is sadness, it is sadness shared and the power of love, courage, and friendship shines through. This may be difficult to believe, but if you read My Angel Tree, Kirsty Bilski’s moving tribute to her daughter Jess, it will help you understand.
On the face of it you may feel My Angel Tree offers bleak reading -
With the consummate skill of an eloquent and articulate writer, coupled with the
wisdom and insight of a mother who has suffered one of life's hardest blows, Kirsty
takes the reader by the hand and draws them step by step along the journey the family
took with Jess. As we travel this road we witness heartbreak, pain, loss and anguish,
but more importantly we share immense fortitude, enduring love, a strong faith and
the spirit of family -
Sadly, I never met Jess. She came to the hospice when she was very ill and, although I had made arrangements to meet her at Little Bridge House, she died before the visit could take place. It is particularly poignant, therefore, that her mother has brought Jess so vividly to life on the pages of her book. Jess’s story will inspire you with her valiant fight for life and move you as she faces up to death with a maturity beyond her years, and we all have the privilege of getting to know Jess in a way I wish I had been able to do during her life.
On one of my very first visits to Little Bridge House I met a mum who was staying alongside her son who was in the last weeks of his life. We spoke at length and her words touched my heart and have stayed with me ever since. Although, like Kirsty, she was facing the tragedy of her child’s premature death she told me: ‘The one thing we have learnt is that love is stronger than death’. Kirsty Bilski’s book is living proof of this and if you would like to reaffirm your belief in the resilience of the human spirit and the strength of family, then I urge you to read this story – it will remind you of what lies at the heart of our humanity.
Extract from ‘My Angel Tree’ by Kirsty Bilski
(Chapter 4 pages 37 -
By the time I had returned to the ward, Jess, along with the
other children, had finished tea and she had begun to look for
me. She was much brighter in herself now and the soreness
caused by her biopsy had eased tremendously, so she was more
mobile although still very weak.We chatted for a while about life
on the ward and she was obviously taking more notice of the
children around her. She began to ask questions about
chemotherapy and I explained that this was the treatment for
cancer and leukaemia. She could see many children receiving
treatment with medicines of all colours and she knew the
treatment meant that the children lost their hair. It was evident
to me from this conversation that Jess had learned a lot over the
previous few days. I had wondered if she just accepted the sad
sights of this oncology ward but, on the contrary, I felt she was
a stone’s throw from asking me what was wrong with her. I knew
that once Jess’s questions were answered she might begin to
make further frightening comparisons with those around her. I
was scared for her and wanted to protect her.
Time went by and I helped Jess get ready for bed, drawing the
curtain around her for a little privacy in the same way that I had
done every night since we had been in Bristol. I pulled up my
chair and leant over the side of the bed to cuddle her, and it was
then that the inevitable came: “Mummy, what’s wrong with me?
Why can’t we just go home?” My world suddenly stood still; for
all of my forward planning, Jess was one step ahead. Slightly
shocked, I took a moment to think. My response was always
going to be hard no matter when I decided to tell her, but 9.30
p.m. would not be the best time by choice. I thought about all
the advice I had been given about being honest with her, and
that she was old enough and intelligent enough to be able to
deal with the truth.
I took a deep breath and said, “Jess, you know that they were
doing some tests following your biopsy last week and it was
taking a while for the results to come through. I have known the
answer for a while but I wanted you to get your strength back
before I told you.”
She looked at me with her eyes wide open, unsure of what was
coming next. “Before you told me what, Mummy?”
“I’m sorry, Jess, but you’ve got cancer.”
She stared at me in disbelief. “No, no,” she repeated over and
over, shaking her head with a look of total despair.
I’m not sure what her understanding of cancer was at that
stage. I’m sure she realised that it was a nasty illness and she
definitely knew that people died from cancer. I decided to tell
her everything right from her visit to the hospital in Taunton
through to the diagnosis on the previous Friday. I apologised
several times for not telling her before and that I had wanted
her to recover from the surgery. She held me tightly and sobbed
into my shoulder, and in comforting her I knew I would never
hide anything from her again. The trust between us would be
central to her strength to fight this and be well again. I held her
and cried with her, but the relief that I had managed finally to
tell her everything was enormous.
On hearing the sound of Jess’s desperate sobs, one of the
nurses decided to come in and ask what was wrong. I was
annoyed at her untimely appearance, more because I wanted to
be alone with Jess and it was so hard on this ward to find our
own space. She had only the best intentions I am sure, but I
snapped something back that made her disappear quicker than
she had arrived! I should have been cross with myself really, but
I did not allow myself to be distracted from the task in hand. I
continued to explain to Jess about the treatment that she would
require and that the doctors had decided to start her on her first
dose of chemotherapy on Thursday. Jess’s consultant had
wanted me to talk to her about the side effects of the treatment,
which I did, and predictably Jess was very saddened at the
thought of losing her hair. She was older than her ten years in
so many ways: she was conscious of fashion, her appearance
mattered and she was always experimenting with her shoulder length, thick, light brown hair.
Her next question was possibly the hardest of all to answer.
“Am I going to die, Mummy?”
I had been told to be as honest as possible and this proved to
be the best advice I was ever given, although sometimes the
hardest rule to keep. Again I paused to catch my breath, to allow
myself time to think.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t talk to you about all of this sooner, but
now you know everything we can work through this together.
You have a lot of treatment ahead of you and it’s not going to be
easy, but I promise I will always be by your side. People can die
from cancer and I know you know that, but I will never give up
hope, Jess, and I don’t want you to either. I will do everything
in my power to make sure you won’t die, but I can’t promise any
more than to support you as much as I can. We all love you so
much and I will always be here for you. I will never give up on
you.”
As she hugged me she said, “I love you, Mummy. I promise I
won’t give up either.”
