Remembering Missy McGoo

 

Be not overcome of evil,

but overcome evil with good.

— Romans 12:21

 

There's a charity golf tournament next weekend that strikes a deep, mellow chord in my heart. It's for a 3-year-old girl whose mom called her "Missy McGoo."

 

It's a fund-raiser for leukemia research - because that's how Omahans Dan and Rhona Yetts are dealing with the death of their daughter, Marissa Ranee. They're striking back at the disease by raising money to find a cure.

 

They could wallow. They could get bitter. They could turn their backs on God.

 

Instead, they're staying positive.  "I just feel closer to God, and that makes me feel closer to Marissa," her mother said.

 

 

It was Christmas Day, 2000. Santa was bringing Marissa a pink hula hoop, her dream gift. But she didn't rush to the tree. She climbed into her 6'6" daddy's lap, and stayed there, listlessly, all morning.

 

She had a fever, and a red spot on the back of her neck. As the morning wore on, she developed more red pindots. A cool bath and medication did nothing. So the pediatrician told them to take her to Children's Hospital.

 

The ER doctor felt underneath Marissa's ribcage. Her liver and spleen were sticking out.

 

"I hate to tell you this, especially on Christmas," he said, "but I think she's got leukemia."

 

WHHHAAAT?!?

 

The rest of the day, they began discussions with medical staff on testing and treatment regimens. Everyone thought she had a common kind, with an 86% cure rate.

 

Rhona said, "We thought, 'Next Christmas is going to be better, because she will have beaten this thing.'"

 

Late that night, Dan stayed at the hospital. Rhona went home to sleep, and relieve relatives caring for the couple's 10-month-old twins, Ranee and Ryan.

 

At 4 a.m., Dan called. "Marissa wants her mommy," he said. She raced there, and cuddled her 30-pound daughter.

 

Marissa started having "accidents." Then they couldn't draw blood from her and suspected sepsis - blood poisoning. Finally, she quit breathing. She had gone into cardiac arrest.

 

They started CPR, and worked and worked. The parents stood at the foot of the bed. Rhona started "losing it," so they ushered her into a room and put a sheet up.

 

Rhona, who'd gone through the mill with fertility problems before Marissa was born, thought, "Oh, my God, it took me eight years to have her, and now You're taking her away, in 24 hours?"

 

They went to the ICU. Shortly, Marissa was gone.

 

Visitation took 13 hours, there were so many people who wanted to comfort them. For the funeral, they dressed her in a blue velvet dress with a pink bow. A friend sang "Glory Baby."

 

The Yettses are big Omaha Lancers hockey fans and have hosted Lancers from out of town. The night of her funeral, the team mascot put pink balloons on center ice for a moment of silence, and put them on Marissa's seat.

 

Rhona said, "I was really angry at first, but I had taught her Sunday School class, and she knew all about heaven and Jesus."

 

She and Dan went to Living With Loss counseling with several other parents. They were advised to do something tangible with their grief.

 

Dan came up with the idea of a spaghetti dinner and sports auction, and golf tournament. So the Marissa Yetts Foundation was born.

 

Come see: www.zcraft.com/marissa and note that hole sponsorships ($150) and greens fees ($75 per person) are accepted year-round, and donations any time, for the golf tournament, held annually in the Omaha area.

 

The foundation has raised tens of thousands of dollars for the University of Nebraska Medical Center and other children's charities.

 

Life has gone on. Little touches of tenderness have meant a lot. Every July 22, Marissa's birthday, Rhona takes the twins to Marissa's grave. They kiss pink balloons, and send them up to heaven.

 

Recently, Rhona ran into one of Marissa's old Sunday School chums, Nicole. She got goose bumps to learn that, every time Nicole is offered a balloon, she picks a pink one . . . and kisses it . . . and sends it up to heaven . . . to Marissa.

 

That's no coincidence.

 

That's God.

 

That's a reassuring link between a bubbly little girl nicknamed Missy McGoo . . . and all the loved ones she'll see again someday. †