September 20, 2014
I was so moved by the events of last week that I just need
to write this down before too much time goes by.
Last week I attended the funeral of 17-year old Victoria
Campbell, our dear friend who was diagnosed with MLD 2 years ago. Even after chemotherapy and a bone marrow
transplant--treatments which seem to have arrested the disease in two of her
siblings--the disease affected Tori’s ability to walk, then slowed her speech,
and finally brought silence to the formerly vivacious teenager. Amazingly she continued to keep a sunny
disposition, enjoying school, seminary, and friends as long as she could. Her life was full of vibrant moments: she was
elected homecoming queen, graduated early, and swam with dolphins on her
Make-A-Wish cruise. Through it all,
Tori’s parents Aaron and Emily spared no effort to make every day count. As friends had always been important to Tori,
they graciously opened their hearts and their home to Tori’s friends so she
could be surrounded by love as much as possible.
My daughter Carrie was one of Tori’s friends, and she taught
me that even when she couldn’t talk, Tori was still the same person on the
inside, capable of laughing at jokes or noticing whether people were talking about
her instead of to her. Teasing Tori
and confiding in her like always, Carrie would wait patiently for the thumbs-
up signal that showed Tori was keeping up her end of the conversation. She had a gift for making Tori laugh with
open-mouthed, wide-eyed silent chuckles.
Gradually even the laughter and the hand gestures faded. All who knew Tori were forced to accept the cruel
fact that she was slipping away. Nurses
assured family and friends that she could still hear, so during her final
weeks, Tori’s friends often gathered near to hold her hands, stroke her hair, sing
to her, and just be there. Her family
knew that any breath could be the last.
They hovered near, reading from Tori’s journals, poring over photos,
laughing and crying with other loved ones, and doing whatever they could to show
love and make Tori comfortable.
Early afternoon on Sunday, September 7, Tori peacefully
slipped away. Most of us found out during
church. My daughter Lisa found out
during a sweet lesson about the plan of salvation, the plan of forgiveness and
progression in which our Savior took upon himself our sins and promises us
eternal life and joy when we follow him.
The usual lessons were set aside as the young women Tori’s age sang her
favorite hymns, talked about favorite memories, and shared hugs and tears. We knew she was free from the pain of an
imperfect body, reunited with loved ones, and clasped in the Savior’s love, so
we felt grief tempered by faith, but still our pain was great.
The funeral took place at the high school on Saturday, September
13. Hundreds of paper hearts lined the
walls of the auditorium’s foyer, and Tori’s face smiled at us from dozens of
picture frames and scrapbook pages. We
were given ribbons to tie around our wrists and cards with quotes from Tori’s
journal. For example at age 7 she wrote,
“I love my family a lot. They are
really cool. They take care of me,
share, and play with me.” Questions
on the back of each card asked us to ponder and apply the principle: “What
makes your family special? List ways you
can be a more caring, sharing, and playful family member.”
Friendship figured prominently in Tori’s journals and in the
funeral messages. At age 7, Tori was
mature enough to be happy for her friends’ abilities: “I am grateful for talents. If some friend didn’t have a talent I
couldn’t learn from them. My talent is
making friends.” At age 10, Tori
wrote, “When I share things I feel good.
Like when I share my toys with my sisters & when I shared my CTR
ring with Helen. Also, it is really easy
to make friends when you share.” (CTR stands for Choose the Right.) Tori’s dad Aaron said Tori had an abundance
mentality, generosity springing from the philosophy that whatever she really
needed, she could always get more of.
One of the songs sung at her funeral by a small choir echoes the kind of
generosity Tori was known for: “Because I Have Been Given Much, I Too Must
Give.”
A simple thing like Tori sharing a CTR ring led her friend
family to learn more about the Church which meant so much to Tori. At age 12 she wrote, “I love the Gospel
& the scriptures & the Church & the temple & Young Womens… and
especially Jesus. Yep, I love Jesus the
most.” Her faith would continue to
be foundational in the trials she would face.
At age 13, Tori wrote “Without love, life would be pretty
horrible. I need to do a better job
showing everyone how much I love them so they know someone cares.” Tori loved to make lists in her journals,
from her favorite things to boys she liked.
Karen Fritz, Tori’s grandmother, said it was clear from her journals
that, yes, Tori was boy-crazy, but more than that she was “people-crazy”--she wrote
extensively about her girlfriends, too, and genuinely loved people! Frequently she wrote names of her friends who
seemed sad or lonely and what she could do to help them feel better. Tori would notice people who sat alone at
lunch, which was very poignant to hear, because during her last year of high
school, Tori’s friends made an effort to sit with Tori at lunch and accompany
her to class.
Later at age 15, she
wrote, “I officially have the best friends EVER!!! They are so good at helping me make good
choices. I hope I am just as good of a
friend to them as they are to me.”
When Tori found out that her friend was interested in a boy that she
also liked, she was disappointed, but admitted that they would make a cute
couple. Then she planned an activity and
invited them both so they could get to know each other better. In another journal entry, Tori wrote that
some people were saying unkind things about her because her then-undiagnosed disease
was affecting her academically. Rather
than being bitter, she expressed the wish that she could invited them to a
party so they could find out that she was a good person on the inside.
Gratitude was another constant theme of Tori’s writings. “I have so many things to be thankful for
– I could fill up a whole journal,” she wrote at age 12. “In fact, I think I will ask mom for
another journal & do that right now.”
How fitting that the
audience sang at her funeral, “Count Your Many Blessings.”
Tori’s ability to be grateful for whatever situation life
gave her didn’t change with her diagnosis.
Even after learning that her grueling treatment had likely failed, she
wrote, “Our lives are meant to be happy.
If this is the only life we have I want it to be a good one & I am
going to live it to the full extent of my life.” Aaron said that never once during this
experience did Tori lose faith or hope that she could be with her family
forever; never once did she lose faith in her Savior Jesus Christ and his
sacrifice for us all. And never once did
she doubt that she would be resurrected with a perfect body. Tori’s favorite hymn, sung by a choir of high
school students, states, “I know that my Redeemer lives. He lives and grants me
daily breath. He lives, and I shall conquer death. He lives my mansion to
prepare. He lives to bring me safely there.”
In another musical number, a soloist poignantly sang, “I Was
Here” while images of Tori and her family filled the screen. The closing song was “I am a Child of God”
sung in Spanish, an homage to the Campbell family’s years of living and
traveling abroad. At a church in Brazil,
Aaron bought spools of ribbons saying “In remembrance of our Savior of good
endings.” These ribbons reminded the
wearer to make good choices in honor of a departed loved one. The hope is that each person who is touched
by Tori’s life will strive to be a person worth knowing, just a little more
generous, happy, or faithful; more grateful, more loving to family and friends. Tori’s mom Emily reminded us that we always
have a choice. In LDS verbiage, we have
our agency, meaning we can be proactive about what we do, not just wait to be
acted upon, and while we don’t know how long our journey on earth will last, we
can treat each day like the gift it truly is.
The journals, the slide shows, and the talks by siblings,
parents, and grandma brought to life once again the real Tori, not just the
patient sufferer in an imperfect body, not just the beloved recipient of
well-deserved service, but the young woman full of life and agency, a caring
girl with big dreams and plans to make them come true. I know that her spirit, her essence, the real
Tori continues on. I can imagine her in
the next world, freed from silence and stillness embracing loved ones who went
before and telling them about each of her family members and how they were all
coping with this trial. And probably laughing
about which girls were sitting next to which boys at the funeral.
That person was so real to me at that moment that watching
the coffin leave the auditorium brought fresh grief. The simple pine coffin was decorated with the
scripture: “My [daughter], peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine
afflictions shall be but a small moment; And then, if thou endure it well, God
shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes. Thy friends do
stand by thee, and they shall hail thee again with warm hearts and friendly
hands.” Those invited to the graveside service wrote
messages of love on her coffin: “Love
you forever! Until we meet again! See you soon!”
