All Aglow

I am working in many ways, psychologically, emotionally, spiritually, even physically, to weave through these days of brokenness with a spirit that Allison lived in her last days with us. This day signifies so much to us, last night her last one spent in the comfort of her home. All she wanted to do toward the end of her life was to come back to her home, her bed, her boy, Barkley, and be comfortable. She even begged at times, as she slipped in and out of this world. And, at times, she believed she was at home, because there she was, surrounded by all who loved her, all who never left her side, all who held her and eased her mind about leaving us. The pain of it all just doesn't subside, but the beauty of it peeks out at me like the sun shining behind a dark cloud. I feel every motion, memory, every word, every tear, every thought, every action of those final days, which really counted down from this day. I don't try to. As I have attempted to do since her passing, my full time job is living, and not spending time in a past that holds no meaning now. Yet, the memories don't fade, I suppose because they are in the deepest chambers and fibers of my soul, and as a mother carried her baby under the bosom of her heart, so the memories, pain, and love reside, intermingled, tangled, churning, yet sorting it all out, this time of year when the days become shorter and shorter, until there was one last breath.

There was a glow about Allison that always permeated her. That indeed is a fact, and acknowledged by many, even before her diagnosis. But after the illness invaded, and she would not let cancer control her, the glow, the halo grew larger than life, and sometimes it was so physically present that we would wonder if she were truly an angel on earth. A spiritual being in a young woman's body. But we would dismiss that notion, as if it were not even possible. But it was and it is. And the glow was ever present, as if in halo form, beginning on Christmas Eve, and glowing all around her, even after the breath and life was gone from her body. Her spirit hovered when released, and does, still.

The glow of this soul is our gift today. Those who have seen it up close and personal know that no words can truly describe the final days, this day when relief came to her as she entered the hospital, never to come home to this house. But that was not meant to be. We thought she would. We knew she would. But she didn't. She made a life for nine days in that hospital room, some memories too painful for me to visit, still, but most are beautiful and glowing, like her spirit. Through the pain and procedure and acceptance that she would leave us, there was a strength that has never left me, her father, her sister and those closest to her. We know, now, that we can do anything life sets before us. We will carry that glow with us until it is our turn for her to meet us in the Heavenly Kingdom of God.

This is a week and a day to remember in many ways. I hold on to the spirit that my life is now what it is because she left us. Who would I be if not for her death? Why did it take my own child dying before I could truly comprehend the sacrifice of Jesus and how He died in order that we may live? That we are not promised tomorrow, that we live to die. When my own precious child asked me the question no mother wants to hear, "mommy, am I dying", I had to answer with complete honesty. "yes, my girl, you are, but we all are, that is what we are created for, we live to die, and it is our time on earth that we get to prepare for our eternal life"...those words just two days before she closed her eyes forever. She accepted my answer as truth, for it was, and she rested, and she smiled, and she was beautiful.

All who knew and loved her see the glow differently today, some tangible, some in spirit. It is so clearly with us, it is what guides us, what gives us strength, what motivated us to work hard and live strong. As I cry this week, endlessly, for what has been lost, I still find that place in my heart that smiles, that draws courage and strength in all she left, and I find the glow my sustaining, driving force to keep living.

Can Every Day Be Christmas?

I would like to think that everyday could be Christmas. I hope that I try to make that happen, that the cookies baked for neighbors don't just come during the hustle and bustle, that the little gifts that can bring a smile don't just get handed out on day of the year, but most importantly, that the spirit of Jesus in my heart doesn't contain itself to one day. The spirit of Christmas and what it means to know the Lord and Saviour the way we do is meant for every day of the year.

So, in knowing that, it was my way of convincing myself that this day is like any other day of the year. And it is. The only difference is that families gather round, celebrate, and follow traditions. Or make new ones. Which is what we do now, new ones, that weave in some of the "old", yet make way for the new. We must find a way to honor the past, the present, but look to the future with hope and faith. We must hold on to the celebrations that once were part of our lives, while making way for the ones that will hold a memory in the future. Those memories are what make Christmas what it is, after all. It is often not the moment. It is remembering the past, the joys, the laughter, the love. So, in that, we were able to celebrate another Christmas without Allison being here. This is not to say it did not have the most intense, painful moments. It is not to say that I would have given anything to turn the clock back, not know the pain of grief that now walks my daily walk and talk and life. But she is not here, in the physical sense. And there is no way to describe that absence.

I saw on the news that many families were not joined together this year. Of course, I already knew that from the confines of war, where soldiers are not home with their loved ones. Then the storms kept sons and daughters from getting home. Families are not intact but there is hope for the new year and another holiday. The difference, I believe, when a child, no matter what age is gone forever, never to return, when you know there is no chance of a physical reunion, or the sight of her opening her gifts, the difference is the finality. And the sense that you carry with you, that dull sense of absence. It hovers. It clings. It is always there. But as each day comes and goes, one must learn to deal, cope and live with it, because it cannot be changed. There is an unspoken gloom, yet, it weaves with refreshed purpose and plans, and the opportunity to be alive. You want it to begin, then you want it to end, the days that mark holidays or celebrations or anniversaries. Learning to live like this is astounding. It is confusing. But we keep on, as I say everyday, for her, for our living daughter, for ourselves, for a God who is true.

We got on with the sense of Christmas. We look to make a bit of Christmas in our lives everyday. It is just another day, yet it is not. We made it what we could, and we found our way. Through the cloud of grief, we were able to find joy and love and maybe a bit of peace, if only for a moment.

Alfred Tennyson writes:

Again at Christmas did we weave
The holly round the Christmas hearth;
The silent snow possessed the earth,
And calmly fell our Christmas Eve.

The yule log sparkled keen with frost,
No wing of wind the region swept,
But over all things brooding slept
The quiet sense of something lost.

There it is, always hovering, the sense of something lost. We miss her, we ache for her, as many parents do this Christmas, for their beloved sons and daughters, lost to them from this earth, yet guiding them from where they now reside, deep in the hearts and bosom of our souls, our lives.

The Graveside Wreath

There is a beautiful wreath that awaits being placed at Allison's resting place. Jennifer's Godmother, Aunt Sue, made it and brought it over with at Christmas time, 2007, our first one without Allison's physical presence. She just told us to do what we wanted with it, so that first year, since the monument had not been placed, we just laid it down but I picked it right up and brought it home. I couldn't leave it, and I couldn't believe that I was a mother, visiting the gravesite of her beloved daughter. The second year I did leave it, right under the bench opening, under her name that I have traced many times over, perhaps so that this will become "real" in some ways. It is shimmery and has one simple pink glistening bow. I thought each year I might add something to it, but that hasn't happened. I like the simplicity of it, just lying there on top of the cold ground where the green grass still stands out, even in the beginning of winter. So, last year I left it, and had no thoughts of retrieving it, yet, when I visited later in winter, as it still sat there, not a bit frayed from the raging winter winds, or cold of night, I decided to bring it home. Maybe start a new tradition. Maybe make a visit and lay it down again. But, the wreath is still here and I have not been to make that visit, to see how others honor those who have gone before them with grave coverings, poinsettias, wreaths. The time has not been right for me. I am not a grave visitor. Allison is not there, so for me, when I go there, I feel very removed, not comforted. I know other mothers and fathers who feel quite the opposite. And that is okay. Each one of us finds our own way, and God shows us different ways to move through this, not move ON, not even FORWARD, just move. To me, that is the key.

I haven't hung any wreaths this year, quite odd for me. But this has been one of a different season, the one where I believe some sort of "shock" is wearing off and the freshness is binding. There is not even the big Christmas tree up, and that is okay. The pink one is, the candles are out, the snowmen, the displays of comfort but not too many. Less is more this year.

I am unsure what will happen to Allison's graveside wreath this year. Maybe it will stay there for another year, maybe I will visit on Christmas Eve, maybe not. Maybe I will hang it on our door this week, maybe I will just hold it close and let the tears come that need to...just maybe I will hold it and be reminded of the beautiful way in which her sister, Jennifer, read the poem on the day of her wintery celebration of life, the poem that held such meaning then, but is more profound with each growing day. The poem that helps us to know we don't need the graveside or bench to know she never leaves us, for she did not die. I have shared it before, but this morning, I need to hear it again and again and again...

Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there.
I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamonds on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds circling flight.
I am the the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there.
I did not die.

The Right Message

Yesterday, I was restless. The emotional pain was settling in ways, and in places, that I found a bit unknown. I had to keep going, and I knew it, but I didn't know how. By keep going I don't mean shopping, or bustling, or baking, I mean simply living. As every other day, I find my strength from sources unknown and unplanned, from places familiar, some foreign. I never know where it is going to come from, this ability to move and live and breathe and endure the pain that really cannot be described in words. But what I do know is that it will come, because God hears my prayers, knows my heart, and sends whatever I need, even when I have no idea what that may be, at such a time as this...a time when we blend Allison's last days on earth, with holidays, with planning a celebration of her life in just a few short days, with knowing down deep that those weeks may very well bring the last Christmas we spend on earth together. This is that time when it would be too difficult to gather around parties and make idle chit chat, when silence is rather golden, and when reflection and time to just breathe and take it all in, the lights, the memories, the life, the here and now, the future. So, as I found my way through a very heavy load this weekend, as I sought God's guidance on whether I should, or could, attend a dear friend's sister's memorial service, I just kept asking for help. I was led to Allison's own celebration service pamphlet, the one that provided an outline of a service to remain locked in our memory, forever. I read it as though it were the first time. I guess that is what a new set of eyes will do for a person, and I read parts of my journal that I had included. I am not sure why I was led to that, but it brought me comfort and it brought me closer to God and His goodness and His tender ways. It brought many things back, the words shared, the opportunities to say so much, or so little, to say good-bye, to say I will see you when God decides it is time for our own reunion. To hold my child, not as though she were 21 years of age, but to hold her and rock her and love her into eternal sleep.

Still, my heart couldn't hold enough yesterday as thoughts of two sisters, all of their siblings, a young mother taken far too soon, leaving her soul-mate and two small children to figure this out. Cancer has invaded again. I couldn't bear the e-mail I received from a mother who had found this blog quite by accident, and who had contacted me months ago to ask how to prepare for the moment she may lose her own young woman of a daughter, the e-mail that came yesterday simply stating, PEACE...and I knew, Erin was gone to eternal rest. I couldn't bear to think of two young mothers who had planned to hang their baby's first ornament up on the tree, only to have laid them to rest after only knowing them a few days. I couldn't bear to think of the sadness of another mother who spent time with me this week, trying to figure out how to move without her daughter here for Christmas, a young lady in the prime of life. I couldn't bear my own pain. And in an instant, a friend, Sarah, sent the scripture I needed, one I couldn't have found yesterday as I read and searched for the right message...there it was, though, found by her and she took the time to share it, and she may never know just how much I needed to read this.

Of course, the scripture is referring to the Christ Child, but in that moment, Sarah thought of Allison, and I did, too. After all, her belief in Jesus as her personal saviour brought her to the loving arms of God above, through His own son.

Luke 1:76-79
"And you child will be called a prophet of the Most High,
for you will go before the Lord to prepare the ways,
to give the people knowledge of salvation,
Through forgiveness of their sins,
because of the tender mercy of our God,
by which the daybreak from on high will visit us,
to shine on those who sit in darkness and death's shadow
to guide our feet into the path of peace."

God IS merciful, grants us peace, and guides us, and through His Son, we can find our way. He sends angels among us to help us along the way, and promises that when more than one are gathered in His name, there is hope, light and love.

I am thankful for the many angels in my life, who take that minute to reach out, share, leave a message, pray for us, and hope along with us. This journey is not getting easier, by any means, but it is different, revealing all the while that the right message is always at our fingertips. We just have to be willing to share it, and listen, and live.

The Sun Does Rise

This morning the sunrise was incredible. It's a sight to behold and even in retirement I am up way too early. That's okay, it is peaceful and there is no hustle or bustle or traffic or children and their parents to tend to first thing in the morning. Silence is golden, as they say, and I live it now. I embrace it. And as I seize the day, taking it for what it is, yes, missing, especially at this time of year, all those who I interacted with on a daily basis, I must accept that life is paced differently, slower, quieter, more subdued, but it is what I make of it. I must accept a lot of things. One such part of my life, our lives, is that as we make our way toward Christmas, it is not only the holiday we must find our way through with new traditions and ways to celebrate life, but these days signify so much more. They represent the final days Allison spent at home with us, a December to remember, and even in the devastation of a raging and relentless cancer, there was joy, here, that now lives in our hearts. There was laughter, lights, hope, strength, and love. There were visitors, endless at times, and special gatherings as Allie perched on her pillow in her room, or in a favorite chair. There were two sisters, laughing and telling secrets, laying together and watching Ellen and reality shows! There were games and coloring books and toys and almost daily presents in the mail! There were naps with her beloved Barkley, there was music, there were movies, there was a young woman with a a halo of light that helped us through some remarkably difficult days. Yet that glow brought peace and helped us turn to the only one who could take control, a loving and tender God, who took her on a morning that started much as today did, a very cold and bitter early morning, with the most amazing colors streaming through the sky. I mostly remember the pinks and oranges that filtered through her hospital room, and how appropriate, those being two of her three favorite colors, the other being turquoise. Yet, that day, unlike today, as soon as she took her final breath and left us for eternity, the skies turned gray and the cold settled in...today is not going to be like that. Today is a reminder that the good comes with the bad, that for now, it is beautiful, but soon, all can change. Just as those days in December brought the utmost beauty, they turned dark, and cold, until we could see again, hear again, remember without the intensity of such pain.

I remind myself daily that Allison is not in pain, only those of us left behind are still grappling with this thing called life. We don't know what to do or how to do it, we try, we take baby steps, we falter, we pick back up, and we do what we must. I know if she could say anything directly to us it would be to remember the wonderment of those last weeks, not the pain, the nights, the hospital visits, or the death...but to remember the laughter, the family gathered all the while each visit now becoming a precious memory, remember the food, the purpose, the reason for the season. She would encourage me to put the wreaths out that are still waiting in the basement, decorate the tree, play the music, do the shopping. And to her I would say, I am doing it, I am finding the smallest steps to be the biggest journey. The music is on this morning, a friend is coming for lunch, and another for a happy hour, one at a time, or a whole house full, I am living. Sometimes I don't want to, sometimes I just cannot even begin to breathe through this or comprehend such a loss, I have to touch her face on a photo just to get to the next minute, but I do what I must.

The sun has risen and I am recalling in my soul the beauty of those last weeks, her death is not the painful part, she is in the most serene and wondrous places of all, it's the living without her that is the complex part. Yet the gifts she left are bigger and better than any under the tree. I can feel the love of those weeks, the friends and family who made time to come by, visit, not even question if they should or should not, they just did. Those moments help me find my way, knowing that love prevails and carries us when there is nothing else to do.

Psalm 30 says that weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning. Right now I am thankful for this morning and what it brings.

Needs and Wants

When I was teaching I enjoyed the economy lessons of needs vs. wants, whether it was in the 2nd, 4th or 6th grade curriculum, we always touched on the topic and it was always interesting to me how the students responded. As they grew older, their needs would get confused with their wants! And that happened in my own home. The girls surely didn't care about paying the bills first and THEN seeing what was left over to buy the things they liked, or do the things they enjoyed. They just wanted what they wanted when they wanted it! And yes, over time, they were a bit indulged, some would say VERY indulged, after all, they had great tennis shoes and swimsuits from Dillards...and the prom dresses, and the homecoming dresses, and the shoes to match, and oh, the hair highlights and the nails done...indeed, the list goes on. Still, we always stressed the "needs over wants", and I am proud to say they had a good head on their shoulders, gave to others, very generously, paid their bills first (most of the time) and didn't get too far into trouble. Allison even had two of my credit cards while living in Chicago (which Jennifer couldn't believe:), but never did she make a purchase without authorization from me, and then, it was very rare. So all in all, I know that both of them understand (to some extent:) that we must take care of business first, then indulge a bit.

I think of this at this time of year because of the mixed emotions I have about the upcoming Christmas Day. Again, over time, the girls were indulged, and presents filled the room. A Haake Christmas is a sight to behold, and while the items are not particularly expensive, they are fun and thought provoking. Sometimes you opened what you may "need" but often it was what one would "want". And now, in the depths of grief, I am struggling to identify what that is, for my loved ones, but especially for myself. I don't mean in the form of a present. The gift in a box or bag means so very little, the kindness or gesture is the beautiful part, and perhaps always has been, I just didn't "feel" it so intently. I just never "felt" to the core of my soul what is there, now, as grief mixes with spirit, and feelings are crying out to be set free. I don't know how to do this, each day is like finding my way through the fog, the light, the darkness, the sunrise, the evening, every turn of every hour represents something new and fresh, and I am not sure what I want or what I need. It was easy to identify before, it was concrete, it was tangible. Now it is remote, and foreign, and out of my reach.

Some may say that with time passing, perhaps it should be "easier" to know, but to them I must say that until you lose your child and need to redefine yourself, your family unit, your holidays and tradition, it doesn't get easier, it takes work, hard work, and lots of it. It's not a bad thing, it's just different and painful and yet, the slivers of light that stream in, in the form of the phone call, or note, or visit, or care from others, helps spur the grieving one on in ways that cannot be described.

As my family and I find our way through the last weeks of Allison's life, blended with the holiday season, we are learning much more about our needs and wants! We are taking our own cues from each other, not making commitments, staying in, being with each other, finding our way. And that takes work, conversation, tears, cleansing, and faith. Faith in one another, in the promise of a new day, and in a loving God who surely holds us in the palm of His hand, for there is no other explanation as to how we have arrived at almost 36 months since Allison passed away and not really known how we got here. We are here by His good grace, it is not to our credit. Surely, God and God alone knows what we need. Yes, I search through my daily readings, activities, care for new dog Rex, visits with others, following what I have always called God's agenda. But I don't know what to do or how to do it, so each morning I just ask Him to show me how to get through, how to do this, and to provide what I need or want. I am often too numb to know.

So the beauty of the day is God does know. He knew to take our daughter and sister from her pain, early enough so that we can remain hopeful for when it becomes our time to leave this earth. He knows enough to connect me with others who I would have never met if not for this journey, and He brings people into my life so that I can share a bit of hope that they, too, will be able to take those steps toward healing. I can promise them, through His word, that nothing else is needed when you walk with the Lord as your guide. He also knows enough to use Allison as a guiding force for others who need hope and guidance on their own cancer journey, and through His love, she shines on. He also provides what I need when I cannot carry on, when I fall to my knees in tears and utter disbelief that I am not making plans for her to come home for Christmas. There is such comfort in knowing that God has it all covered.

God gives us the morning, literally and symbolically. He erases the darkness for a bit, so we can hope. I am thankful for it today. I need it. I need the pain to ease a bit, and the sun to come out and warm me up a bit and help me move, make any kind of movement. I work today at giving it all over to Him and I thank Him for knowing what I need and want!

To Love IS To Lose...sometimes

I've heard the expression (paraphrased somewhat), "would you rather have loved and lost than never to have loved at all"...and it has come to mind, for some reason, so often lately. I never really thought of it in terms of losing a child, our Allison. That is not even a consideration, we don't have children ever expecting to lose them. It's not in our realm of remote possibility. If we thought we would ever have to learn to live without them, and if we knew the pain that encompasses every aspect of emotion and part of one's soul, I wonder what we would say if God had given us the choice. But He often doesn't, and the child is coming, and life takes hold, then you wake up one day, your child living at any age and you find that whatever time you have with them has come to an end, and you know, in spite of everything, in spite of the shock, despair, indescribable loss, that you would do it again, that she was here for a purpose, and life was meant for her presence, until it was time or her to go and make a difference from the heavens. There is that faith and belief in a higher power that makes this realization somewhat more comforting, at least a lot of the times. But a lot of the times, too, it takes some time to retrieve that thought, especially when as her mother I desire a "normal" holiday, with traditions in tact, her physical presence here to hang the ornaments that we never failed to put up, each telling their own story, or that of generations past. I desire in the strongest way to touch her cheek, hold her hand, wake her up on Christmas morning, rather than she and her sister waking us up, as in days gone by. It is exhausting to "figure out" the new traditions, the new ways, the diversions and the maneuvering through a time such as this. It is simply the most incredible feat just to get through the days. But we do and we will, and we make this house a home, with the subtle ways to honor her, remember, and "celebrate" her life as we did nearly three years ago. The candles get lit, the pink tree all aglow, and new life has found its way into our homes and hearts in the form of a new, needy little guy, Rex!

Rex comes to mind as we really debated the expression above...would we rather risk loving and finding attachment and loss than to not love at all? That is a discussion Joe and I had as we had to make a decision whether to adopt this little guy, who was named Pippin at the animal shelter. He will have his own story on my blog soon! But after some discussion and decision making, Rex came to live with us. This is not what we wanted, we didn't ask for it, and as in life, we would have never imagined it. On the heels of losing our beloved Barkley, with our hearts still broken, and missing him beyond words, Rex was brought to us and we couldn't say no. Just last week I began to think of how I need to find a place for Barkley's belongings and packed up the car to donate them to a shelter! Isn't that what they say about babies, too, once mom and dad give away the crib, thinking there is not to be another baby, well, surprise! Nothing was good about this, we told ourselves. It's not the right time. These are our most difficult weeks of the year, our last days now, lived with Allison, blended with her last Christmas at home, there is much to sort through. We just don't need this!

But most of all, how could we sustain yet another loss? How could we endure the pain if we become attached and his life was short? All the unanswered questions surfaced, all of which we knew had no answers. We already know we cannot predict what lies ahead, nor have tomorrow promised, we only have today. And we have a home, love and a life we can give another dog. No, this was not the plan, but what part of life IS our plan?!

So, we have decided to open up and love, and if there is loss, and there will be again, in some form or another, someone we love will be lost to us, at least loss in the physical sense. But not ever truly lost. Allison is gone in the physical sense, and although we are still trying to accept that and acknowledge it internally, our minds tell us it is so. Barkley is gone in the physical sense, as well. But neither of them is ever really gone. Both have taught us to try to open up a bit more, that it's okay to keep living and loving and giving in ways that we can. So our home is open and Rex is adjusting, seeking and craving the love that has been denied. We may lose again, but we will love a lot in the process.

Shopping and Presents

I should look back and see what I wrote a year ago at this time, but I have never looked back on my words and heart filled reflections. I wonder if I wrote the same thing, I wonder if I am in the same "place", I wonder if this pain of holiday blended with Allison's last weeks with us was as intense, or does it just seem as though my heart is going to be ripped to shreds with every ornament, Christmas Carol, with every trip to the store. Shouldn't I still be buying her those gifts? Why does everything I gravitate toward remind me of her...her smell, her comfort, her beauty, her inner strength, the pinks, turquoises, oranges, blended with the memory of 21 Christmas mornings blended into one final beautiful morning, complete with the peace that God granted us, the wonderment of a day meant for a family who didn't know what the next minute would bring for their beloved daughter and sister. Complete with a final picture of four, five counting our precious dog, Barkley, who now rests in peace with his girl.

The shopping that has taken place over the years, the gifts wrapped, the presents unwrapped, don't hold a candle to the memories. I don't really recall the fatigue, the hours of working and finding time to make the gingerbread houses, the cookies, the crafts, attend the holiday performances. Like giving birth, I suppose, I can barely remember the pain because of all the joy. Yes, sorrow too, pain, anguish, and all that goes into raising children, but the pure joy of having them on this earth overshadows it all. Now, I am praying that I can get through every shopping excursion, not really understanding the stabbing pain in my heart and every fiber of my being, not really wanting to go out and be reminded, feel the "triggers", see presents that would bring that momentary light to her eyes, allow my fingers to linger on the pajamas that she would have put right on, touch the coat that would have kept her warm in her Chicago town or trip to Boston.

There is no reason or rhyme as to why she is not here with us, and I have to believe she walks with Jesus, sends her pink glow in the form of our new Christmas tree, and sends me messages, "mom, I don't need the present but someone else does". I have to believe that the money I would spend on her would be better suited to buy the coat for a girl named Emily through angeltree.com, who has parents imprisoned and who cannot buy her a Christmas gift, or that the donation to Ronald McDonald House so that parents who need care while their children are receiving cancer treatments would honor her better than anything I can "buy" or place under the tree. I have to believe that her life will continue as long as those she left behind find a way to reach out to someone else in the ways we can, reaching out with our hands and offerings, little or big. I have to believe that God is using her in powerful ways.

It's not the shopping, it's not the presents, it's the spirit of Christmas, it's giving what we can, but knowing our time is far more valuable than the gift. After all, who really remembers what they got and when? We all remember the feelings, the games played, the laughter, the food, the table, the traditions, the memories.

I am thankful God hears me, even when I am shopping and don't think I can take another step, when the pain of loss seems to prevail over all else, when I try to carry on with traditions, when I make her favorite foods and cookies, when I wonder how I am going to get through this day, I am still thankful. Thankful that a husband comes home from work every day, for a daughter who loves to share stories and memories of her sister, while making new ones for herself, for a planned cookie baking day with her, for the ability to reach out and buy those presents that matter, in the name of God and a forever-21 young woman who inspires us all to keep going.