The Telling of Kate’s Story at Harwood’s Opening Assembly in the Fall
I am honored to be the one who tells the story of Kate’s Garden here today. Her story is important. It is the story of hope. Who are we if we don’t have the stories? Who will remember this day if no one comes to greet it? In the fall of 1998, Kate was 16 when she flew to New Orleans to be number one in line for a lung transplant. Kate chose the time and the hospital; she said it was time to leave the oxygen tank behind and for her lungs to feel what it was like to breathe all on their own. She wanted to be free of any more hook ups or machines to breathe for her. During the week of her scheduled surgery down in New Orleans, she caught an infection and died.
Kate understood the risk of the transplant. She knew she might not make it back and so she and her parents talked about, if the operation was not successful, what would she like to leave behind. And so this is the story of the garden. This is why some of us refer to the place outside the cafeteria as, “Kate’s Garden.” A young woman who understood the meaning of courage gave it in gift to all of us who come to Harwood. This young woman understood the meaning of life. She understood life and beauty in every breathe.
In the spring following her death, when asked to speak at the dedication of Kate’s Garden, I looked for the words to describe Kate, to honor her. I didn’t have the words. But she did. In her sophomore honors portfolio were her stories, her words, her laughter – words that now speak to ceremony.
I want you to hear her voice. I want you to know Kate, the young woman who wrote her last stories here in the place, who left us the beautiful garden her at Harwood. You could live forever in her smile.
Kate Abajian left us the garden full of flowers from her mother’s gardens, the trees that blossom every May, the water spigots to water the garden, and the soil beds. She left us the rock with her words carved into it along with the dragonfly to hover beside them. She left us her poetry, instructions for how to say her name and get it right. Kate left behind a garden for us to enjoy and to tend, and in its roots a story to nurture this one wild and beautiful life. And with hope, get it right.
--Gretchen Stahl
Kate’s poetry –
Kate
Such a quick name.
It’s over before you really hear it.
The beginning is loud and abrupt,
Like the crack of lightning and thunder.
The ending is final like the snapping of a twig.
To say my name is stopping suddenly at a red light.
The “K” part rides smoothly out of your mouth
And then you stop dead with the “t.”
It leaves your tongue stunned.
My name feels like shredded ice
Sharp, cold.
You cannot savor the flavor of my name
Because it is too strong.
It tastes bitter like lemons
So you end up spitting it out quick.
I will never be a Katherine.
