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.