To three little girls who were dearer to our family than reasonable imagination might conceive, how can we possibly express how much we miss you?
Imose, we'll forever be grateful for your coming into our family. You graced every setting with your brightness, intelligence, gentleness and beauty. Thanks for being such a marvelous companion and example to your sisters.
Chika, you're constantly in our thoughts, not just for your infectious liveliness, but also because our own youngest, Udoka, who remembers you long after our last visit, much longer than one would expect of a two year old.
Anyachiemeka, as serene and precious as you were all your days, you especially touched us in your valiant battle to stay alive at Akron children's hospital. We believe that your purpose in doing so was to give us some small solace, and a chance to prepare to say goodbye to you and your sisters. It is wonderful for there to be so much deep purpose in such a short life. That you not only taught us the visible trappings of peace in your life, but that you gave us the gift of peace in your passing, and that after your departure you continue to give peace to other families who have quite literally taken your strength to effect the healing of their own children.
And a brief word for the brave and resilient parents. Chimezie and Roschelle, you have gone through the very embodiment of every parent's nightmare, and yet your grace and love hasn't diminished for a moment. If anyone deserves healing from cruel hurt, you do. We dare not even try to contemplate your pain right now, but all we can do is humbly ask you to accept our dedication to preserving the fond memory of these wonderful children, and to holding you close as you find a way to carry on.
In Memory of The Kingdom kids
-- Drawn from Auden's remembrance of Yeats:
They soared off in the dead of winter:
The brooks were frozen, the airports shuddered in chaos,
And snow disfigured the public statues;
The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.
What instruments we have agree
The days of their deaths were dark cold days.
Far from all illness
The wolves ran on through the evergreen forests,
The peasant river was untempted by the fashionable quays;
By mourning tongues
The poet himself was kept from his poems.
These were the last days quite as himself,
In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of these days
Teach survivors how to praise.