One thing you notice when your loved one is first gone, and even in all the subsequent days, weeks and months, especially on holidays and times of celebration, is the quiet. It's not as though there is not plenty of "noise" around you, it's just that often you just don't hear it. In those first weeks and months and even into the years, you often wonder if you will laugh with the true joy that laughter used to bring...it feels so fake, empty and noiseless now. We all know laughter is good for the soul, but in grief, it is the last thing you feel up to doing, even though the world around you laughs and makes noise. There is that happy chatter of preparing for special occasions or just day to day living. There is also that grumbling and moaning and "bitching" if you will. Life can seem unfair and the little things, like flat tires and tupperware falling out of the cabinet can make you break apart at the seams! So, in retrospect, we know that not all times are remembered as being joyous and happy, but those are the times you ache for when they are so far out of your reach. You would take all moments back if given a choice.
Even holidays are not without their stress, and now that they are here again, it is the quiet that I most notice...without her. Yes, we talk, we laugh, we live, we find enjoyment, and definite peace, and you will rarely hear a grumble or complaint from any of us. How would we dare? How would we allow the problems of this world and the "small stuff" get to us, when we now know that everything has a purpose, a solution, a way to come through it all with our heads held high? How could we have observed the trials and tribulations of cancer taking over our daughter and sister, the side effects, the pain, the shock, the loss of all normalcy, and not learn the lesson?
Still, the quiet is often gut wrenching. I long for the noise that was...sure, the TV can be on, we can be watching a movie, we can be playing a game, and there is noise. But it is not the noise we are used to...it's just not the same, and it never will be, so we learn how to take hold of the quiet, accept it for what it is, and regroup with new purpose. Until someone is missing from the family gathering to hang up the ornaments, bake the cookies, go to church, wrap and unwrap the presents, until the person's face fades from the images of physical life, we cannot comprehend that there is so much more to deal with than just them not being here. It all sounds so different, even when there is noise.
I used to think I had to fill the empty space with words and chit chat. Known as a "talker" I can find anything to talk to anyone about! But now, I am learning to be still, accept the quiet that surrounds the death of a loved one, but make a different noise, not fill it with sounds that cause me pain or discomfort. One moment I can listen to the sounds blaring through the house, the Christmas Carols, once playing continuously for weeks. Now, I may listen, and in a blink of an eye, there it is, that song or hymn that must be turned off. I can go from noise to quiet in the same 60 seconds, recognizing that this IS or IS NOT what I need right now. One moment I can be laughing at a movie, and in the next, realizing that the laughter seems so hollow and empty and foreign...who would have thought, that laughter and joy would need to be relearned?
Noise is all around us. It never ceases, and I recognize that I have been around it all my life, finding it hard just to settle and be still. Now I see and hear it all differently. There is no longer any need to fill the air with noise, the silence is becoming my greatest teacher.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Blessings Flow
With every tear that is falling down my cheeks, that wakes me in the night, with the memories and triggers of this holiday, Allison's very favorite, even over Christmas, I have determined, it must have been her favorite because it represented her, in oh so many ways. That thought just dawned on me...it defined her, it told so much about her. It is and was family day, simple and tight, and warm and loving. It held no expectations, no glam or glitter! Nothing fancy, yet comforting. Plenty of food and a simple state of being. Some years we would share our reason for being thankful. Some years a simple prayer, some, a more profound blessing of praise. But always, a small family gathered in the country or at Aunt Kathy's, with Aunt Karen sometimes arriving that very evening. Sometimes there were games. Sometimes we just read books, colored or did puzzles. Sometimes we made crafts. But always, there were no expectations. You could just be, and I have to believe that is what she savored about the day. Plus, she loved it when "the fam", as she called our family, was together.
So, here we are, on the eve of another holiday, and I tell myself it is not unlike any other day. But I can't kid myself, she is not coming in from the train or plane, with the bags and the smile and the hug and the laughter. And because of that, nothing is ever the same. Ever. Yes, we are ever so grateful to have had her in our lives, to have known her, to hold her, to love her, but until your heart and soul physically aches from the missing piece, one just cannot comprehend how difficult it is to learn the new way of having her here, in spirit, in our hearts, in our prayers, and in our lives. That tangible, physical presence is missing and it takes every ounce of strength to carry on...but carry on, we will.
In spite of this indescribable loss, the blessings flow. Every day, not just today or tomorrow, I write in my blessing journal, and look for the top 5 blessings of the day. I know I repeat myself and I know that in the early months of Allison being gone, I couldn't look past the same few. But my eyes are widened and I see, and I know, and I feel. And I am thankful, grateful to a loving God who continues the showering of blessings.
I am most thankful for the strength God has given this family, mainly two parents who could have parted ways and let the loss destroy us, rather than work it all out for good. I am thankful we are finding our way to respect one another's "place" and where they are at the moment, honoring each other's feelings, knowing that in the next 60 seconds anything can change. I am thankful for two daughters, one who shows her strength and honor to herself and her sister who left this world before her, and one who guides us with a force that won't allow us to quit. I am thankful that God shows me how to take advantage of opportunities to assist others and has given me the gift of time and resources and the "wherewithall" to step outside of myself. I am thankful for the simple pleasures that I may not have known had this experience not touched our lives. I am thankful for the few who allow me to share a bit of where I really am in the process and not turn the discussion elsewhere. Those are brave souls who can step outside their own pain and loss or discomfort and allow me to share for a minute, with honesty, just how I am "really" doing. They want to know. I am thankful for the wonderful support of family and friends, the card, the e-mail, the call, the visit, just when I need it. I am thankful to those who know while Allison has been gone close to three years, to us, it's as if she just left. I am thankful to those who follow their heart and spirit to reach out to other grieving parents, never knowing how that can light their lives. I am thankful to those who put meaning to the words "we must get together" and not let too much time escape. I am thankful to those who schedule time with me but understand when I say it is not a good day, can we do this another time! I am thankful that God has shown me there is nothing to worry about, that none of what happens in my life is within my control and that He will take it all if I lay it at His feet. I am thankful for the people who have come into my life as a result of their loss, or ours, and while I wish it could have been under different circumstances, I know it would never have happened had it not been part of the bigger plan. I am thankful that there is promise in God's word that no matter where we are, this is all temporal, and none of it means anything if we don't believe. I am thankful for a spiritual walk that began years ago and is developing over time. I am thankful for life.
I know, this day, and every day, I am not the only grieving mother, all one has to do is watch the news, answer the phone, read the statistics, or hear from friends how the numbers are growing every day. I know that several have walked through my door just this year, looking for that person who might understand, or relate in some way that the rest of the world cannot. Each one of us has a different story, yet one thing in common, there is no need for the Thanksgiving plate to be sat out, there is an empty seat at the table, there is a new family puzzle to put together, the family photo will look blatantly different. There are no words to describe that feeling. Yet, each mother, father, sister, brother, family member will find their way. We must. We will. We wiil praise God from whom all blessings flow.
So, here we are, on the eve of another holiday, and I tell myself it is not unlike any other day. But I can't kid myself, she is not coming in from the train or plane, with the bags and the smile and the hug and the laughter. And because of that, nothing is ever the same. Ever. Yes, we are ever so grateful to have had her in our lives, to have known her, to hold her, to love her, but until your heart and soul physically aches from the missing piece, one just cannot comprehend how difficult it is to learn the new way of having her here, in spirit, in our hearts, in our prayers, and in our lives. That tangible, physical presence is missing and it takes every ounce of strength to carry on...but carry on, we will.
In spite of this indescribable loss, the blessings flow. Every day, not just today or tomorrow, I write in my blessing journal, and look for the top 5 blessings of the day. I know I repeat myself and I know that in the early months of Allison being gone, I couldn't look past the same few. But my eyes are widened and I see, and I know, and I feel. And I am thankful, grateful to a loving God who continues the showering of blessings.
I am most thankful for the strength God has given this family, mainly two parents who could have parted ways and let the loss destroy us, rather than work it all out for good. I am thankful we are finding our way to respect one another's "place" and where they are at the moment, honoring each other's feelings, knowing that in the next 60 seconds anything can change. I am thankful for two daughters, one who shows her strength and honor to herself and her sister who left this world before her, and one who guides us with a force that won't allow us to quit. I am thankful that God shows me how to take advantage of opportunities to assist others and has given me the gift of time and resources and the "wherewithall" to step outside of myself. I am thankful for the simple pleasures that I may not have known had this experience not touched our lives. I am thankful for the few who allow me to share a bit of where I really am in the process and not turn the discussion elsewhere. Those are brave souls who can step outside their own pain and loss or discomfort and allow me to share for a minute, with honesty, just how I am "really" doing. They want to know. I am thankful for the wonderful support of family and friends, the card, the e-mail, the call, the visit, just when I need it. I am thankful to those who know while Allison has been gone close to three years, to us, it's as if she just left. I am thankful to those who follow their heart and spirit to reach out to other grieving parents, never knowing how that can light their lives. I am thankful to those who put meaning to the words "we must get together" and not let too much time escape. I am thankful to those who schedule time with me but understand when I say it is not a good day, can we do this another time! I am thankful that God has shown me there is nothing to worry about, that none of what happens in my life is within my control and that He will take it all if I lay it at His feet. I am thankful for the people who have come into my life as a result of their loss, or ours, and while I wish it could have been under different circumstances, I know it would never have happened had it not been part of the bigger plan. I am thankful that there is promise in God's word that no matter where we are, this is all temporal, and none of it means anything if we don't believe. I am thankful for a spiritual walk that began years ago and is developing over time. I am thankful for life.
I know, this day, and every day, I am not the only grieving mother, all one has to do is watch the news, answer the phone, read the statistics, or hear from friends how the numbers are growing every day. I know that several have walked through my door just this year, looking for that person who might understand, or relate in some way that the rest of the world cannot. Each one of us has a different story, yet one thing in common, there is no need for the Thanksgiving plate to be sat out, there is an empty seat at the table, there is a new family puzzle to put together, the family photo will look blatantly different. There are no words to describe that feeling. Yet, each mother, father, sister, brother, family member will find their way. We must. We will. We wiil praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
End Of Life Stages
As I write, two beloved souls are facing end of life stages. I know too much about this journey, so it is with mixed emotion that I talk or walk with their families, visit one later this morning, mixed emotion because it is all so complex. I am no expert, but I do have the experience, first with my mother, then years later, my father, then my daughter, and then, our family dog. In all that comes with the journey, it is a final gift of life to be able to be the one who holds that hand, sings, prays, rocks, whispers, kisses, hugs, and holds that loved one as they enter the Kingdom of God. A real treasure and even though we don't think we would know how to help at such a time, when we ask God for guidance and are open to His wisdom, we receive in ways that are plentiful and good. The key is knowing how to listen, what to look for, and take ourselves out of the picture, focus on that life, that loved one, and the dying themselves will supply the answers and the need. Assisting my loved ones in relinquishing their fears and face death with serenity has become my greatest joy. As well as my greatest heartache. None more than my own daughter, but as I know to trust God, I understand that, that too, had a divine purpose under heaven.
I know it as others turn to me, maybe for a prayer, or a question, or strength, or some form of hope. And I know full well, there is always hope. We don't know the form our loved ones miracle will take shape, but when we believe, we just know it will. When we truly give our heart to Jesus and know that through Him, under God, all things will work for good, there is peace and joy in ushering the ones we hold dear to eternal rest. No, that doesn't mean that it takes away the pain, the worry, the fatigue, the disbelief, the unexplained sorrow, but it does show us just how chosen we are when we have this unbelievable and magnificent opportunity.
There are transitions and there are moments when our precious ones find themselves in end of life stages that must be dealt with, and oh how I wish we could all be prepared for what they, and we, experience. But we are not. Nothing ever prepares you for the journey we take when one cannot be treated for cancer any longer, when one lies in a coma for six weeks, when organs and functions begin to cease. This type of death is all part of life. And none of us know when, or how, it will be when it is our turn. And someday, it will be our turn. And when it is, we can only pray that we will have the love and hope that surrounds two special people this day, this week, and the weeks to come, dear Chrissy and precious Esther.
I know there are many others whose loved ones are gathering, just as we did, three short years ago, this very time, this very week, this very holiday season. A final gift, that can only be attributed to an answer to prayer, was that we held on as a family, lived life to the fullest, and had the most amazing eleven weeks, weeks of joy and living, even when bed ridden and incapacitated. Even through tears of frustration, sometimes anger, disbelief, shock..."what do you mean there is nothing else to do", "is there not something else we can try", "it wasn't supposed to happen this way", "she was going to beat this thing", words cried out with such emotion and shock. Words turning to, "Father, your will be done", "Lord, God, take her to her Heavenly home if it is her time", "Father, thank you for 21 years with this daughter and sister", "Thank you, Father, for relieving her pain".
End of life stages is different for everyone, as unique as the person and their situation. I admire the families of the ones mentioned, the dignity, the respect, the joy and the love they are providing their loved one. I am grateful I had the same opportunity, and I wouldn't change a thing, a moment, because when listening to God, there is nothing to regret. When He sends the Holy Spirit to follow there is no misguided direction. It is clear. We have one purpose under heaven. And God is good. He is always there, He never sleeps, He has no timeframe. He is waiting.
I know it as others turn to me, maybe for a prayer, or a question, or strength, or some form of hope. And I know full well, there is always hope. We don't know the form our loved ones miracle will take shape, but when we believe, we just know it will. When we truly give our heart to Jesus and know that through Him, under God, all things will work for good, there is peace and joy in ushering the ones we hold dear to eternal rest. No, that doesn't mean that it takes away the pain, the worry, the fatigue, the disbelief, the unexplained sorrow, but it does show us just how chosen we are when we have this unbelievable and magnificent opportunity.
There are transitions and there are moments when our precious ones find themselves in end of life stages that must be dealt with, and oh how I wish we could all be prepared for what they, and we, experience. But we are not. Nothing ever prepares you for the journey we take when one cannot be treated for cancer any longer, when one lies in a coma for six weeks, when organs and functions begin to cease. This type of death is all part of life. And none of us know when, or how, it will be when it is our turn. And someday, it will be our turn. And when it is, we can only pray that we will have the love and hope that surrounds two special people this day, this week, and the weeks to come, dear Chrissy and precious Esther.
I know there are many others whose loved ones are gathering, just as we did, three short years ago, this very time, this very week, this very holiday season. A final gift, that can only be attributed to an answer to prayer, was that we held on as a family, lived life to the fullest, and had the most amazing eleven weeks, weeks of joy and living, even when bed ridden and incapacitated. Even through tears of frustration, sometimes anger, disbelief, shock..."what do you mean there is nothing else to do", "is there not something else we can try", "it wasn't supposed to happen this way", "she was going to beat this thing", words cried out with such emotion and shock. Words turning to, "Father, your will be done", "Lord, God, take her to her Heavenly home if it is her time", "Father, thank you for 21 years with this daughter and sister", "Thank you, Father, for relieving her pain".
End of life stages is different for everyone, as unique as the person and their situation. I admire the families of the ones mentioned, the dignity, the respect, the joy and the love they are providing their loved one. I am grateful I had the same opportunity, and I wouldn't change a thing, a moment, because when listening to God, there is nothing to regret. When He sends the Holy Spirit to follow there is no misguided direction. It is clear. We have one purpose under heaven. And God is good. He is always there, He never sleeps, He has no timeframe. He is waiting.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Dear Allison
Dear Allison, my journal today is a letter to you, I will pour out my heart and maybe convey my deepest feelings this day. I don't know why I have chosen this format, perhaps because you are so close to us this month, these final weeks God gave us to spend with you, and now, imagine our intense amazement to know November is Lung Cancer Awareness Month. I can only speculate that makes you very happy, and I know that from the feeling in my heart, although heavy with grief, lightened by the pink sunrises and sunsets of this past week, leading up to the first 5K Lung Cancer Fun Run/Walk where yesterday, hundreds gathered to honor their loved ones, or stand up as survivors. You know there are not many, so when a survivor can proudly stand and say they are beating this dreaded cancer, that is a gift, to them and to their family, and to others. Although, I must tell you that was one of the most difficult parts of the day, yesterday, wanting so much to see you there, standing with the rest, bald head shining, eyes brightening the skies, I so wanted you there, but I know you were. You were in every part of it, and since you were always about helping people on earth, I know how proud you would be of all of us for getting the word out, the awareness, the staggering statistics. Through it all, your face shines as an example of how this is not a smoker's disease, how it can touch and impact lives beyond reproach, and how devastating it can be...I want you to know I do my best not to dwell on the rough days of cancer, the pain, the lack of air, the procedures you went through, I really try. I ask God above to help me remember you as you were, a young woman who just took life as it was, who smiled through the whole journey, even through the pain and tears. Could you have known, could any of us have known, just what gift you would leave us? Could any of us projected we would be walking or running in a 5K event, where you, among many others, were a shining star? Could we have ever imagined we could possibly do the things we have been called upon to do since you left our arms, our home, our lives?
You would be so proud, of your sister, father, aunt, uncle, friends and friends of friends. Your grandparents, too, who came out and walked in spite of their own pain or limitations. It was so difficult to see your name on the back of nearly one hundred walkers or runners, yet, it was rewarding too. Because of you and your legacy you are teaching from the spirit world in which you now reside. And because of you, our lives are never to be the same, nothing can get us down or cause us anxiety, nor will we ever complain again. You have shown us how to live.
Today I am not smiling, but yesterday I could. Today I grieve, for many reasons and that is okay. I will keep on, I will be productive, I will find my way, and I will smile when I can. You brought us joy and hope and pride, and most of all, love, to make it through a day such as yesterday. There are sunny days and there are cloudy days, and appropriately, today, is a day for clouds and gray skies and gloom, but in an instant, all that will change, and we will be guided, once again, by you, and the loving Father who holds you most dear.
I know your work on earth was finished. I know that deep in my heart. If you were alive and well, your work would be limited to a classroom, or the circle of your friends and family. But you were destined for bigger and better. Your time had come to influence and guide from afar. That thought doesn't always make it easier, but God is helping me find peace that passes all understanding. I will never get it. I don't try to. There is no answer to how or why you got lung cancer. At least no tangible reason. There are many spiritual purposes, though. So many know and understand and feel blessed that they can get through their trial because of you, and because of how your family has responded. There is such a bigger purpose and you are helping us find it.
Allison, my precious daughter, as the tears fall and I know in my heart that you are my hero, I must end and say thank you, thank you for the day yesterday, for spurring us on, for enlightening so many others, for helping us stay focused, see new perspectives, meet new loving and caring people, for giving strength to your sister, father, me. As I look at the photo of the three of us, you are so definitely missing, at least in the physical sense. But, there you were, in the clouds, in the pink sunrise, in the solitary benches, in the tears of others, in the smiles of joy as others completed their run, in the eyes of those beloved friends who came out to support us, and in those who could not be physically present but held us up in thought or prayer, in it all, you were there.
You would be so proud, of your sister, father, aunt, uncle, friends and friends of friends. Your grandparents, too, who came out and walked in spite of their own pain or limitations. It was so difficult to see your name on the back of nearly one hundred walkers or runners, yet, it was rewarding too. Because of you and your legacy you are teaching from the spirit world in which you now reside. And because of you, our lives are never to be the same, nothing can get us down or cause us anxiety, nor will we ever complain again. You have shown us how to live.
Today I am not smiling, but yesterday I could. Today I grieve, for many reasons and that is okay. I will keep on, I will be productive, I will find my way, and I will smile when I can. You brought us joy and hope and pride, and most of all, love, to make it through a day such as yesterday. There are sunny days and there are cloudy days, and appropriately, today, is a day for clouds and gray skies and gloom, but in an instant, all that will change, and we will be guided, once again, by you, and the loving Father who holds you most dear.
I know your work on earth was finished. I know that deep in my heart. If you were alive and well, your work would be limited to a classroom, or the circle of your friends and family. But you were destined for bigger and better. Your time had come to influence and guide from afar. That thought doesn't always make it easier, but God is helping me find peace that passes all understanding. I will never get it. I don't try to. There is no answer to how or why you got lung cancer. At least no tangible reason. There are many spiritual purposes, though. So many know and understand and feel blessed that they can get through their trial because of you, and because of how your family has responded. There is such a bigger purpose and you are helping us find it.
Allison, my precious daughter, as the tears fall and I know in my heart that you are my hero, I must end and say thank you, thank you for the day yesterday, for spurring us on, for enlightening so many others, for helping us stay focused, see new perspectives, meet new loving and caring people, for giving strength to your sister, father, me. As I look at the photo of the three of us, you are so definitely missing, at least in the physical sense. But, there you were, in the clouds, in the pink sunrise, in the solitary benches, in the tears of others, in the smiles of joy as others completed their run, in the eyes of those beloved friends who came out to support us, and in those who could not be physically present but held us up in thought or prayer, in it all, you were there.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
In The Classroom
Just yesterday, I was in a friend's classroom as she prepared to be videotaped for a lesson that she will attempt to recreate with her new set of students, one that her principal observed and found worthy of taping as an exemplary example of teaching at its finest...my words, not hers! She is humble about her talents, this I know, because I was at one time her principal and marveled at the instructional ability, the reflection, the planning that this teacher, who is now my friend, displayed. She never takes the credit, she gives every tribute to God above for helping her get this far and for providing her with the ideas and implementation. But she is a learner and tries to take in everything she is taught to make it a better day for her students, that they will walk away with not only knowledge but many other skills. She taught rigor and relevance before they were the new "buzz" words!
As I assisted her in getting some of the preparations under way, I had glimpses of my own days in the classroom, in that very building where teaching and learning thrived, where we all came together for a one purpose, where students were the focus of every decision. I pondered a moment about the true joy that enveloped me as I would take the "stage" in that room, and how the years, now, mean so much to me. I was taken back so easily to days that were meaningful and filled with passion. I was taken back to so many things. Then I said to myself, "don't be one of those women who live in the past". It was what it was, and now it is what it is. As I had little thoughts of what it would like to go back to that career, lead a group of students through their studies, I knew that you can never go back. All circumstances are different, nothing would be the same, those moments were meant to be what they were, and all conditions under heaven were right and good to allow me those years of teaching.
Just as in my career, and definitely more so, I struggle daily to live where I am, in the moment, don't look back. Don't dwell. Don't wonder. Work to accept what is mine to accept. Like stepping back into the classroom, I cannot step back in time. I can't relive the days of raising our daughters, of attending their events, of going to church as a family, of teaching Sunday School, of family traditions, of Joe coaching their sports, of graduation and birthday parties. All that has changed. It is supposed to, but I didn't think it was supposed to be like this. When the girls left and created the "empty nest", I didn't think the pain in my heart could get any deeper. We were lost and at odds, we didn't know quite what to do with ourselves, everything had been centered around their growing up, and now they were gone in one sense. It was time to redefine ourselves, our family unit, our interests as a couple. But on the heels of that, we faced cancer and loss, and we were so lost in yet a different way. I begged God to make it better, to help me find my way. I wanted to go back, and at times, I still do. But I can't, and I won't, and I am learning that Allison is not coming back. In those first months, and even years, close to three now, I expected her to walk in the door. Sometimes I still do. Sometimes when the phone rings at exactly 6:00 in the evening, I am just sure it is her. But it is not. And it never will be again.
With every fiber of my being, I would love to go back, and take whatever I had before knowing this devastation and pain, before, when hearing Christmas music in the stores brought pep to my step in joyful anticipation, when I could lie on the couch and watch a Lifetime movie with my daughters, when I could hear about her day and new friends in her college town, when I could go to the mall without seeing reminders on every turn, when we could talk about their dream weddings, when I could hear two sisters giggling in a room as they prepared to go out or wrap Christmas presents, or talk about girl things! But it's not to be. The pain of that comes and goes, one minute you find yourself in complete acceptance, the other minute, your body is pain from the desire to see, hold or talk with her or turn back the clock. But God knows that looking back is not going to make today any better. The snippets of looking back bring meaning to the day we have, the moment, and the future. It holds it all in its hand, and while it has its place, it is not a place to dwell. So, I strive to take that memory, make it meaningful, and give it purpose to live this day, the one I have, with those who are here, and stay strong, for them, and for her.
The classroom teaches many things, but life is our greatest teacher. We cannot go back. That's not how it works. All I have is today, and I pray I make the most of it, through the tears of loss, through the promise of blessings, which will reveal themselves if I keep looking.
As I assisted her in getting some of the preparations under way, I had glimpses of my own days in the classroom, in that very building where teaching and learning thrived, where we all came together for a one purpose, where students were the focus of every decision. I pondered a moment about the true joy that enveloped me as I would take the "stage" in that room, and how the years, now, mean so much to me. I was taken back so easily to days that were meaningful and filled with passion. I was taken back to so many things. Then I said to myself, "don't be one of those women who live in the past". It was what it was, and now it is what it is. As I had little thoughts of what it would like to go back to that career, lead a group of students through their studies, I knew that you can never go back. All circumstances are different, nothing would be the same, those moments were meant to be what they were, and all conditions under heaven were right and good to allow me those years of teaching.
Just as in my career, and definitely more so, I struggle daily to live where I am, in the moment, don't look back. Don't dwell. Don't wonder. Work to accept what is mine to accept. Like stepping back into the classroom, I cannot step back in time. I can't relive the days of raising our daughters, of attending their events, of going to church as a family, of teaching Sunday School, of family traditions, of Joe coaching their sports, of graduation and birthday parties. All that has changed. It is supposed to, but I didn't think it was supposed to be like this. When the girls left and created the "empty nest", I didn't think the pain in my heart could get any deeper. We were lost and at odds, we didn't know quite what to do with ourselves, everything had been centered around their growing up, and now they were gone in one sense. It was time to redefine ourselves, our family unit, our interests as a couple. But on the heels of that, we faced cancer and loss, and we were so lost in yet a different way. I begged God to make it better, to help me find my way. I wanted to go back, and at times, I still do. But I can't, and I won't, and I am learning that Allison is not coming back. In those first months, and even years, close to three now, I expected her to walk in the door. Sometimes I still do. Sometimes when the phone rings at exactly 6:00 in the evening, I am just sure it is her. But it is not. And it never will be again.
With every fiber of my being, I would love to go back, and take whatever I had before knowing this devastation and pain, before, when hearing Christmas music in the stores brought pep to my step in joyful anticipation, when I could lie on the couch and watch a Lifetime movie with my daughters, when I could hear about her day and new friends in her college town, when I could go to the mall without seeing reminders on every turn, when we could talk about their dream weddings, when I could hear two sisters giggling in a room as they prepared to go out or wrap Christmas presents, or talk about girl things! But it's not to be. The pain of that comes and goes, one minute you find yourself in complete acceptance, the other minute, your body is pain from the desire to see, hold or talk with her or turn back the clock. But God knows that looking back is not going to make today any better. The snippets of looking back bring meaning to the day we have, the moment, and the future. It holds it all in its hand, and while it has its place, it is not a place to dwell. So, I strive to take that memory, make it meaningful, and give it purpose to live this day, the one I have, with those who are here, and stay strong, for them, and for her.
The classroom teaches many things, but life is our greatest teacher. We cannot go back. That's not how it works. All I have is today, and I pray I make the most of it, through the tears of loss, through the promise of blessings, which will reveal themselves if I keep looking.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Can't Compare
I woke up thinking and praying for those in need, at least the ones I am aware of at this time. I always end up by asking God to bless those not mentioned because He knows what their trials and burdens truly are, what they walk through, not me. The good news of the day is that He does know and He cares and He doesn't want to see the trials we face, but life is not without its share of burdens. We are all going to face the tribulations of this world, loss, pain, illness, death. As I write that I wonder if to some that sounds morbid. To me, it does not because it is truth. We just won't escape it, and while some folks seem to think they receive more than others, more than their portion, more than they themselves think they deserve, we know that bad things happen to "good" people.
This morning I awakened with the faces of many, some to be named, many just carried in my heart. It's no wonder it feels as if it is breaking these days, but I am learning the ultimate lesson of releasing my concerns and pain for others to the very capable hands of the Lord, just as I began the process just three short years ago to understand that I am not the one in control, I cannot keep things from happening to those I care about or love, and robbing myself of sleep, nutrition, mental and emotional health is not going to cause them to get well or heal. This has been a slow process for me, but the freedom in releasing all that we are to God above is a gift that has come from the brokenness of losing my youngest daughter. No amount of worry or losing sleep or neglecting my health is going to make my, or other's situations, any different. I know that to the core of my being, yet, every time I begin to slip into thinking that I can actually make it better or take it away, I work hard to give it to God in a way that is helpful and healing for myself. Carrying the extra burden will only rob me of this moment, this glorious morning, the beautiful times with a thriving young woman, my precious living daughter, the quiet evenings with a devoted husband, the trips to a sister/best friend, the opportunity to seize the day. I may or may not be productive but I am alive and here to follow the agenda God has planned for me.
That brings me to the others whose burdens DO weigh heavy on my heart and their faces blurred into one this morning in my early awakening thoughts and prayers, and I thought about their burdens. And I thought about all those who have shared their pains, losses, worries, fears with me, and often prefacing their words with comments such as "I know this cannot compare with losing a child"...as if their burden was any less significant than mine. I understand why they say it and think it, yet, from my perspective, I have always felt that it may be so, I don't know, I don't carry their burden. Mine is mine. Ours is ours. I don't know theirs or yours, but I am willing to bet there is one. And we can't compare. Who would want to? Others wouldn't want mine, and I would not want theirs. We own what is ours to own.
So, today and everyday, as I pray for the ever growing list...the sister of a dear friend of mine (Lynn) who anxiously waits with her family for the outcome of tests, my long time friend who struggles everyday to make sense of a divorce that she would not have chosen, Carol and family who have lost the beloved patriarch of the family, suddenly and shockingly, now must rebuild life and find their way, my own brother in law who now finds great news in the medical end of his cancer diagnosis but now must face a past that will set him free, who must learn to live with cancer, who is coming into his own acceptance, and his wife, my own dear sister, who gives care and medicine and hope and love and patience and tender kindness like there is no end to the well within, to sweet Kim, whose daughter left this earth to be free from the pain within, leaving a mother to maneuver the seasons and the days in a way that brings tribute to that young life, to my dear friend who tends to parents who suffered greatly from a devastating car accident, to Chrissy, who in the midst of chemotherapy and major treatment for breast cancer found the strength to dress up for her children and make yet another Halloween memory, to my daughter who lives strong each and every day, knowing she must rebuild her own life without a sister to share the journey, being the only young person in this generation of the family, left alone to find her way, to Tina's family, who figure out how to live day by day without their mother, robbed in her twenties by a unique cancer that took her from her babies way too soon, to the countless friends who do not know how they are going to pay the mortgage or provide a Christmas due to loss of job, to dear Esther, who is finding end of life stages to be quite challenging but perseveres with the smile and spirit that taught so many students and adults how to live, to my husband, who works hard, never misses a day, provides the strength this family needs, is a role model for his living daughter, all as his own heart breaks and tears spring at the mere mention of his deceased daughter's name, to CJ's family, for the never ending "paying it forward" for childhood cancers in the sweet memory of their boy, taken way too soon, to Erica and Jamie, who knew their daughter for three days, and had to bury a child before they could make a life for her, for Lauren and Gregg, who devote time and energy to their living children while mourning the loss and the life of their sweet Lily, to Donna, who now knows the time has mounted and add up to more years without her beloved Tina than she had with her...to the endless list and countless names. It never ends. It never will. And all we have is this day and our ability to respond.
I share this short quote frequently and I read it daily as my reminder that when I am troubled and burdened and feel so very alone (and I often do!) that I am just a snippet, that my pain and tears, while most devastating at the time, are blended with many others. God has His hands full. But He is good. He knows what we need even when we do not. He will provide.
"O God, your sea is so great and my boat is so small. Be with me."
This morning I awakened with the faces of many, some to be named, many just carried in my heart. It's no wonder it feels as if it is breaking these days, but I am learning the ultimate lesson of releasing my concerns and pain for others to the very capable hands of the Lord, just as I began the process just three short years ago to understand that I am not the one in control, I cannot keep things from happening to those I care about or love, and robbing myself of sleep, nutrition, mental and emotional health is not going to cause them to get well or heal. This has been a slow process for me, but the freedom in releasing all that we are to God above is a gift that has come from the brokenness of losing my youngest daughter. No amount of worry or losing sleep or neglecting my health is going to make my, or other's situations, any different. I know that to the core of my being, yet, every time I begin to slip into thinking that I can actually make it better or take it away, I work hard to give it to God in a way that is helpful and healing for myself. Carrying the extra burden will only rob me of this moment, this glorious morning, the beautiful times with a thriving young woman, my precious living daughter, the quiet evenings with a devoted husband, the trips to a sister/best friend, the opportunity to seize the day. I may or may not be productive but I am alive and here to follow the agenda God has planned for me.
That brings me to the others whose burdens DO weigh heavy on my heart and their faces blurred into one this morning in my early awakening thoughts and prayers, and I thought about their burdens. And I thought about all those who have shared their pains, losses, worries, fears with me, and often prefacing their words with comments such as "I know this cannot compare with losing a child"...as if their burden was any less significant than mine. I understand why they say it and think it, yet, from my perspective, I have always felt that it may be so, I don't know, I don't carry their burden. Mine is mine. Ours is ours. I don't know theirs or yours, but I am willing to bet there is one. And we can't compare. Who would want to? Others wouldn't want mine, and I would not want theirs. We own what is ours to own.
So, today and everyday, as I pray for the ever growing list...the sister of a dear friend of mine (Lynn) who anxiously waits with her family for the outcome of tests, my long time friend who struggles everyday to make sense of a divorce that she would not have chosen, Carol and family who have lost the beloved patriarch of the family, suddenly and shockingly, now must rebuild life and find their way, my own brother in law who now finds great news in the medical end of his cancer diagnosis but now must face a past that will set him free, who must learn to live with cancer, who is coming into his own acceptance, and his wife, my own dear sister, who gives care and medicine and hope and love and patience and tender kindness like there is no end to the well within, to sweet Kim, whose daughter left this earth to be free from the pain within, leaving a mother to maneuver the seasons and the days in a way that brings tribute to that young life, to my dear friend who tends to parents who suffered greatly from a devastating car accident, to Chrissy, who in the midst of chemotherapy and major treatment for breast cancer found the strength to dress up for her children and make yet another Halloween memory, to my daughter who lives strong each and every day, knowing she must rebuild her own life without a sister to share the journey, being the only young person in this generation of the family, left alone to find her way, to Tina's family, who figure out how to live day by day without their mother, robbed in her twenties by a unique cancer that took her from her babies way too soon, to the countless friends who do not know how they are going to pay the mortgage or provide a Christmas due to loss of job, to dear Esther, who is finding end of life stages to be quite challenging but perseveres with the smile and spirit that taught so many students and adults how to live, to my husband, who works hard, never misses a day, provides the strength this family needs, is a role model for his living daughter, all as his own heart breaks and tears spring at the mere mention of his deceased daughter's name, to CJ's family, for the never ending "paying it forward" for childhood cancers in the sweet memory of their boy, taken way too soon, to Erica and Jamie, who knew their daughter for three days, and had to bury a child before they could make a life for her, for Lauren and Gregg, who devote time and energy to their living children while mourning the loss and the life of their sweet Lily, to Donna, who now knows the time has mounted and add up to more years without her beloved Tina than she had with her...to the endless list and countless names. It never ends. It never will. And all we have is this day and our ability to respond.
I share this short quote frequently and I read it daily as my reminder that when I am troubled and burdened and feel so very alone (and I often do!) that I am just a snippet, that my pain and tears, while most devastating at the time, are blended with many others. God has His hands full. But He is good. He knows what we need even when we do not. He will provide.
"O God, your sea is so great and my boat is so small. Be with me."
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
November, and it's Lung Cancer Awareness Month
I never knew that many cancers held an awareness month or that each one has a designated color of representation. I wear my white, pearl, or clear cancer ribbons, angels, bracelets, as does Jen, Aunt Karen, Aunt Kathy, and other friends and family. The lung cancer color is clear to show that you cannot see when lung cancer is there unless you have in-depth testing, an incidental x-ray, or when the more obvious symptoms occur, as was the case for Allison. And most often, when the concerning symptoms are prevalent, there is little time left to live on earth. There is "usually" limited time. And one day you find there is no time. No more time to do or say all the things you had hoped to portray, and life as you knew it, is over.
It seems rather ironic that during what became one of Allison's most intense parts of her short 11 week journey, that here we are, living out a month designated as Lung Cancer Awareness Month. It seems surreal to me that her face is just one snippet and snapshot of a life impacted by lung cancer. It makes one wonder, how could it be her, us, why this journey, why in the prime of her life, on the threshold of a young life filled with hope and ambition? Why? How?
As I look and post new photos of this precious face, now a symbol and statistic of the dreaded disease, I cannot believe that this child, daughter of ours, sister, niece, granddaughter, cousin, friend can well represent the staggering statistics. How can she be one of the lives that is taken each year, more lives than breast, ovarian and uterine cancers combined!
I am slowly realizing that it took a face such as hers, quite possibly still the youngest female to lose her life to lung cancer, to help people stand up and take notice. It took her passage for others to inquire and learn and become more aware, because after all, does this really happen? Do young women who do not smoke (aside from the occasional teen aged cigarettes) really lose a life? The alarming answer is a resounding yes, and not only her, but the risk is rising in young women. In fact, more than 100,000 American women will contract lung cancer in the next calendar year, yet the awareness, funding and research is low. One reason for that shocking reality is the stigma associated with the diagnosis. Most of us, including our family, considered lung cancer a smoker's disease, and along with that, the "perception" that people did this to themselves, therefore, what might they expect. The comments and thoughts of those hearing about such a diagnosis can often leave me mystified...first and foremost, questions like "did she smoke" and accusations that she must have "done something" for this to happen. Thankfully, as Allison learned of the diagnosis, she was able to directly understand that nothing she did caused her to "deserve" such a situation, that had she been an addictive smoker, she would have had to smoke 2-3 packs of cigarettes a day since she was 2 years old to have the type of cancer and size of tumor. I still recall her smile and laughter and comfort when the doctor explained that nothing she did caused or pinpointed her!
Never being a smoker, I have never understood the addiction. I know that people understand the risk, but what I don't think people know is that ALL of us who breathe are at risk for lung cancer and that MOST lung cancer patients did NOT smoke! Naturally, I would love to see everyone I know and love who do smoke, stop immediately, but I know that each thing we do is a personal choice. And I know that Allison's story has changed some perceptions and even encouraged others to breathe more fully and stop smoking completely. And if this story makes a small difference in one life, it is worth sharing.
I would like to see those diagnosed NOT have the questions or the accusing look, they are dealing with much already. I would like to see support and awareness and funding for those who walk this journey themselves or with someone they love. I would like to see the dollars dedicated to support other than JUST smoking cessation programs, after all, how is that going to help and assist when the statistics show that most lung cancer patients never smoked. I would like us to believe that no one deserves this disease, no matter what choices were made.
I must believe Allison is a face of lung cancer for some profound purpose. She is just one little photo that will be displayed at the upcoming, first annual 5K Fun Run/Walk for Lung Cancer, sponsored by The Lung Cancer Connection on 11/14/2009 right here in St. Louis. (contact me at jwhaake@sbcglobal.net, if you would like to know more) She was a vibrant, fun-loving, gentle, sensitive, motivated, young women, living out her dreams. She did nothing to deserve this and the struggle she went through to breathe and receive treatment. She did nothing to deserve the pain and side effects of "living" with lung cancer. She did nothing to deserve the day to day appointments, scans, injections, devastating news that the cancer was yet in one more part of her body. She did nothing to deserve having to depend on others for what were once "normal" body activities and functions. What she DID do,though, was everything to leave us a legacy and a light and a motivation to live today, not feel sorry for ourselves and reach out with acts of kindness when we can. She did everything to stay strong, smile through the needles and the chemotherapy running through her veins, hold her head up high when her head was shaved, go in and ask for more radiation, hold tight to the scriptures in her pocket, memorizing them and believing she would live and never die. And she did live, and she will never die, and she guides us to help make a difference with the time we have left. Surely she is smiling on us, knowing we are doing our best to keep learning and educating in sweet remembrance.
I may never understand any of this, but for her and for my life, I will keep on.
It seems rather ironic that during what became one of Allison's most intense parts of her short 11 week journey, that here we are, living out a month designated as Lung Cancer Awareness Month. It seems surreal to me that her face is just one snippet and snapshot of a life impacted by lung cancer. It makes one wonder, how could it be her, us, why this journey, why in the prime of her life, on the threshold of a young life filled with hope and ambition? Why? How?
As I look and post new photos of this precious face, now a symbol and statistic of the dreaded disease, I cannot believe that this child, daughter of ours, sister, niece, granddaughter, cousin, friend can well represent the staggering statistics. How can she be one of the lives that is taken each year, more lives than breast, ovarian and uterine cancers combined!
I am slowly realizing that it took a face such as hers, quite possibly still the youngest female to lose her life to lung cancer, to help people stand up and take notice. It took her passage for others to inquire and learn and become more aware, because after all, does this really happen? Do young women who do not smoke (aside from the occasional teen aged cigarettes) really lose a life? The alarming answer is a resounding yes, and not only her, but the risk is rising in young women. In fact, more than 100,000 American women will contract lung cancer in the next calendar year, yet the awareness, funding and research is low. One reason for that shocking reality is the stigma associated with the diagnosis. Most of us, including our family, considered lung cancer a smoker's disease, and along with that, the "perception" that people did this to themselves, therefore, what might they expect. The comments and thoughts of those hearing about such a diagnosis can often leave me mystified...first and foremost, questions like "did she smoke" and accusations that she must have "done something" for this to happen. Thankfully, as Allison learned of the diagnosis, she was able to directly understand that nothing she did caused her to "deserve" such a situation, that had she been an addictive smoker, she would have had to smoke 2-3 packs of cigarettes a day since she was 2 years old to have the type of cancer and size of tumor. I still recall her smile and laughter and comfort when the doctor explained that nothing she did caused or pinpointed her!
Never being a smoker, I have never understood the addiction. I know that people understand the risk, but what I don't think people know is that ALL of us who breathe are at risk for lung cancer and that MOST lung cancer patients did NOT smoke! Naturally, I would love to see everyone I know and love who do smoke, stop immediately, but I know that each thing we do is a personal choice. And I know that Allison's story has changed some perceptions and even encouraged others to breathe more fully and stop smoking completely. And if this story makes a small difference in one life, it is worth sharing.
I would like to see those diagnosed NOT have the questions or the accusing look, they are dealing with much already. I would like to see support and awareness and funding for those who walk this journey themselves or with someone they love. I would like to see the dollars dedicated to support other than JUST smoking cessation programs, after all, how is that going to help and assist when the statistics show that most lung cancer patients never smoked. I would like us to believe that no one deserves this disease, no matter what choices were made.
I must believe Allison is a face of lung cancer for some profound purpose. She is just one little photo that will be displayed at the upcoming, first annual 5K Fun Run/Walk for Lung Cancer, sponsored by The Lung Cancer Connection on 11/14/2009 right here in St. Louis. (contact me at jwhaake@sbcglobal.net, if you would like to know more) She was a vibrant, fun-loving, gentle, sensitive, motivated, young women, living out her dreams. She did nothing to deserve this and the struggle she went through to breathe and receive treatment. She did nothing to deserve the pain and side effects of "living" with lung cancer. She did nothing to deserve the day to day appointments, scans, injections, devastating news that the cancer was yet in one more part of her body. She did nothing to deserve having to depend on others for what were once "normal" body activities and functions. What she DID do,though, was everything to leave us a legacy and a light and a motivation to live today, not feel sorry for ourselves and reach out with acts of kindness when we can. She did everything to stay strong, smile through the needles and the chemotherapy running through her veins, hold her head up high when her head was shaved, go in and ask for more radiation, hold tight to the scriptures in her pocket, memorizing them and believing she would live and never die. And she did live, and she will never die, and she guides us to help make a difference with the time we have left. Surely she is smiling on us, knowing we are doing our best to keep learning and educating in sweet remembrance.
I may never understand any of this, but for her and for my life, I will keep on.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)