Trust God For The Results

As the leaves turn, and I pray each and every day, way more than once per day, in the wee hours, in the car, in the quiet of my home, in traffic, even in the grocery store (not out loud, of course:), I pray to God that He is going to get me through the moments that I tend to relive the circumstances that led up to the day we were told cancer was to be part of our journey. Lately, I literally cannot breathe, and I wonder, does my breathlessness have to do with the reminder that the physical toll was taking place in these weeks, days before the mid-October phone call from Allison, signifying trouble? Am I breathing heavy because she herself could barely get her breath, just to walk the short distance to the train which would transport her to classes that she had begun to miss all too frequently? Or does the lack of air come with the changing of the trees, reminding me of the longest ride of my life, the car rolling along the highway as fast as we could get there, to our youngest daughter, lying in a hospital bed, strong but weary, and oh so ill? Do I lose my breath when I think about what my last month of innocence represents, a mother/wife/sister/school principal who was going about normal life, only to discover that the world was about to be shattered in just one phone call? For many reasons, I am breathless, my eyes brim with tears, and still, I know, we are only infancy stages of comprehending the magnitude of loss. God has shown me that there is no time frame, and since the moment of diagnosis, our course has been to learn to trust Him with the results.

Trusting Him with the outcome was something that happened early on...yes, we all arrived to that destination at different milestones. For weeks, I suppose, I thought as her mother, I could make it all go away, that this was not going to impact her, us, for more than a year or two. I thought I had some control, after all, I had birthed her, felt her heartbeat under mine, felt her first turn, the first time she rolled over, and the first time she kicked. And while Joe, Jen and I go hand in hand in the journey, still, we have found that trusting God for the results comes in different stages in our own time frame. When we all reached that point together, including Allison, there was nothing but beauty and peace. That did not mean that the pain was gone, the desires alleviated, the wish for her to outlive the cancer so profoundly strong that we would have given our own lives for it to be us in that bed, in that hospital, shaving our head, shopping for a wig, weary and weak, unable to roll over in bed, or take a private bath. We begged God to let it be one of us, we had a good life, hers was just beginning. Didn't He know what she was to become? Didn't He know she had plans to teach and live in a big city and marry and have children? Didn't He know that a part of our future as a family was destroyed the minute she left? Didn't He know that a sister was left to be the only child, with no one to share history or memories with...Didn't He know?

He did know and He did not give her cancer, this we knew. It was never a question of His acts, of Him sending cancer into a body, taking her breath away, making her endure procedure after procedure, injections and shots and treatments that simply sustained, and only for a very short time. But it was a question of how we find our way, how she did, and how to trust Him with the future, with the outcome. And in spite of the pain, the relentless grief that still consumes, He worked it out according to His plan. Now we must find our way through the anniversaries, the remembrances, the seasons, the holidays, the milestones. And as we did, and as He brought us together, we must now trust Him once again, still, for the results. He is providing the answers, the stamina, the determination, the willpower, the spirit to keep keeping on! It is only by His grace that I can be here this day, to seize it, and to welcome it, and to live it.

I surely hear stories each and every day of people who lose and walk paths that I cannot imagine. I wouldn't want to trade places for anything. And I recognize that others would not want to trade with us. But this is our road to travel, it is still winding, and uncharted, and filled with pain. But it is also an opportunity that I would have never suspected, to see and hear things that would never have been known to me, had God not chosen Allison to go to eternal rest so early in her life. I can fight it, deny it, let it consume me, but instead, I know that as I trust Him for the results, they will come and they will be of His desires and His timing. That is all I need for today, one day at a time.

Connections and Confidence

The connections of late just confirm for me, once again, that this thing called life is bigger and more encompassing than any of us realize. Yes, I knew that when our daughter left us after such a short 11 week battle with small cell lung cancer my life would never be the same. But never, ever would I have imagined the people who have walked in and out of my path since that moment. While I sensed there was definitely a "purpose" to this, that God was using Allison in powerful ways, and hence, her family, I could never imagine what would lie ahead. As odd as it seems, that while my heart aches and pains to have this go away (as I have shared many times over), I know at some deep level that God is using our family, Allison's story, and the facts/statistics that go with it, to make a difference in the lives of many. I pray each day, because things happen so fast, that God will settle me down, give me the breath to take it as it comes, and to not get ahead of myself or look back, especially during those times when it would be so much easier to succumb and lie down, let it all just be. I must honestly say I don't want this to be me at times. If I had the choice of road travelled, this would not be it. But it is, and I must, and God is making it very clear that the connections are happening for His reasons and He is giving me the confidence to take the steps of living what has been clearly designed.

I am still learning. I suppose I always will be...I used to call it the awkward dance, none of us knowing where to sit at family dinners, where to stand in family snapshots, what to do about the missing link. I still feel that tug in my heart at the empty chair, or when sisters should be together, cousins should be interacting with one another and amidst the smiles of three, our family pictures have a very profound, missing element. All patterns have shifted, I feel like I am swaying, the melodies are unfamiliar, this is still foreign territory. This is the lesson plan that never unfolds, but God knows I am trying to learn it. I ask Him each day, many times a day, to help me learn, know and be the person He desires through all of this, to show me what I am supposed to do, to help me look at these opportunities and new people in my life as the purpose behind the loss. He never fails me, in fact, He keeps sending me the signs, sometimes so much so that then I have to pray He lets me have some relief!

That is how it has been lately. The connections do not stop, the wonderment of Allison's story is about to unfold in ways I could never have imagined. She is impacting people that I don't even know, nor have ever heard of, in this country and out. And I am overwhelmed to be her mother. I am in awe of the changes people are making or the reaching out to a mother who understands, just as they try to cope with the loss of a child, any age, any circumstance. I smiled when a friend called yesterday to say she would be running the first 5K Lung Cancer Race in St. Louis where we will be out to support the local efforts, and not only running, but the day she got my e-mail her cigarettes went in the trash. She and others are going to breathe easier because of Allison. What a wondrous and loving God who keeps sending me messages that while Allison is free of her pain, she is helping others do what is best for them. What an amazing journey we are having when we look at the life in a new day. How many lives will change when Allison's story comes to light and lung cancer statistics are shared because of her, when Lung Cancer Awareness Month arrives in November and her story is shared on a local radio station, when lives are changed by one simple invitation to a race. My mother always said, God works in mysterious ways, and I agree, but adding, wondrous and loving ways. He is providing the answers, the connections and the confidence so that we can make movement through this journey.

I can never claim to be the one to take any "credit" if such credit seems due for the strength and knowledge and understanding of how to find my way through this loss. I can never take credit for the fact that I am Allison's mother, left to be a role model for my surviving and living daughter, a caretaker and loving supporter of my husband, or the "go to" person for other grieving mothers. This is not me, knowing what to do, this is God, knowing what I need, choosing me, us, Allison, her family and friends to be the ones left and honor her, but honoring Him first. I praise Him for the simple things, like getting me up in the morning, giving me strength and desire to approach the day, for resources to be able to contribute and support other efforts, for a home where people feel welcome and comfortable to come and cry or share or laugh or celebrate, for family and friends who support us from afar, either by contributing to the memorial cookbook, walking in the fun/run, remembering that autumn is painful, oh so difficult, with each falling leaf.

It is heavy going sometimes, but through the connections and confidence, I will find my way, carrying with me the strength of my loved ones, and the grace and dignity of a daughter who paved the way through her perseverance and love of life.

Do What Is Necessary

Her presence is so powerful right now, even engaging, with such a mixture of sadness, disbelief, sometimes euphoria, joy and wonder. It is truly no wonder that the fatigue of emotion sets in when these "anniversaries" occur, that the surges of feelings that really have no words roar and subside, weave and glide through my heart, my bones, my cells, my body, my mind, my spirit. I ask myself, how can we possibly be on the threshold of another anniversary, another month where all innocence was lost, where lives were hung in the balance, and then changed forever. How can I already be hearing her voice, the call from Chicago, the weeks leading up to the day when she could not breathe on her own and walked the long city blocks to a hospital in a pre-season mist of snow? Why am I looking at the suitcases that will be packed for the annual trip to Florida but only see the little overnight bag I took to Chicago, expecting to be home by the end of the weekend, only to learn that I would live in the same clothes close to two weeks and come home a completely different person? Why are my eyes misting with the changing colors of the leaves, knowing that the next weeks will replay every word, diagnosis, treatment, sound, touch and smell? Why do I find that sometimes I cannot do what once was so mundane and routine? Why can't I look through the bags and boxes that still sit in the basement, brought home from her apartment? Why does her death teach me so much about my life, about growing old, and about my own life in eternity? Why did she have to go? Who would I be now had she stayed? Why...how...why....how....the thoughts whirl inside, and there are no answers. And sometimes there is no sense in "going there"...but sometimes I must visit those places just so I can take that step in healing and living and striving to do what is necessary.

And as individual as grief can be, I continue to learn that for each of us what is necessary is different. I only wish I had Joe's physical energy, that going and wearing myself out on an 8 mile run after kayaking all morning, would somehow help me! I only wish I could immerse myself in a rewarding career once more, tying up my mind with the important thoughts and decisions, so much so that maybe for a short time I could just ease the grief. I only wish this would go away. But it won't, so for me, I do what is necessary. I walk so that I can participate in a 5K Lung Cancer Walk/Run in November, I read and pray and spend time in devotions and affirmations so that I can spend time with family and friends and do "normal" things like they do. I must wear God out for the many times I ask Him to help me get to the next hour or day or week or through a certain activity or anniversary. And He never fails me, I am still here, living, and doing what is necessary.

This beautiful time of year is so painful for many reasons, and while the memories surge and could take over, I am allowing them their place, but I am seeking to find the beauty. I know God is guiding me through the seasons of change in my life. I know it for when I could barely breathe this morning with the thought of fall and all it means to me now, there it was, simply stated, yet poignant and meant for me, in my Daily Word, "As autumn begins and temperatures cool, the most noticeable change is a colorful display of leaves. But there is also a shift within me, a sense of fresh energy and excitement. Visible changes remind me that all is evolving. Seeing God's transformational handiwork in nature triggers in me a deepening awareness of my potential for positive change. I find opportunities to grow closer to God and deeper in spiritual understanding. Whether the changes I face are minor or monumental, I have the spiritual tools I need to meet them with confidence and faith. With trust in God, I am guided through the changes life brings."

God knows how heartbroken and difficult these days are for me, for us, for our family and friends, but He shows me that I have this day, and this day only, so I will do what is necessary, here and now. Not for tonight, not for tomorrow morning, but for this moment, now. I will do what is necessary.

Restless, Yet Productive

If I am honest, and I must be, there is a restlessness to me right now, these days, where I am unsettled and just don't feel the harmony of life. Often times, most times, I do. I can grapple with the feeling of uncertainty, the perpetual wave that roars through my body, sending many messages...joy, grief, carefree times, burdensome moments, some nauseous moments, still searching for that "food" that will settle me a bit, some joyful moments, ever so thankful to be alive to share in the beauty of all that is, some gut wrenching moments when I wonder just what the lessons are to be about, and then some quiet or subtle blessing that makes me understand my purpose...I can feel it all in a matter of the same hour and I can balance it, find the harmony, and know what I need when the mood changes and descends like a dark cloud. I have learned that it is "okay" to be in that place, to visit it, to hold it, to embrace it, and then to put aside, as though it were to sit on a shelf, waiting to be caressed again. I may not have come to that on my own, but I am learning through the many therapies of this healing journey just what works for me, and for me alone.

My restlessness comes from many places. Recently, I have become a Facebook Junkie, and though I keep thinking I will take my page off (for reasons known only to me), I find I don't, or can't, or won't. That's why I think I may be addicted! But in the faces on the pages that I love keeping up with, I see so much, and there is so much I don't see. I am a proponent of focusing each and every day on what I DO have rather than what I do NOT, but I must admit, when I "see" certain things, my heart, soul and mind go places....places that I find I must go in order to move through the multiple strands of this thing called grief. I see the faces of Allison's friends and how their lives are unfolding, some at the age of marrying, having babies and on the threshold of new careers. I see the group shots of the parties and the gatherings and I search the faces, still expecting to see her in a crowd. She should be there. She should be here. She should be in this life. But she is not. And it makes me weep to not know what could have been, what should have been, and what will never be...it causes me restlessness as I sort out and move toward acceptance that she will not be texting, messaging or sending me photos of her life. And the restlessness causes me to grapple with the newfound stages of loss.

It is rough going and it never ends. It never will. This I am learning. But it changes and evolves and becomes different, I can't say better, and I wonder if I ever will. What I do know, though, is in order to curb the restlessness and pain, and loss and fatigue that comes with it, I must be in tune with myself. I must be still and listen to the stillness inside. I must follow my heart and the gentle spirit that leads. I must pick up the phone and call that person who I have put off calling for far too long, I must take that walk so that I can be one step closer to walking the 5K for Lung Cancer in November, I must take that step into the kitchen and create a new masterpiece or a familiar dessert, I must involve myself in giving back and working on a cookbook to fund Allison's scholarship, I must play and listen to the music that has the message I need, I must assist a daughter who is excited and motivated to move into a place she can call her own, and I must go to the nursery and select the mums to compliment the landscape. I must be productive and move into a different frame of mind. I must visit the place of grief and then get up, put one foot in front of the other and live. I must and I will and I do. I am restless but I am productive, in the name of God who gave me this opportunity to be here and live this day and moment.

New Grief

I have known about grief for sometime now...starting with the intensity of losing my mother, 15 years ago next month. That was something I was never prepared for and believed nothing could compare in my lifetime. When I lost my father, well, as intense as the loss of the second parent is, it had a beautiful element to it because he believed that through the suffering of Jesus, his sins would be redeemed and he would live eternal life with my mother. I learned a lot about this life, and the life hereafter, through his life and his passing. It was a profound loss in many ways. We "nursed" him through several weeks of cancer and I learned what would become invaluable lessons for my not so distant future. As he passed quietly and with dignity in our home, and I watched his soul leave his body, and his body leave my home, I never could have imagined what the future would hold. But, as I know and believe now, God had a plan then, and He has one for everything that happens to us along the way.

I was in no way prepared to lose a child. Yet, in reflection, I see the lessons God had in mind and how all the pieces of my life fit together to assist me through that exact circumstance. I cannot say it always makes sense, and I still, so often, cannot believe I am living this life, but I can say that God uses situations and experiences to prepare us for the next. In some ways, that is why I am so perplexed by the "new grief" of losing our beloved pet, Barkley. I guess I just didn't know that a dog offered so much, asking so little. I suppose I didn't realize that everything and anything we did for the last seven and a half years revolved around our boy, known as Sir Barkley, the Senator, the Master, the King of all dogs. I suppose everyone feels that way about their dog, but one would have to know the whole story to fully appreciate the saga and the loss felt by this family.

There was shock rippling through any and all who knew me when it came to the fact that Barkley was allowed and approved to come live in our home! To this day, I say it must have been a menopausal moment that urged me to say yes! That, and the never ending, incessant desire of Allison to have a family dog, one she could call her own, but that could be ours! And boy, did he become OURS! He was found by Aunt Kathy in a pet shelter and she immediately had the "feeling" he would be the right one. And after Allison met him, well, it was love at first sight. I knew it and I felt the timing was right, BUT my father was being cared for by all of us in our home, Allison's grades had been slipping, my job was becoming ever more demanding, and I just didn't know. Would he fit in? Would he make a mess? What do I do with a dog in the house? Well, the answer became a hesitant YES, but with many rules and stipulations. Needless to say, those were abandoned very quickly. Barkley was right at home from the start, estimated to be around seven years old at the time, he brightened all of our lives and my father's days during weeks of illness and he consoled us, when only 11 weeks later, my dad was gone.

You would have to also understand that Barkley cost us a fortune. No one could believe the number of "issues" he seemed to have, from very bad teeth, to a possible tumor, to arthritis, and later heart issues with many other concerns in between. The vet bills mounted and I kept telling Joe, "it's a privilege, this dog has come to us for a reason", and as long as I had a job, Barkley was going to get the best care. And that he did! We had the most amazing vet and staff who loved and cherished him like we did, and who worked with us to find ways to make life better. Barkley had the life of Riley as the old expression goes! There was nothing he wasn't allowed to do, and he was as good as gold!

As his hair turned gray and he aged with grace and dignity, it became clear that someday he would leave us. We were prepared. At least we thought we were. Never did I believe we would have to make the difficult decision that has just recently been set before us. How do you determine when the time is right? How do you find the courage? I found out just how you do it, when the dog who has meant the world to us, needs to rest and be spared any suffering. You follow your heart and you find the love.

Barkley nursed Allison through her own 11 weeks of cancer, he was a constant companion through high school, her visits home from college and her final days. He brought comfort to Jennifer through various experiences and in the two and a half years since her sister has gone. He greeted Joe at the door every day and night, extending unconditional love, through good times and bad, and loved the walks with Joe, especially, especially in his "younger" days. And he gave me purpose, a reason to keep going when I didn't know how I would make it through to the next minute, hour. He needed me, he comforted me, he went everywhere I did, he mourned with me, he napped with me, he understood my grief, my sadness, my tears, and my fears. He never left my side for these years. He needed my care, nurturing, doses of medicines, massages, walks, and comfort as he aged and grew ill. He provided more than I could have ever imagined. He was our light in a dark world. And now he is gone. He is not at the window when I return from errands. He is not running through the house to greet Joe. He is not lying by our feet when we watch the news or the Cardinal game. He is not letting us know when it is time to go to bed. But he IS at peace, he is resting, he did not suffer or sufficate. His work was done and he laid to eternal rest in our arms.

Robert Louis Stevenson said..."You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you, they will be there long before any of us." I like to think he has found his girl and that the flowers in the meadow are singing a happy tune.

This grief in losing a pet is not better or worse than all other, it's just different. It brings on new and fresh pain that was so deep I hoped I would never feel it again. It is yet another reminder of that grief that really never leaves us, that grief that we are learning to live with in every action, deed, thought, that loss of a child, and now, in losing him, we have lost another part of her. But as in all things in this life, there is the perfect time, and that is what it was for Barkley. When we dare to love, we find that at sometime we must face loss in that love. I suppose that is the risk in daring to love at all. But I wouldn't trade a minute of the experiences, feelings or memories of knowing our beloved and cherished boy, Barkley. With him, went another piece of my heart, but in knowing him, I am a richer person.