I took the first photo of my daughter, Rebecca, moments after she was born on August 3, 2005.
Just over 15 years later, I took the last photo of my daughter moments after she died of cancer, on January 3, 2021.
I am a photojournalist. It was natural that I documented almost every moment of Becs ’beautiful life, as we called my wife, Marisa.
Like when he was 2 years old and his face looks lit from within. The time he was on stage dancing, only 12 years old, but defying gravity with grace and poetry. Once he played in a wildflower field with our dog Cookie, his smile was as big as the sky.
Harder, much harder, he documented his illness and death by a rare and extremely aggressive form of bone cancer.
Just like when she sat in the dark receiving intravenous fluids after a chemotherapy session, her long, charming dark hair was reminiscent.
The moment she hugged her snuggle teddy bear tightly as she slept in her hospital room amid a terrible series of procedures we hoped we could save her.
And the moment her mother cried for her body moments after Becs ’death, the freckles on her face were a cruel symbol of her youth and beauty.
Last fall, Reuters published a photographic essay of the larger image of our family’s struggle with Becs disease, which had become even more impossible with the coronavirus pandemic that had hit Malta, the island on vivim. That trial ended with a moment of hope, after she was released from the hospital after months of exhausting treatment:
“For Becs’ first outing a few days after I left the hospital, I took her late at night to the northwest corner of the island, a relatively dark area, so I could try to spot Comet Neowise Although the comet was difficult to see with the naked eye, Becs was able to see it with the help of my camera and long lens.
And then we saw a shooting star. We made a wish, with no prizes to guess what it was. “
Hope was still a thing then, something he still fervently believed in, always choosing to believe in the best of cases.
After being discharged from the hospital in mid-July, he had really believed that the worst was behind him. What a mistake, what an illusion I found myself in, maybe always denying things. At that time I did not realize that the reason why nothing seemed to happen with a possible treatment option in England was because the consultants there did not think it had much chance, that the cancer would break out again as it was already had metastasized. when it was first diagnosed in late 2019.
No one ever told me: the day we found that I had considerable pain, a month before I even did the first x-ray that showed I had a tumor in my shoulder that day in 2019, it was too late for her.
Do you see what I mean? Misleading and negative: it was me to the palm.
Just two months after being discharged, we had to go back to Becs to the hospital. It was Sunday, September 27th. I didn’t know it, but Becs was watching our dog Cookie and the cats Zippy and Fox last time, he was seeing his bedroom for the last time, he was leaving home for the last time, he would never come back.
On Oct. 31, Becs posted on Facebook: “1 year .. it’s been a full year since I was diagnosed with a rare type of bone cancer called Ewings Sarcoma. , but here I am with more chemotherapy and more radiation therapy in advance .. Honestly, I thought I would already have life.I thought I could follow online school from home like any other normal student who does not go to school “But I’ve been too bad to follow any of them. I thought I was definitely done with chemotherapy and radiation. But here I am reliving what I’ve been through for the last year. Angry and scared, but there are days too.” in which I am grateful for all the love and support that everyone has shown me when I needed it most.I would never have managed to fight this battle without my friends, family and even some people I don’t have.I don’t know personally. So I just wanted to say … G RACIES “
Becs died, very peacefully, with no signs of distress, on Sunday, January 3, 2021 at 9:20 AM. Mars, as my wife calls me, and I were both with her.
The beaks had been very sedated during the previous week, so according to the doctors, he had no pain and was unaware. His condition seemed to have lived on the night before Christmas Eve. It was the worst night in history: we spent the whole night awake. Christmas Day was so bad that I didn’t expect it to come at the end of the day, on this one, my favorite day of the year. Wouldn’t there have been some kind of horrible poetry?
She woke up a couple of hours late that night, fervently disappointed to have missed Christmas, but believing she would only have to celebrate it once she improved and returned home. Mars promised her that she would finally get home, but Becs replied, “Mummy, don’t put my hopes too high.”
The next two evenings, he woke up again briefly, to the surprise of his doctors, and we were able to chat sharing some more immeasurable moments.
After that, she fell into a deep coma and never regained consciousness, but we kept talking to her. I read the lots to her, finished the Harry Potter book I would read to her, and started the next one in the series, holding her hand. They say listening is the last thing left, so it was crucial to keep making our voices heard.
In the end, his breathing became more and more superficial, until he became a very light jester, with the gaps between them growing. Then there was no more.
I kept talking to her, convinced that she could now hear me and understand me better than before, telling her not to be afraid. I told her I would keep holding her hand as long as I could, but now I would find other people to hold her hand and whenever she felt ready she would have to go with them. I kept staring at the ceiling: people who have died and then been revived in the hospital don’t say they were looking at everything from the ceiling? So, Becs was watching from there? Was she confused or did she know exactly what was going on and was calm and peaceful in all of this?
All the nurses had entered the room and were standing around their bed in silent respect. I’m not sure if they understood what he was doing, why he was whispering to her as he looked at his body, but I didn’t care.
The Pass of Peaks spread rapidly. There was a lot of media coverage. The Archbishop of Malta, Charles Scicluna, was briefed during a high mass at the country’s main cathedral and announced his passing during the live TV broadcast. It was very emotional and people told me she was shedding tears. He later contacted us and asked if he could lead the funeral mass.
We were only allowed 180 people into the church due to Covid-19 restrictions. It usually has a comfortable capacity of 600; even if they had been normal times, it would have been overflowing. We decided to do a live broadcast of the service so that people could participate in this way. It was not easy to choose these 180 and contact them individually, but the distraction was good. It’s the quiet, lonely moments, like when I’m in the shower, that really touches me a lot.
After the funeral, Becs was taken to England to be cremated. Mars and I had agreed that we could not stand the thought or vision that was falling to the ground in a wooden coffin. Then I finally took her home, as Mars promised her we would, though not in the way Becs understood at the time.
Every day, every moment I think of her (and that’s a lot of moments), I desperately look for the signs that people said we would meet, just as I’m desperate to dream about her, but I don’t. Maybe I’m doing it too much, and I just have to let things go and I’ll recognize them when they do.
Months before he died, Becs had been playing a game on his iPhone: “Sky Children of the Light.” I wanted her to join me, so I upgraded my old iPhone to a newer model. I loved the game and I loved playing with it. As our avatars traveled together, going up clouds and landscapes in various missions, in different realms – which I finally discovered symbolized the different stages of life, from early childhood to death and beyond – it was my guide, my mentor, my teacher. She (her avatar, rather) would take me by the hand and carry me everywhere, and so she wanted it.
Throughout her life, I tried to guide and teach her and now she did the same with me. I don’t know if he saw this game as a kind of allegory of his own life, even if it was only on a subconscious level.
The only part of the game that didn’t show me was the part where your character has to die to advance; he said he was not prepared for that. Did she know that she herself would die soon? He probably never talked about it or asked it. We had previously decided that we would not tell him if he did not specifically ask for it. How are you supposed to give this news to your child?
For me, the game became a metaphor for what would happen once I passed by myself: she will be there waiting for me, to hold my hand, to act as a guide and tutor, to take me where I have to go. ‘to go.
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