Mourners Bid Michelle Carew Tearful Goodbye

In a state where he is legend, baseball Hall of Famer Rod Carew on Sunday did what he had said he could not fathom--bury his youngest child.

On a cold, gray morning, more than 500 mourners turned out to say their last goodbyes to Michelle Carew, 18, who died Wednesday of leukemia at Children’s Hospital of Orange County. She was buried in a cherrywood casket in the family plot near her grandfather at United Hebrew Brotherhood Cemetery, a few miles away from where she and her two sisters were born.

In January, Carew, 50, a former player for the Minnesota Twins and the California Angels, told The Times: “When you think about burying a child, it has to be one of the worst experiences a parent could go through. What would I do? How would I go about it?”

He did it Sunday with the same grace and composure he had shown as a player.

At the last minute, the very private Carew family decided to open Michelle’s funeral and burial in suburban Minneapolis to the public and press, even though both events originally were deemed private.

Even in the end, Carew and his wife, Marilynn, knew that Michelle was the public’s as much as she was theirs, a national symbol for the bone marrow donor program.

Even in the end, Rod Carew’s eulogy included his thanks to the public for supporting the National Marrow Donor Program.

“I know [Michelle] would like us to thank you on behalf of her and all the cancer patients and their families all around the country,” said a dry-eyed Carew.

The emotional funeral was held in the suburb of St. Louis Park at B’Nai Emet Synagogue, where Michelle, as a child, got her Hebrew name “Tigrah,” meaning strife (“Goodness knows, she fought like hell,” Rabbi David L. Abramson said of her battle with cancer) and “Shifrah,” meaning beautiful.

At the funeral, friend after friend sobbed through their eulogies in front of mourners including baseball fans who never even knew Michelle and Minnesota Twins player Kirby Puckett. Also in attendance were U.S. Sen. Paul Wellstone of Minnesota and Twins President Jerry Bell.

The family sat alone in a private room and watched the service through windows that faced the chandelier- and candle-lit sanctuary.

In his eulogy, friend Bobby Orduna, 20, said he and Michelle had talked about what they would do when she got well.

“She wanted to go up in the hills and lay down in the back of her truck and look at the stars,” he said. “She loved looking at the stars, and every time I look at the stars, from now on, I’ll remember her.”

Her sister, Stephanie, 20, paid tribute to the nurses and doctors of Children’s Hospital, where Michelle had fought off complications of leukemia since her diagnosis in September.

“They gave me an extra seven months with my sister,” Stephanie said. “If it weren’t for them, I’d have lost her a long time ago.” Right before her sister died, Stephanie whispered in her ear: “You go [to heaven] and make some friends and wait for us . . . and we’ll be there.”

Michelle’s funeral was just outside Minneapolis, the city where the National Marrow Donor Program is based, the place where she left her legacy. On the registry’s behalf, she was shown on national TV and in national publications, sometimes with no hair, sometimes hooked up to an oxygen machine.

More than 70,000 calls have poured into the national registry in Michelle’s name, a record response. Thousands of callers were ethnic minorities, who are underrepresented in the registry.

Largely as a result of the Carew family’s public appeals, the donor registry’s rolls now total 2 million, up from 1.5 million last year.

Michelle never found a suitable bone marrow donor.

Instead, last month, she underwent a rare transplant procedure that was designed to stimulate production of normal blood cells. But Michelle suffered other complications linked to leukemia therapy and died, surrounded by family and friends.

Baseball fan Don Deters, 33, said he attended the funeral even though he didn’t know Michelle, out of respect to Carew’s talents.

“Rod has always been my idol,” said Deters, who lives in suburban Maple Grove, adding that he was touched by Michelle’s plight. “I was just happy I could come. . . . She seemed like a real special person.”

As soon as the funeral was over, a light rain began to fall. Family friend Kathy Carneal, 70, said she even saw a few snowflakes.

Months ago, in a TV interview, Michelle said she would someday like to see snow fall--a sight that she had never been able to behold, growing up in Southern California.

Carew said he will take a week off and then return to work as Angels batting instructor. Team officials have told him to take as much time as he needs, but Carew said he wants to throw himself back into baseball as a way to take his mind off Michelle.

This week, at home in Anaheim Hills, he will go through Michelle’s belongings and decide what to keep and what to give away.

He will also sit in the garage and cut up her shoes.

“The only thing I cannot give away are her shoes,” he said later at a news conference. “I don’t want any one else to walk in her shoes. I don’t think any one else could walk in those shoes.”