Sunday, March 29, 2009

Travel With The Angels

My sister has a saying, well, she has many sayings, but one that has come about most recently since I seem to travel a bit more in retirement years, and it sounds so sweet when she says it..."travel with the angels". We both know what she means when she says it, and it is almost astounding the places I have gone since Allison left this earth. Not just the physical places, but the places in my mind, my soul, my very being. Never would I have imagined the good fortune or the blessings of all the trips, the many that have actually transported me to other destinations, and the ones that keep me grounded and soulful. I reflect on the most recent trip, one to Sonoma and Napa Valley with almost life-long friends, one we just returned from last evening. It was one of those trips or vacations that you just didn't want to see end, that almost brought a sense of emotion with the thought of it ending, yet we know, all things and times do end at some point. Each and every trip taken in the last two years has been next to perfect, and this one was no exception. From the blissful beauty of the skies blended with the mountains, the never changing, yet warming glow of the sun, the solitude, comfort and pampering of the places we stayed, the compatibility of good friends, to the tastes of wine, food and chocolate blended on our palettes, this was an amazing gift of time. Not one cloud hovered, not one conflict existed, not a gliche in the itinerary...if anything could be described as "perfect", this week was it.

Again, I am in awe and wonderment at how it all unfolds and we are so blessed with opportunities such as these, and the many we have maneuvered through in the last two years. While I am fully aware that not many have the chance to heal and mend through such luxurious offerings, I must say that I can find the same bliss and contentment wherever I am. I know and believe that comes from "travelling with the angels", that now, there is an ever-present perspective that all is well and this day is for grasping and living. I would not trade in the experiences of real travel, and I do my best to embrace the travel that keeps me grounded, as well. I find beauty in the books of my home, the sun streaming in the windows, the colors on the wall, the palette of life.

So, are the vacations and trips perfect, or has my perspective changed? Do I view it all so differently that nothing can tarnish or dampen my outlook? Do I see from a different set of eyes? I think so, because the pain of loss still sits in the deep chamber of my soul, my heart breaks and cries for what was, and what will never be...I see the young adult on the threshold of life, and I see her, knowing she did not have her chance to live life to its fullest. But in the end I know that in spite of the magnificence I experienced this week, Allison's surroundings must be indescribable. She must have that little slice of heaven we lived in this week right at her fingertips. God sees to that. He has taken her to a place where she will never die, rather she will send messages of hope and life and inspire her parents and sister and family to seize the day, live it and come back to work and save for the next time. We are not to be frivolous and wasteful, rather, intentional and purposeful about our future, whether it is one day or 20 years. God is using this particular angel in powerful ways.

Yes, another incredible experience and venture, now a time to settle and nest and organize and travel through the day, continuing the learning and understanding of what it means to live without her physical presence, to be guided by her love, to carry her with us at all times so close in our heart that it is possible to feel elation and sorrow all at the same time, and it is time to travel with the angels, travel through life and the day, wherever it takes me.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

The Sweet Story of Shawnee'

Call her Shawnee, Nay-Nay, or CA (family pet name), this young woman has made an impact on all of our lives, and our Allison made one on her. She, and we, are never to be the same and God has seen to that. She has learned that there are no coincidences, that a plan is laid out for all of us, and at 17 years of age, she has been given lessons that have had to be learned very quickly. She has been forced to mature, to come to understand life and death, and Allison is paving her way. The stories are too many to be told, but we carry them in our hearts, souls, and minds. We are making sense of a chance meeting when she was 13 and Allie was 19. Two unlikely beings, brought together by God and fate, making a connection that will last a lifetime.

It all began that summer when the now famous story began to unfold, Allison desiring to spend a summer by the sea, with her aunt and uncle, away from some pressures that were building where she could think and help make decisions about her next step in life. Asking her Uncle Mike if she could stay, he of course agreed, if, and only if she secured a job. In less than half an hour she had a "job" as a camp counselor at the nearby site where children were brought in from the inner city to spend weeks at Sunset Point in Hull, MA, south of Boston. So, she began her summer of freedom from us, a new view, and hard work as a counselor. She loved it, she thrived, and found herself in many ways that summer, and the next, when she returned to stay another summer. There was no place like Aunt Karen and Uncle Mike's and they catered to her every whim! This haven is where she found her comfort.

But enter Shawnee, an inner city 8th grader, and from what I understand, there was the connection from the start. Allison became a big sister in many ways and their bond was indescribable. The energy and spark was felt from just the stories, and when we met, sometime later, well, it was evident why and how this union came to be. But we didn't meet Shawnee in person until Allison was gone, until she had passed from this life, and the cancer and ultimate death took its toll on Shawnee. How can any of us begin to make sense of it, let alone a young woman who talked to Allison daily, who chatted into the night, who listened to Allison "lecture" her when necessary, or guide her with her decisions. Allison encouraged her to be a "big girl" through the cancer, and promised Shawnee it would be alright. What Shawnee has come to know, and all of us have, as well, is that it IS alright, it just isn't what we had planned.

Time passed and Shawnee made it through that sophomore year by writing every essay about Miss Allison, as she always was known to call her, but her grades dropped and she was broken hearted. She had never expected this. But she understands and knows a loving God and her family is supportive. I'm sure at times they didn't know how to help the grieving Shawnee. Still, the spirit of Allison spurred her on and one day, it was time for her to make her first trip to visit us, to see Allison's home, and to be with her dog, her things, her family. She spent a week last summer and immediately it was as if we had known her all of our lives. We did, we knew her through the eyes and heart of our Allison, but now we got to experience this relationship firsthand. We had great talks and she tried to make sense of what had happened, she saw signs while visiting that Allison is never truly gone, but lives on in ways we would have never understood. Some of those "signs" we experienced together and we knew, we just knew, what they meant.

Shawnee has used the strength from her family, herself, and her friend, Allison, along with her new adopted big sister, Jennifer, to motivate and do well. She brought her grades up, kept her goals, and played basketball to the best of her ability. On the anniversary of Allison's passing in 2008 there was the most important basketball game, and just as she thought there was no hope of winning, she felt the strength and dignity of Miss Allison in her own life, and Shawnee went on to help win the game. She is a star in many ways, and now she has her own bright star always shining for her. She is guided and found her way back for another visit, just this week. Another visit and another opportunity to find answers. And she did. She hears her friend tell her to be a big girl, to stay strong, to reach for the stars. She knows there are obstacles to overcome, but she is doing that, step by step, following in the legacy Allison left. Who knew? Who would ever suppose the unlikely connection of the heart, the "chance" meeting that summer day, such a lifetime ago? Who knew what would evolve and that she would find her way through adversity, prejudice, and obstacles, find her way through the words and actions of one brave and courageous young woman who loved her from the start?

We were so blessed to have this visit, this time, this laughter, this gift of a girl who has become part of us, who by her very existence inspires us to be better and to give back in the name of our beloved daughter. Thank you, Allison, for your spirit and spunk and bravery and determination. You keep on inspiring and wondrous things are happening all around us. The stars are aligned and you make us smile. Thank you for bringing the light and love of Shawnee to us and for the gifts you give her, too. She is being "guided" by her own angel, her own sweet revelation that she is where she is supposed to be, now and forever. We are all awestruck by the love, the light, the hope that prevails, knowing you are serving a higher purpose than any of us could have imagined.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

A Day of Birth

This is the day the Lord has made, yes, we must rejoice and be glad in it, for NOT doing so would be to dismiss all the grace and glory He sends, all the gifts, all the beauty, all the joy that would be shunned if we don't celebrate the day at hand. And this day at hand, well, a special one, indeed. Allison's day of birth. Born on a beautiful spring morning, she made her entrance with a smile, not a cry. Over ten pounds and loving life, she came home and slept through the night! She was loved and caressed by a big sister, who immediately became protective, and she made our life light up like every color of the rainbow. We knew it long before she would face a dreaded illness and physical death, we all always spoke of how special she was and what an "old" soul she could be...yes, there was something unique about this girl. Jen would often tease that she was the favorite, but she did so with a smile, knowing both of them were a favorite, each for different reasons. I will always have two daughters, one living life with us in the physical sense, bringing her own sense of spirit, and one who does live on in spirit and in our hearts.

God is truly good this day. I have prayed for some time, as the anxiousness and emotion of another anniversary of sorts, approached, that I could somehow find the snippets of happiness of earlier birthdays, that I would not dwell on the fact that Allison is gone, that a raging cancer took her from us, that I do not get to hear the sweetness of her voice this day. I have prayed, rather, that those thoughts and feelings be replaced with moments that can warm my heart and fill my soul. And God has heard me, almost replaying snapshots of past birthdays, so much so that I can almost hear her laughter, feel the love of the parties, share the gifts with others. I can smile at thoughts of her first birthday, the tweety bird cake, and her face covered with the goodness and mess! I can fast forward to a fifth birthday when an Easter Egg hunt was planned and the most snow we had seen fell through the night, forcing an inside activity for many little friends! I can recall her eyes and expressions over teenage gifts and savor the stories of the infamous 21st birthday, where her sister and she had the time of their lives, celebrating for days with, again, a big sister taking care and spoiling the younger one. Stories are still being told of that Chicago venture! In my grief and pain and emotion, I am finding that I can recall some of the joy, bask in some memories, and hold hope in my heart. I am grateful. I am also overwhelmed. My heart overflows with the sadness, mixed with the joy, blended with the blessings and goodness, the memories and the wonderment of where we are this day on the journey of life.

I will close and share a poem sent to me by my dear friend of many, many years, we call her Rutledge, and she has been, along with so many of my friends and family, a support that holds me up and together when the loss is too much to comprehend or bear. Apparently, she wrote this the other night, in the wee hours it came to her, and it warms my heart as we celebrate life and a day of birth. As she said herself, Allison inspires us all, and that is a gift that has come from the brokenness. Thank you Allison for your life and love, for the memories and for the inspiration to live strong and solid. As we find our way to celebrate and honor you and enjoy dinner at a favorite restaurant tonight, we all know in our hearts that you are there, never the same, never to occupy the chair, but always to guide and support.

24 candles on a cake
24 candles, a birthday it makes.
Daughter, sister, niece and friend
Birthday wishes to heaven we send.
Alive in spirit, rides in with the wind.
Alive in spirit, the signs that you send.
We see you in the flowers, we see you in the rain.
We see you in our everything, and then again.
24 candles on a cake
24 candles, a birthday it makes.
by Deb Rivera Rutledge

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Presents and Gifts

It is that time when shopping for Allison's birthday gifts would be in full swing. I suppose that is why it can be so painful and gut wrenching to be in the stores and see the bloom of color in her favorite shades of pinks and oranges and greens and blues. The pain only comes from the fact that there is no physical presence any longer, no daughter opening her birthday packages with the biggest smile, genuine happiness over the biggest, or smallest bag! Anniversaries, holidays and birthdays plague us and take us to the deepest part of sadness and darkness if we allow it. And to allow such moments is acceptable, in my eyes, as long as I don't "stay" there too long. As long as I don't allow the veil of black overwhelm me and make me immobile, thus, missing this day, this beauty, the smells of spring, and the promise of better days. God knows my soul is crying out to hold her, touch her, have her right here so that she can open her gifts, but that is not to be, not now, not ever. Instead, we must look for the gifts to come in other ways, other wrappings and other packages. And they do.

I am enlightened as to how gifts can come from loss. I wouldn't even know if I could explain it to someone else, but in my soul, I understand. I know I am not where I would be if Allison still lived on earth instead of in our hearts. I have been places, physically, but more importantly spiritually and emotionally, that I would never have travelled had she not left us her mark and legacy. I am stronger than any one could have ever imagined, especially myself, and I am forever changed. I embrace the day at hand, understand myself, like being who I am, and co-creating the path of existence. With God as my pilot, I am finding out who He wants me to be, in all the loss and devastation, something new and bright is emerging in me and in my family and in the ever widening circle of family and friends who walk this path with me. Still, I mourn and I grieve and I trudge through the loss. I cry, I sit in disbelief that she is not here for her 24th birthday, that already, three birthdays have passed since she left us to stay the course. I do my best NOT to wonder, "is this going to get softer, or easier, or less intense, is the pit in my stomach EVER going to go away and not be prevalent to my being"? I do my best to focus on the blessing of life, and live it with as much laughter, love and light that is possible to muster. Sure, I have learned to pace and travel slowly, and look for the gifts in the broken times. They are there for the opening, they are lovely, they are serene, they are magical, and they don't come in a box or a decorated bag. They come from within.

So I acknowledge, WE acknowledge, in a subtle way, saying her name, lighting the candle of hope, scattering pink flowers at her grave, enjoying her favorite foods, celebrating by stepping out of our comfort zones, giving to others in her name, breathing the air, stopping for the sunrise or sunset, smelling the flowers, whatever brings her closer to our hearts. We know she is more alive, in some ways, than if she lived in our present world, for the gifts keep coming and the day is at hand. Sunny or rainy, cloudy or dark, winter, or spring, we keep moving through and finding our way, guided by our birthday angel who is forever 21, who no longer knows a number on a cake, who lives in spirit and soars.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Going To Work

This morning, as I awakened at a very early hour, my first thoughts were that I had to get ready for work. Very quickly, though, I realized I can stretch and linger in bed as long as I choose, for I no longer have a "job" to get to on time, or plans for a day that could often last way longer than the intended eight hours. I am grateful, no doubt, for the luxury and blessing of retirement. That is not to say I didn't love my job, or the many I had over a period of years...from working the chicken broaster at a snack shop in my younger days to the years of being a school principal. If I had to choose a favorite, I believe it would be the years I entered a classroom each morning, greeting my second, fourth or sixth graders and teach to my heart's content. Those were the days and the job never seemed too difficult, yet the stories and situations of students would travel home with me all too often, and even rob me of a bit of sleep from time to time. Yet, there was nothing more magical than having the privilege of teaching, and I probably didn't know it at the time, but those years have become fond memories of a job well loved.

Now, my job is different, and surprisingly, more intense and exhausting than anything I have ever done. I would gladly trade the hours, years of night activities, grading papers, planning school improvement, working as a teacher and principal, for the agenda that I must plan now. That course was set for me, robotic in a way, something I knew to do. This course is unknown, foreign, tumultuous, even terrifying, but it must be learned, I do not have a choice. I am beginning to understand that the walk of grief takes on a new role and that the "job" is never, ever done. I have come to know that sometimes the most simple of tasks may be the only one achieved for any given day. In the early stages, it was all I could do to make dinner or dust the house. Even a simple errand of going to the grocery store or post office was truly monumental. But in doing so, I wove into the normalcy and reality of life outside these walls. I functioned at my real "job" for several months after Allison was gone, although I have very little recollection of how I did it. I watched myself go through the motions and hours of a school day, only to come home and maneuver through family and domestic life. Still, some days, the simple task of getting the ball of activity rolling again takes all my strength and stamina, but I do it. I take the initiative to follow the nudge and do what is needed to restore balance and breath into my life. I may not accomplish much in the eyes of others, but for me, the movement is a sign of living and doing and figuring out my life's work. No, I cannot imagine my life in the trenches of a real "job" again, and I marvel at how much I could pack into one day, back IN the day. My pace is different and I get to take on what is mine to handle. I savor the small opportunities to read, bake, clean, walk, listen, pray and breathe. I know that sometimes others wonder how a person who filled a day so well in the past can not really describe what she does in the present.

I have had some who have said to me, "I wish I were you", and I know what they mean. They are not thinking of the walk of grief, the valley of darkness that takes every fiber of my soul to rise above from, the depths of pain and loss that can only be described as if my heart has been ripped out...they are only thinking and acknowledging what their eyes see or what they perceive...and I get that. But, I do often want to say, "no, you don't wish you were me"...I wouldn't wish any mother to bury her child and live this uncharted, unknown realm, EVEN though I have each day to myself and don't have to attend a real "job". But I do understand and count the blessing of a new "job", an opportunity unlike many, a chance to find my place, to do my work, and to follow the nudge God gives.

I am reminded of a quote that helps me understand that for each of us, our life work is different, and I cling to it when my subconscious tries to take me in a direction I am not comfortable with, or when shades of guilt filter, sending me messages like, "shouldn't you be working", "isn't there more you can be doing"...God shows me I AM doing what matters, whether making a difference in the classroom, or tending to myself and those I love. As I learn my new "job", I thank God for providing me, all these years, with everything I need to bring me to this moment in time.

"Definite work is not always that which is cut and squared for us, but that which comes as a claim upon the conscience, whether it's nursing in a hospital, or hemming a handkerchief"....by Elizabeth Sewell

May our "jobs" bring us fulfillment and joy, love, Kathy

Sunday, March 8, 2009

March Rolls In

A new month, again. How does it happen that another month can be upon us so quickly when I barely know where the last one went? Or where the last year went, for that matter. So often, I can barely comprehend what month it is, let alone what year it is, for in some sense, time stood still in January of 2007. I am told that is going to change, that at some point, not all my memories and stories will revolve around "that day", or the weeks leading up to it when we learned what it meant to deal with cancer, directly and head on, with no letting go, relentless and gripping, until finally, it stopped, and Allison was free. I am told that other memories will surface, of happier times, of days on the beach in Hull as little girls, two sisters building sandcastles and being buried in the sand by an uncle or a father. I am told that I will hear the laughter of a teenager who had the vibrancy and tenacity that kept her energized and busy. I am told that I will smile at the memories of mother and daughters shopping for Easter dresses and making our way to a favorite tearoom for lunch. I am told a lot of things, and I believe they will come. But in rages March and the pain mixed with the smiles, is almost a contradiction that my soul cannot bear, the tears spend time collecting and ready to shed at the mere mention of spring, of seeing the colors bloom on the horizon, of feeling the warm tease of summer in a spring breeze, of noticing all the flip-flops coming out just in time for her birthday, a birthday that now has to be celebrated differently.

A birthday this month that would hold 24 candles...how amazing and still surreal that she is not here to celebrate in the physical sense. How incredibly difficult it is to celebrate without her. But we must and we do. We don't make it elaborate, we will weave her favorites into our day, in honor and memory of her. We most definitely enjoy her favorite white cake and chocolate icing at some perfect point. We will light her memory candle and let it shine. We may toast her, we may remain quiet and subdued, we will pay homage in donations the way that helps us be closer to her, her favorite charities and her new found scholarship. We will donate books to a school library and we will just know how pleased she would be that we are giving back. We may buy flip flops for others who cannot, or we may create a spring basket and raffle it for the upcoming Relay For Life. We may cry, we may not, we will mourn, but we will live. We will respond and bring a smile to her soul as she knows we have not forgotten, and never, ever will.

The March weather came in like a lion, and so, the story goes, will go out like a lamb. I am counting on that and asking God to help it be true!

Friday, March 6, 2009

The Eyes

Our eyes do tell all, when we take the time to look. It's true, they ARE the window to our souls. Sometimes we don't want to see what is there, but it is better when we do, for the truth and honesty that comes from the look in our eyes is revealing, liberating, and freedom comes when we face what is ours to face. I often look into my own eyes to affirm and confirm who I am, that what has happened is real, that I can make it with God's grace, that I can get up and move, and I can live. I cleanse them with a daily cry or tear, for what is lost, what is aching, what will never be, but also for what is now, what is here, what is mine to embrace. I look deeply into the green sea as my eyes have become Allison's, Jennifer's, my mother's, and sometimes, even, my father's. I see more than a color, I see with crispness, clarity, and intensity. I see more than I want to see, but I make myself look.

Recently, I met a woman who I have had a "connection" with for some time. I knew of her loss from others, another mother who buried a child after a cancer battle, a woman who is respected by many in her town and one who obviously works hard to provide and care for her family. We know of one another through the stories and connection of the heart. When we finally met face to face, there was no need for more than a simple handshake and hello, and as our eyes lingered on one another's I am sure they told the story, the whole story, in one simple glance. It was rather uncanny that on the day we met, I also received an e-mail from someone who I barely know, yet another connected soul through loss and trial. This woman had seen Allison's picture and announcement of services in the paper and had logged on to the caringbridge site that was active at the time. She and I have since met one time, and again, the eyes met in a crowded restaurant and we each knew it was the other one that we were here to meet. At any rate, something prompted her to think of our family that day, no doubt because she knows from the loss of her own precious 22 year old daughter, the stages and phases we go through. The passage she sent rang so true..."We quickly find there are no words to describe the experience of losing a child. For those who have not lost a child, no explanation will do. For those who have, no explanation is necessary"...by Mary Lingle. That says it all. And our eyes speak volumes.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Another Day, Another Season

Perhaps it is coming home from what I call my Four Seasons week at my sister and brother-in-law's house, just south of Boston, that has caused me to think about the seasons of the year, or maybe it is that I flew home with the angels (as my sister would say) on my mother's birthday, just yesterday, or perhaps it is just the mere fact that here we are in her birthday month, Allison's that is...whatever the case may be, my heart is full with the seasons. Not necessarily the seasons of weather, but the seasons of life, death, grief, sadness, yet life, joy, happiness and hope.

Just this last week we experienced every type of weather imaginable, going from the beauty of a crisp, star filled sky over an incredible city skyline, arriving on a winter night, in time to meet the ferry boat across the ocean to my destination. Upon waking the next morning, I could hear the seagulls and felt I had arrived "home", their sound filling my soul with something I didn't even know was within, memories, and activities, happy times, beach days, and there was even a winter blue sky to accent the day, thus, bringing on the feel of summer. The sun was so warm on the front porch, as I soaked it up on the corner of the futon, and there I could sense the presence of a lifetime ago, the sounds from our past when the children would either fight or laugh, all now grown and finding their own paths, one gone from us in the physical sense, yet the aura of her spirit always hovering. We moved into high winds and spring like temperatures, causing us to abandon the winter scarves and coats, as the warm breezes ripped our packages from our arms and whirled sand all around us. And then came the March nor'easter, as it was called, the over one foot of snow that whirled and danced and went every direction and piled up, causing the gift of a snow day and all that entailed! We had the windows up, we had them down, we let the breeze in, we shut it out, all in one week's time!

Then it was time to go, and as all good things do, visiting time came to an end. I know full well now to really appreciate and savor the time, I don't look at it as being morbid, I just have that deep reality that life cannot be taken for granted. I also know I cannot laze around and eat sweets, ice-cream each night, move from spot to spot to get warm, or cooled off, that reality sets in and it is time to move forward again. Or at least move. And that is my comparison to grief. I see the four seasons come and go every day since the day I became a grieving mother. I live them each day, as I did this last week. I feel the pain of winter, not wanting to open the door, exposing myself, preferring to hide within, knowing that shutting out the world can be just fine, if only for a bit, while I sort out and face what is mine to handle. Then I feel the promise of spring, knowing the flowers are going to bloom, that March will come, and April and May and the beauty of color will fill my world, enough for me to peek out and embrace it. There is hope in the beauty of the tulip, the daffodil and all my favorite flowers. There is resurrection in the celebration of Easter, letting me know that in spite of how "stuck" I feel, I will have God's promise that all things work for good. He will lead me into a summer where activity can, and will, ease the pain, just for a moment, when that deep sun shines on my soul, and then will come the time where I can shed some of the pain, the tears, the anguish with the falling of the leaves. Then, with a roar, the loss will come surging back again, only to be dealt with and felt and I will, once again, allow the grief to teach me what is intended, for in this suffering, I am never to be the same again. Yes, the seasons touch me each and every day as I learn how to live this day, take a step, plan a party, attend an event, retreat a bit, lay down in darkness, or rise in hope. Weaving through them isn't easy, I would trade it if I could, but it is MY journey, intended for purposes beyond my own understanding, taking me places and to people I would never have known otherwise. Did God not know what He was doing when He created these seasons? In the dead of winter, I pray for spring, in the bloom of spring, I long for summer, and in the heat of summer, I wish for autumn...that's how I used to be, now, in the depths of grief, I am content where I am, in the here, in the now, in the present, for nothing past this moment is promised, this I know. I am where I am supposed to be.