A Eulogy for Mackenson Frechette Mackenson was a child like no other with a story like so many across the world. You couldn’t help but be moved to tears whenever he would sing to you his song and reach for your hand.  It didn’t matter that you couldn’t look him in the eyes to see his wonderful soul. He found other ways to show you what his heart hoped for and what his dreams were made of. His life was certainly nothing short of a miracle and hopefully his death will be no different. I remember traveling to meet Mackenson while he was receiving medial attention at St. Damien’s hospital for children in Port au Prince, Haiti. I had heard stories of him leading up to our visit and had attempted to prepare myself emotionally. I knew that he was left at the foot of the hospital steps and that his mother probably left him there thinking that he would not survive another month but would at least receive a proper burial under supervision of the hospital. I knew that no one, not even the doctors who had witnessed other miraculous events, expected the tiny child to cheerfully fight for survival as long as he did. He had determinately reneged on the ticket handed to him by death and for over a year had endured his pain without any of the comforts that would have been offered to him in the modern hospitals that most of us are familiar with. Yes, Mackenson’s life was a breath-taking moment in time just like my first visit with him. When Sister Loraine took myself and two other colleagues into his modest room, I felt my heart skip a beat and my knees quiver. Mackenson lay before my eyes, but I knew that he could not see me. The extraordinarily rare and deforming skin cancer that he suffered from had eaten away much of the skin and muscle, including his eyes, from the crown of his head down past his nose. White bandages wrapped around the entirety of his head allowed only the mouth and chin of his face to be visible to visitors. I remembered hearing that it wasn’t always like that. The malignant cancer at first was only on the top of his head, but had slowly spread down past his nose throughout his stay at the hospital. This terminal impairment didn’t stop Mackenson from sensing that he had visitors. He blindly reached out his hand over the lip of his railed bed hoping it would be met with another receptive hand. Upon feeling my grip, he cracked a huge smile and quietly giggled. Then he began to sing to us a soft song with his hand in mine moving to the gentle rhythm. Mackenson loved to sing to visitors. It was his special way of thanking people for coming to visit him and his way to let you know that, despite the terrible misfortune of his situation, he was finding enjoyment in life. I almost couldn’t bear to stand and listen. I almost couldn’t bear to watch our hands move in unison. I almost couldn’t bear the terrible, cold injustices that had left such an innocent child in such an agonizing state. But at the same time, I could not help but be moved by the beauty of the moment and could not help but deeply feel the hope that Mackenson was attempting to share with us in his own special way. The grip of his hand told me exactly why Mackenson had held onto life against staggering odds. As I stand here today with all of you, commemorating his beautiful life, I am not haunted by his song, but am inspired and filled with hope. I think that Mackenson intended for it to be this way. He did not want us to be filled with sadness upon the ending of his life but wanted us to be filled with ambition, determination and motivation at the beginning of the fulfillment of his dream. I think he desperately wanted us to carry on his battle for life for the millions of others who are currently suffering from poverty and disease that desperately reach out for our assistance through the darkness of their anguish. I am filled with hope that miracles like Mackenson will help motivate all of us here today to each do our part to help rectify such injustices across the world. We are all aware that each day millions of people, children among them, suffer because they happen to live in an impoverished nation where health care access is not readily accessible.  Although few suffer from the rare form of skin cancer that Mackenson endured nearly all the years of his life, many are stricken and suffer from other ailments. Across the world, children are crippled from muscular dystrophy, are sickened through HIV/AIDS, are suffering deadly fevers resulting from various mosquito born illnesses and are bleeding from tuberculosis.  Indeed, there is needless and preventable pain within the borders of all nations in our world, but especially in those of developing countries.  It makes me stop and wonder how things would be different if the winds of chance had switched our lots with Mackenson’s.  I cannot imagine enduring the intolerable pain that causes millions of children to cry out into the night. Mackenson himself often cried out into the night when he knew that visitors would not be there to hear. Mackenson was acting selflessly just as I am asking all of you to be selfless. As I stated earlier, Mackenson was a child like no other, but had a story like so many. His cheerfulness amongst his pain helped make him unique, but his suffering put him among the ranks of many. I hope that all of you here will join me in pledging to Mackenson, who is watching over us now and stands witness, that we will not let his miracle end; that we will not let his struggle be for nothing; that we will not ignore the song of his life. Let us leave here today with the intention that we will let Mackenson’s story be the first uplifting note of a time-enduring harmony that will represent our work to comfort and provide aid to those suffering and dying. Left: Mackenson can be seen in the background lying on his hospital bed at Saint Damien’s Hospital. His grave can be visited on the grounds of the Little Brothers and Sisters orphanage run by Father Rick Frechette, MD, in Kenscoff.  Fr. Frechette’s last name is given to all orphaned children that receive medical attention at St. Damien’s. Mackenson was no exception as shown by his name placard pictured above.   ** This was written by Nicholas Wilson for use in his Professional Speaking Class (90-718) at Carnegie Mellon University. Nicholas sits on the board of directors for Partners in Progress. For information about how you can help the children receiving medical attention at Saint Damien’s, please contact Dr. Richard Gosser via the email address: info@piphaiti.org.