It's nearly three years ago that I came home on Dec. 13th, 1996, from a meeting at Zien Hong with Dick Harmon from the Portland Organizing project. Dick and I had talked about leadership, organizing, and how to empower people who were struggling with poverty. We also talked about Jennifer. I told him some of her story. Pieces of her journey I will share with you in Jennifer's memory three years after her death. I was only 18 when Jennifer came into this world. She was tiny and oh so sick. I awoke from my cesarean to hear some nurses talking outside my hospital room. "The Beegle baby is slipping" I heard them say. "NO," I screamed. Not again. Just nine months earlier, my first baby girl, Joyce Marie had died after only nine hours of life. Her tiny one-pound nine-ounce body was not prepared for surviving on its own. I had gotten pregnant right away after losing Joyce, desperate to have a baby and be a Mom. The nurses rushed into my room hearing me scream. They wheeled my bed down to the nursery where I saw Jennifer for the first time. Her body was long and so so thin. Her head was covered with long black hair. I couldn't see much of her face because they had her on a respirator. She was not strong enough to breath on her own. I reached out to touch her and I remember thinking that her skin felt just like velvet. She opened her eyes and looked at me. That was our beginning. The pediatrician, Dr. Hildregard Schone assured me that Jennifer had a better chance than Joyce did. She was bigger, not much, but bigger. Shortly after, Jennifer was moved to the neo natal unit at the Oregon University hospital. It would be one week before I saw her again. I ran high fevers and did not want to live. I didn't believe she would survive and I didn't want to either. My Mom and Dad went to see her and brought me Polaroid snapshots of her. I stared at them afraid to believe she was going to be ok. The pictures showed a tiny little baby, mounds of black hair with swollen eyes and a green respirator tube down her throat. My Mom told me over and over I had to get well because she needed me. Finally, I was released and went straight to the University hospital. I had to scrub my hands and wear a sterilized gown and slippers. There were lots of tiny babies and monitors everywhere. I was finally led to Jennifer's incubator. I couldn't hold her because of all the wiring monitoring her and the respirator. I caressed her back. She opened her mouth as if she wanted to cry, but no sound came. The respirator tube would not allow her to make sound. So, I cried for her. I touched her and cried and cried for the pain she was going through and for the terrifying fear that she would die. At 11 days old, the doctors told me she needed heart surgery. They said her heart was working double and would likely fail if she didn't have the operation. They also told me she had only a 50% chance of surviving the surgery. I signed the papers and sat numbly while the surgery took place. She made it. It was touch and go for awhile, but at five weeks she was well enough for me to hold her. My first time. I took Jennifer home when she was two months old. She was an incredibly easy baby with a sparkling disposition. She took a special liking to her Grandma, my Mom who we were living with at the time. Many times I would get up in the night to check on Jennifer only to find her cuddled next to Grandma on the couch, both sound asleep. Jennifer was tiny, but developed rapidly. By one year she was walking. She only weighed 14 pounds. People would stop and stare when I put her down and she took off. She looked like a six-month-old baby. I think every parent thinks their child is gifted and with Jennifer, I was no exception. She potty-trained herself at just over one-year old. By the age of two, she could recite the alphabet and write her name. People would ask her, "How are you?" She would reply without hesitation, "Terrific." She never ever said, "fine," or "OK." She was always terrific. The memories of Jen at two, three, and four are magical. She faced life with determination and a positive disposition. She loved to read, sing, and dance and would entertain anyone who would be her audience. Her "I love yous" and hugs were plentiful. At three and a-half, she entered head start. She made friends, learned new songs, and developed a love of story telling. Teacher Susan Tong encouraged her every step of the way. At four she got a second year with teacher Susan and a new brother. She came to see me in the hospital. Everyone was making over the new baby. She looked into my eyes and said, "Mommy, do you still love me?" That was the only time I ever saw her doubt her place. She quickly took on the big sister role. I would be busy making Daniel a bottle and suddenly he'd stop crying. I'd go to the cradle to find four-year-old Jen with her thumb in his mouth pacifying him. The biggest heart failure for me was when she picked newborn Daniel up and carried him from his crib to the living room. She was a little mother and took it very seriously. Soon, Daniel was big enough to play and he and Jen became playmates. Hide and seek, cars, dolls, you name it, they played it. They were dancers, actors, and singers and preformed regularly. Jennifer would dress Daniel they way she wanted him to look and he'd go right along with what ever she wanted. They became best friends. One of their favorite things to do was sit up the video camera and lip sinc to the latest tunes. They also played soap operas. We have hours of video of their dramatic storylines complete with detergent commercials. On holidays, they slept together. They'd giggle and make plans most of the night. I'd put tape across their bedroom door to make sure they didn't see the tree Christmas morning before I was ready with the camera. I'd tell them over and over to go to sleep so Santa could come. They'd laugh and talk late into the night. Only after Jennifer's accident did Daniel reveal that he and Jen always snuck out under the tape and examined their stockings and gifts as soon as I fell asleep. Then they'd practice how they were going to look surprised the next morning. This tradition did not stop, even Jennifer's last Christmas when she was 16 and Daniel 12. Jennifer was incredibly reliable and responsible. I was going to school, working, and even at the age of 10, I could count on Jen to help with Daniel and the housework. She mothered Daniel and made sure he got his homework done. I never had to tell her to do her homework. She took the initiative from a very early age. She loved learning and loved school. One of her favorite things to do was write. She began writing songs when she was eight. She kept journals of her thoughts and feelings from the first grade on and developed a love of poetry in high school. She filed all of her school work. She saved every note written to her by friends. She also saved movie stubs. Every experience was treasured by her. One of my fondest memories was loading the car up with Jennifer and Daniel and their friends during the holidays. We'd go off in search of Christmas lights. Jennifer made these times so special. Nothing was ever boring or dumb. She found ways to bring fun to everything we did. "Come on" she'd say linking her arm though mine, "let's sing." She just wanted to live every minute to the fullest. And that never changed. Many, many times I told her, "you can't live every day like it is your last day. This not your last chance to do it." She'd look at me pleadingly, "Mom, I have to go. This is so important to me." It never really mattered what "it" was. She just had this burning desire to experience EVERYTHING. And everything was soooooo important. I also loved when Jennifer would crawl into my lap (even at 17). She'd say, "Mommy, kiss my eye lids," or "Mommy, snuggle with me." She never got to big to hug. She never outgrew holding hands. She was so big I'd say, "You can't be my little girl." I'd take her shoes and socks off and sure enough there were the tiny scars all over her heels from the blood they drew from her when she was a newborn. "Yep, You're mine." There were times when Jennifer was so confident, so independent, and so self-directed I'd forget how young she was. She handled her school, working, and social life as well as any adult I know. Just when I'd feel she was "grown," she'd come crawl in my bed and lay in my arms and call me "Mommy." Then I was reminded she was only a teenager. I often share Jennifer's story in my presentations. I conclude by telling people I am so proud of the potential Jennifer was able to realize. I also tell them that I ache for the future she won't have and for the contributions I believe she could have made to this world as an adult. Jennifer had incredible empathy. She believed in and loved all kinds of people. She had a talent for helping people to see beyond their own experience and to know what it might be like to walk in someone else's shoes. I am eternally grateful for having her in my life. When I arrived home that night three years ago, Jennifer was waiting. She had plans to have dinner and go to a concert with her friends. I came in the door carrying dinner. She told me her plans and I told her to go ahead and go. She looked at the dinner in my hands and I am sure saw my disappointment that she wouldn't be staying. "I want to have dinner with you first," she said. After we ate, she helped me hang our Christmas stockings. Then, I told her to go on to meet her friends. She did a little dance and said, "Mom, how do I look?" "You look beautiful," I told her. Then we did the usual dance of negotiating what time she'd be home. As she left, I called after her, "have fun." And she was gone. This year, Jennifer's little five month-old sister Juliette will have her first Christmas. She is named Juliette because her sister Jen loved Romeo and Juliette so much. Jennifer's 21 month old brother Austin will experience Christmas through the eyes of a toddler. Daniel nearly 17, will reminisce about his holiday's with his beloved sister Jen. Chuck and I will hold our memories of Jen close to our hearts to help us through. We will decorate a tree for Jen as we have the past two years and welcome any ornaments people want to send that make them think of Jen. I especially appreciate when people write notes to explain why they chose or made a particular ornament for Jennifer. My friend Lenanne Sylvester wrote and sang a song at Jennifer's Memorial service called, "Remember Me." I share my memories of Jen so everyone will remember her. I remember Jennifer saying to me once, "If I died, would people miss me?" Words can not express how much.
Being Human poem by Jennifer Beegle You'll invoke me no more I need to be more than an airy spirit or an invisible reason. Not that I'm not fully content enveloping myself in your attention. Annihilating Ecstasy. Momentary awkward pleasure. Often I've thought of diving just for the pleasure of comfort. Green itchy lights that you pacify so well. But I've never been the type to live and die in one, two, three seconds flat. Not living as a reflection of your blasphemous insecurity.
***Just a reminder that there is a scholarship established in Jennifer's name at Catlin Gable that all are welcome to contribute to.
***Also, Jennifer's resting place is the Riverview Mausoleum in SW Portland.
Jennifer Marie Beegle (b. March 23, 1979)
Notes for Jennifer Marie Beegle: