My mother, Alicia Walters Sheffield, was strong.  I always imagined her as a great warrior, the one that would save every body from the terrible threat.

She was born in Provo, Utah to Doug and Diana Walters on February 24th, 1977.  She already had a sister Natalie and was followed by three brothers; Nathan, Andrew, and Steven.  

I don't know much about her childhood.  I know she played with Barbies and used to go exploring in the forest behind her backyard with her siblings and friends.  I know she was very creative and was an acclaimed writer in school.  Though her childhood is somewhat of a mystery, I know mine isn't.  i am the oldest of four kids.  Jace, Madilyn and Carly are my younger siblings.  I hardly remember my mother ever yelling at us, I can't recall a single time she wore heavy makeup, and I know for a strong fact that every break she had from handling us was spent writing.  She was an active mother.  She played lots of games with us, and even when she became tired she still wanted our entertainment before her needs.  She taught us how to become veggie-lovers and to have a vivid imagination.  She baked us cookies, helped us with our homework and always helped us with our problems.

I was in the fifth grade and we were living in Orem, Utah when my mother started having some pain in her stomach.  We figured she'd be sick for a few days and it would go away.  But it didn't.  My mother was sick for two weeks, thinking it might be strep throat or high stomach acid.  Then we moved to Payson, Utah.  My mother tolerated the pain to make sure we all felt comfortable moving in the middle of the school year.  The months went by, with my mother going to numerous doctors, trying to find out what was causing her so much pain.  Not a single doctor said anything severe was wrong.  They kept promising that she would get better soon.

Life moved slowly on going from doctor to doctor with the same results they couldn't find anything wrong.  After my sixth grade parent teacher conference, my teacher said my mother looked so sick and I had to tell her that we didn't know what was afflicting her.  During this time my mother continued to write.  She finished two or three books, and felt accomplished enough to look for an agent.  I watched her struggle through the pain and trying to take care of her family and make sure we were happy while having the frustration of trying to find an agent interested in her.

She went through several surgeries and all the doctors proclaimed it looked like cancer but all the tests came back negative.  One doctor finally said her gall bladder needed to be removed.  After that surgery we thought the pain would be gone.  But still she suffered.  Another doctor found a liver duct blockage and a mass in her pancreas.  When she went in for surgery, the doctor said there was too much scarring for him to do anything about the pancreas.  By this time it seemed hopeless.  She was getting sicker by the day, soon getting to the point where she could barely walk.  Finally my dad took her up to the Huntsman Cancer Institute at the university of Utah to see if they could find out what was wrong with her.

For a few days, my parents didn't tell us what was happening.  Then one night, my parents sat all us kids down and told us the news.  My mom, my inspiration and light of my life, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  She explained that it was one of the worst kinds and it was in the final stages.  They gave her six months to a year left of life.  She went through several cemo treatments but they made her even more sick that she decided it wasn't worth it.  Just a few days later, she steadily grew worse.  Soon she was skin and bones and when she wasn't sleeping she was throwing up.  whenever we saw her, we couldn't get to close because of the pain and all we could do was tell her we loved her and she would whisper back, "I love you too."  

It was a month later, on August 25, 2009, when she lost her battle in our home.  The cancer had taken her early.  Before she passed away she had entered one of her short stories in a contest and we found out after she died that it was published in a book of short stories.  Her dream came true.

I still see her as a brave warrior, with all the courage one could have.  Her kind heart and keen mind kept her spirits up in the most desperate situation.  The legacy that she has left behind is something that we will always treasure.  I want the courage that she had because with it, I know I can do anything.

Brooklyn Sheffield (Daughter)