When you lose a child, it seems the unthinkable. Unfathomable (is that a word) to yourself, your family, and others. Friends and family can only go so far in their thinking as to what it would be like, so instead, they hope we do well, they pray for us, they try to be there, but they don't want to walk in our shoes. No one does and not one of us raises our children to think this will happen. It is, by expert standards, the number one stress in a person's life, causing emotional, physical, mental, and certainly psychological repercussions. I have realized that the last two years I have worked so closely with my emotional state, just to survive this trauma, that sometimes the physical state has been ignored, or at the very least neglected. Hence, a few problems arose that thankfully can be repaired. But only in time. Everything in its own time, this we know. There is no sense in being impatient or dwelling that certain milestones have not been reached, it's going to come, as healing does, when it is supposed to...but it takes an incredible fortitude and work, lots and lots of work. Healing doesn't come natural, like anything else, it is a process and at each juncture something new and different is needed to assist in this life-long, often upward and grueling climb.
I have been told by some that they couldn't do what I/we do, that they wouldn't want to get up, or go on, or keep living. I say to them, you will not know what you would do until called upon to do it. Some have even criticized my/our need to abstain from certain celebrations or gatherings, believing that Allison would want us to attend. I know my daughter like no one else and I know she would want me, us, her sister to do what is comfortable and right at the time. Yes, I suppose one who knew her would believe she wants me to dance again, to laugh and mean it again, to feel joy again. I believe that, too. I want that, desperately. But life doesn't necessarily go as we want. In her case, Allison didn't plan to get cancer and leave us, eleven weeks later, to pick up the pieces and mold our lives into some remote resemblance of its former existence. She, and God knows, it is going to take time. She left us to carry on in the way that is best suited and natural for us.
She also left me/us with that smile, the smile that first appeared on the day of her birth, and that lasted until nearly the end. That smile is what gets me through this rough, emotionally charged day, or the darkness of night. That smile that lit up a room and a photograph, whether in her soccer uniform, high school graduation photo, out on her 21st birthday with her sister and best friends, or when she debuted her beauty in a scarf after the loss of all of her hair. That smile lights up my life, my heart, my soul and I find courage in remembering. When all is quiet and everyone is going on with their lives, the cards stopped coming, the phone went silent, the floral arrangements ceased, that smile brightened my being so that I could find the courage to keep going, keep striving, hang on, live life, make her proud and be alive. No, not one of us knows how we will do it, live with the incomprehensible notion that while on earth, we will never enjoy another moment of laughter or hear her voice or kiss her cheek. But that smile, now THAT will linger and give me the promise of the sweet times ahead in God's planned reunion, and I will find the strength to get through this minute, make her proud, and live strong for those who need and depend on me, now.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Life Intervenes
Who among us is not touched, this week, by the passing of three icons...Farrah Fawcett, Ed MacMahon, Michael Jackson. Each of us touched in our own personal ways by their stories, the lives they led and lived, and the way in which their life ended. We grew up with the perspective of their public lives, the riches, the glamour, the beauty, the successes, all portrayed by a media that we were inclined to believe. But the deep, real story of each one, the biography that was personal and private, the part that was unknown to us, made them human and vulnerable, just like the rest of us. Some have viewed Farrah's Story, me, I have only seen snippets, much too close to my heart to watch much of it, bringing back memories and triggers that I would prefer to deal with on my own. Most have watched all the news coverage for the last two days of Michael Jackson's rise and fall from fame, and of course, in past months, we have seen what choices in life has done to Ed MacMahon's life. All of this helps us know that no one is immune from what life has to offer, not one of us.
We see how beauty fades, how the rich grow poor, and how, in an attempt to find oneself, we destroy ourselves. We see the importance of one day, of living, of hoping, of making positive changes. We know of the battle each fought, some more valiantly than others, but nevertheless, a battle indeeed. We know of the "good" each one left in the form of a legacy, whether it was the will to live, to seize the moment and live while we feel well, whether it was to make others happy, or to give to charity. Through it all, there is good, even among those who make poor choices or who, through no fault of their own, are given a terminal diagnosis from a raging cancer.
I don't know if I would say that all inspired me, but what I can say is that there is good to take from all of it. And there is that ever transparent notion, once again, right in the forefront, that we are often here today, gone tomorrow. That what we may look like on the outside is not what is going on in the inside. That today is all we have, and if tomorrow brings trouble or diagnosis or pain or sorrow, that we will find a way to respond and face it. We may not react the way others would believe we should, hence, much criticism of Michael Jackson, even Ed MacMahon, and yes, even Farrah Fawcett. But we get to decide what is best for us, and if we falter, make a mistake, face a setback, we get up and we do our best.
So, we find those little snippets of joy to embrace, whether we buy ourselves a big bouquet of flowers for the kitchen table, or take that long anticipated trip, knowing we cannot really afford it, but also knowing that life is extremely precious, or spend time just sitting and savoring a new painting, or do a favor for a friend, or donate to a cause. We pull ourselves up and we ask God to show us a moment of peace and joy, a way to live and keep living, and the good news of the day, is He always comes through. In our case, He left us with a legacy of love and hope in all that our Allison faced, endured, and embraced. Now, nothing can cause us pain or worry, for we have faced the giant, the biggest hurdle, and nothing seems impossible. And He is hoping we all learn the lessons from these three icons who have left us this week, after all, that is what life and death is all about.
We see how beauty fades, how the rich grow poor, and how, in an attempt to find oneself, we destroy ourselves. We see the importance of one day, of living, of hoping, of making positive changes. We know of the battle each fought, some more valiantly than others, but nevertheless, a battle indeeed. We know of the "good" each one left in the form of a legacy, whether it was the will to live, to seize the moment and live while we feel well, whether it was to make others happy, or to give to charity. Through it all, there is good, even among those who make poor choices or who, through no fault of their own, are given a terminal diagnosis from a raging cancer.
I don't know if I would say that all inspired me, but what I can say is that there is good to take from all of it. And there is that ever transparent notion, once again, right in the forefront, that we are often here today, gone tomorrow. That what we may look like on the outside is not what is going on in the inside. That today is all we have, and if tomorrow brings trouble or diagnosis or pain or sorrow, that we will find a way to respond and face it. We may not react the way others would believe we should, hence, much criticism of Michael Jackson, even Ed MacMahon, and yes, even Farrah Fawcett. But we get to decide what is best for us, and if we falter, make a mistake, face a setback, we get up and we do our best.
So, we find those little snippets of joy to embrace, whether we buy ourselves a big bouquet of flowers for the kitchen table, or take that long anticipated trip, knowing we cannot really afford it, but also knowing that life is extremely precious, or spend time just sitting and savoring a new painting, or do a favor for a friend, or donate to a cause. We pull ourselves up and we ask God to show us a moment of peace and joy, a way to live and keep living, and the good news of the day, is He always comes through. In our case, He left us with a legacy of love and hope in all that our Allison faced, endured, and embraced. Now, nothing can cause us pain or worry, for we have faced the giant, the biggest hurdle, and nothing seems impossible. And He is hoping we all learn the lessons from these three icons who have left us this week, after all, that is what life and death is all about.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Fathers
This weekend, we honor fathers everywhere. It surely conjures up many thoughts for all of us, whether our father is present and among us or not. Whether we had good relationships or not. Whether our father was even in our lives growing up, or not. I know so many who have had complex relationships with their fathers, some, not nearly as complicated as the ones they had with their mothers. I would consider myself fortunate and blessed to have had good parenting and solid relationships with both of my parents, however, not without complications. After all, nothing and no one is perfect. I used to think, though, that my father WAS perfect, if not a bit eccentric at times and certainly a bit chauvinistic (he was rather appalled that I was determined to be a working woman, especially when the babies came). I find it interesting, now, in hindsight that he worked to improve his parenting skills from some of the ways he was brought up, and each generation takes what they learned and makes it better. That is what the hope is, anyway. I always admire those who had the roughest of upbringings, and yet, can manage to love and parent their own. Not that my father's upbringing was difficult, he never complained, but what he didn't have, he worked diligently to provide the three of us. So, I think of dads all around, the ones in my family, my father-in-law who thankfully is still with us at a spry age of 82 (I think!), my own dad who I miss very much, achingly so sometimes, and of course the father of my children.
I suppose it is Joe I am most focused on now. He lives each day with dignity and strength, purpose and routine, and if there is a role model in this loss of a child, he could certainly be considered one. There are times I believe the mother of a deceased child is the one people most cling to, feel for, or reach out to help. The father is sometimes the unsung hero...that may well be the case in our family. Joe does not deviate in his mission to live strong for Allison's memory, and he has not missed a beat in being a father to Jennifer. He has not changed in his parenting, although it would be easy for him to do so, to become overprotective, to cling to his one and only surviving child. But he parents as he always has...with consistency, a demeanor that blends seriousness with humor, and a loving heart that shows he will always be the strength of this family.
No father is perfect, but in the eyes of little and big girls, they are:) And to Jennifer and Allison, Joe was no exception! I could not criticize for a minute anything about him, even when I was just teasing. The same could be said when my own mother tried to say something about MY dad! And little and grown girls adore the man they call dad and hope to find someone like him, especially when you have a father like Joe, or like the one I had. In many ways I did find a man like my dad, not that I was purposely looking, it just sort of happened! But in the eyes of my girls, Joe was always the stability in their lives, the one who held the highest of standards, the one they didn't want to disappoint. And they never did, never could, even when Jennifer pierced her tongue, went through some challenging teenage years, and Allison attended a party that she should never have attended. With the good and the bad, Joe remained consistent and firm, loving and kind. And later, the rewards would come, when they grew into adulthood and wanted to spend time with him. Those years of reading books, coaching, fishing, spending time with them paid off. And even with our precious Allison gone from our grasp, we know she worshipped and adored her Dad, and as for Jennifer, the true sign of love is how she has him to look up to, through the good times and bad!
I recall when we first spoke of the fact that Allison could leave us and I asked Joe what would we do if that happened. I will never forget his response, we will do what we have always done, we will respond the way we need to and we will live for our other daughter and to make Allison proud of us. He has never faltered, deviated from his plan. He is the greatest example of a man, husband and father. And while one daughter is present and among us, and the other resting in eternal life, he remains, and always will, the father of two girls who adore and cherish him. And I can honestly say there is no one I would have rather travelled this road with, not by choice, but by destiny and love.
I suppose it is Joe I am most focused on now. He lives each day with dignity and strength, purpose and routine, and if there is a role model in this loss of a child, he could certainly be considered one. There are times I believe the mother of a deceased child is the one people most cling to, feel for, or reach out to help. The father is sometimes the unsung hero...that may well be the case in our family. Joe does not deviate in his mission to live strong for Allison's memory, and he has not missed a beat in being a father to Jennifer. He has not changed in his parenting, although it would be easy for him to do so, to become overprotective, to cling to his one and only surviving child. But he parents as he always has...with consistency, a demeanor that blends seriousness with humor, and a loving heart that shows he will always be the strength of this family.
No father is perfect, but in the eyes of little and big girls, they are:) And to Jennifer and Allison, Joe was no exception! I could not criticize for a minute anything about him, even when I was just teasing. The same could be said when my own mother tried to say something about MY dad! And little and grown girls adore the man they call dad and hope to find someone like him, especially when you have a father like Joe, or like the one I had. In many ways I did find a man like my dad, not that I was purposely looking, it just sort of happened! But in the eyes of my girls, Joe was always the stability in their lives, the one who held the highest of standards, the one they didn't want to disappoint. And they never did, never could, even when Jennifer pierced her tongue, went through some challenging teenage years, and Allison attended a party that she should never have attended. With the good and the bad, Joe remained consistent and firm, loving and kind. And later, the rewards would come, when they grew into adulthood and wanted to spend time with him. Those years of reading books, coaching, fishing, spending time with them paid off. And even with our precious Allison gone from our grasp, we know she worshipped and adored her Dad, and as for Jennifer, the true sign of love is how she has him to look up to, through the good times and bad!
I recall when we first spoke of the fact that Allison could leave us and I asked Joe what would we do if that happened. I will never forget his response, we will do what we have always done, we will respond the way we need to and we will live for our other daughter and to make Allison proud of us. He has never faltered, deviated from his plan. He is the greatest example of a man, husband and father. And while one daughter is present and among us, and the other resting in eternal life, he remains, and always will, the father of two girls who adore and cherish him. And I can honestly say there is no one I would have rather travelled this road with, not by choice, but by destiny and love.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Don't Want To Do This
I really don't want to do this anymore...it takes so much work to heal through grieving. Maybe it is the continual rain and storms, for days and weeks now, promising glimpses of summer only to take the sunshine away for longer periods. We all know I wouldn't be happy with full fledged summer, either, humidity is not my friend! I guess in some ways, I am never content, but I am working diligently to stay in the NOW, appreciate the storms for what they do bring, recognizing that my mind, spirit, body is in a perpetual state of turmoil, like the weather conditions.
Maybe it is because we are, once again, caught in the crossfires of memories and celebrations that are almost grueling to move through without her...another birthday for me, for Joe, and Father's Day and summer in Hull, her favorite place of all. Maybe it is because we no sooner get through one milestone that another is there to replace it and take our breath away, missing that voice, that person, that physical presence.
But some days I just don't want this to be me...I know others who suffer in different ways and who face devastating losses, but still, some days I believe there could be no one in as much pain as I am as I live each day, each step without my daughter. I have to repeat she is really gone, sometimes over and over until I finally convince myself. I really do know it, I am not one to "kid" myself, and if I ever have any doubt, all I have to do is admit that the constant churning, aching, yearning that whirls through my insides, is the physical and emotional reminder that Allison is in another place, out of my reach, yet so present that it is overwhelming. Sometimes I just have to lie down and absorb it all. But I get up and I must. I don't always want to, but I do, for her, for Joe, for Jen, for my sister, for my brother, for my friends, for myself.
But all in all, I must admit that I just don't want to do this anymore. So, I let myself have the moment, the time, whatever it takes, until I regain my strength and find power from the promise of God that all is temporal, we will never get this time back, this moment, these rainy days where the streets are flooding and the storms are raging. The storms are relentless so that the beauty is more dominant, I cling to that in my restlessness, sad, emotional, indescribable grief.
Maybe it is because we are, once again, caught in the crossfires of memories and celebrations that are almost grueling to move through without her...another birthday for me, for Joe, and Father's Day and summer in Hull, her favorite place of all. Maybe it is because we no sooner get through one milestone that another is there to replace it and take our breath away, missing that voice, that person, that physical presence.
But some days I just don't want this to be me...I know others who suffer in different ways and who face devastating losses, but still, some days I believe there could be no one in as much pain as I am as I live each day, each step without my daughter. I have to repeat she is really gone, sometimes over and over until I finally convince myself. I really do know it, I am not one to "kid" myself, and if I ever have any doubt, all I have to do is admit that the constant churning, aching, yearning that whirls through my insides, is the physical and emotional reminder that Allison is in another place, out of my reach, yet so present that it is overwhelming. Sometimes I just have to lie down and absorb it all. But I get up and I must. I don't always want to, but I do, for her, for Joe, for Jen, for my sister, for my brother, for my friends, for myself.
But all in all, I must admit that I just don't want to do this anymore. So, I let myself have the moment, the time, whatever it takes, until I regain my strength and find power from the promise of God that all is temporal, we will never get this time back, this moment, these rainy days where the streets are flooding and the storms are raging. The storms are relentless so that the beauty is more dominant, I cling to that in my restlessness, sad, emotional, indescribable grief.
Friday, June 12, 2009
My Chemo Angel
This day, I have on my heart and mind someone I have never met. I have a powerful sense toward her today and I have come to know that those feelings and images mean something. I do not know what. Only God knows. But He sends the holy spirit through me to reach out and send a note of light or hope or just a prayer. Thanks to Allison, and my sister, I have made a strong connection with Mary Lou. My sister was signed up to be a "chemo angel" through a program she heard about, agreeing to sending cards, messages, small tokens or gifts if appropriate, but again, mostly to pray for this person. The chemo angel network takes your profile and matches you with a person of interest. A few months after Allison passed from her intense cancer, Karen asked me if I might be interested. I was, but I was very specific, I couldn't face a young person, rather, I would like to find someone of my age. And find her, I did. I was "connected" with a woman who I felt could be my own sister. Our similarities were many and our walk of faith so similiar. We both knew that God has a plan for all of us, and that He performs His own miracles, and that trusting in Him would be the most important part of the journey. Mary Lou faced her own cancer battle and it has intensified during the time I have been in contact with her, yet, she has seen the loving work of her creator at work, and she is still on this earth to create and inspire, and spend time with her children and husband.
Our story has been interesting. I never wanted to tell her just why I became a chemo angel, so instead, just sent cards and whatever I was compelled to send, at least at first. For the first few months, I would just share scriptures or words of hope and light and to hopefully brighten her day just a bit, as she was undergoing her treatments. Then, at some point, as we became somewhat kindred spirits, I felt it was time to share a bit of our story. I mailed her the first Christmas letter I had ever written, the one in 2007 where I shared a bit of the journey our family had travelled through Allison's cancer diagnosis and 11 week battle. I shared what felt right from the heart and only hesitated a moment before sending Mary Lou one. I really didn't know if I wanted to tell her about this, but yet, I knew there was a purpose to sending it. I had no idea just how the spirit directed me that day.
On January 9 of 2008, the year anniversary of Allison's passing, I received a long letter from Mary Lou. I will never forget the exact moment I opened that letter. Signs were in abundance that day, the amazing pink sunset from east coast to west, friends calling in or e-mailing me pictures of it from all points of the country, and the letter "A" blazing in the pink sky. It was almost too much to comprehend. Then came the letter. I opened it and cried my eyes out, tears that needed to be shed could finally come at that moment. Mary Lou not only embraced me through that letter, but shared just how my Christmas letter had impacted her. She felt I was speaking directly to her and a family situation. She read the part about Allison, of course, but also of my need to retire from being a principal to take care of myself and my family. She immediately understood why we had such a connection. She and her own sister, who was named Kathy, were estranged and had not had a relationship for many years, separated by something that now seemed rather small and trite. Her sister, too, just retired as a school principal, and the similiarities continued. She feared and felt anxious about the call, but because of this letter, and Allison's lesson that life is so short, she reached out to her sister and now, they have a relationship that has been mended and nurtured. The incredible legacy that Allison left has made a difference in many lives, but in this one in particular, I can honestly say, I have felt God's hand and embrace. There is not a day that goes by that I don't lift Mary Lou up in prayer, and while we have only spoken once, and have never met, I feel I know her, deeply.
I cannot say why she is on my heart today, I just know she is...and I don't question any more the need to do what the "spirit" leads me to do. I follow it and I hear God's voice. I write or call or send a package or say a simple prayer for all those He brings to my soul, knowing He is using Allison in the most powerful of ways, her calling, so to speak, is to keep hope and light and love alive, and she is using me as her beacon. I really try not to second guess and wonder anymore, rather, go with it and be led. I don't assume the negative, rather I believe the positive, that God used her life to inspire and provide substance to myself and others. I must carry on, even on days I don't want to, I have to say that prayer for someone else, write that note, make that meal.
My chemo angel is one of the many blessings of my life, maybe that is simply why I feel so close to her today, someone I have never met, but through her words and life and example, and her creations, I ended up being the one sustained.
Our story has been interesting. I never wanted to tell her just why I became a chemo angel, so instead, just sent cards and whatever I was compelled to send, at least at first. For the first few months, I would just share scriptures or words of hope and light and to hopefully brighten her day just a bit, as she was undergoing her treatments. Then, at some point, as we became somewhat kindred spirits, I felt it was time to share a bit of our story. I mailed her the first Christmas letter I had ever written, the one in 2007 where I shared a bit of the journey our family had travelled through Allison's cancer diagnosis and 11 week battle. I shared what felt right from the heart and only hesitated a moment before sending Mary Lou one. I really didn't know if I wanted to tell her about this, but yet, I knew there was a purpose to sending it. I had no idea just how the spirit directed me that day.
On January 9 of 2008, the year anniversary of Allison's passing, I received a long letter from Mary Lou. I will never forget the exact moment I opened that letter. Signs were in abundance that day, the amazing pink sunset from east coast to west, friends calling in or e-mailing me pictures of it from all points of the country, and the letter "A" blazing in the pink sky. It was almost too much to comprehend. Then came the letter. I opened it and cried my eyes out, tears that needed to be shed could finally come at that moment. Mary Lou not only embraced me through that letter, but shared just how my Christmas letter had impacted her. She felt I was speaking directly to her and a family situation. She read the part about Allison, of course, but also of my need to retire from being a principal to take care of myself and my family. She immediately understood why we had such a connection. She and her own sister, who was named Kathy, were estranged and had not had a relationship for many years, separated by something that now seemed rather small and trite. Her sister, too, just retired as a school principal, and the similiarities continued. She feared and felt anxious about the call, but because of this letter, and Allison's lesson that life is so short, she reached out to her sister and now, they have a relationship that has been mended and nurtured. The incredible legacy that Allison left has made a difference in many lives, but in this one in particular, I can honestly say, I have felt God's hand and embrace. There is not a day that goes by that I don't lift Mary Lou up in prayer, and while we have only spoken once, and have never met, I feel I know her, deeply.
I cannot say why she is on my heart today, I just know she is...and I don't question any more the need to do what the "spirit" leads me to do. I follow it and I hear God's voice. I write or call or send a package or say a simple prayer for all those He brings to my soul, knowing He is using Allison in the most powerful of ways, her calling, so to speak, is to keep hope and light and love alive, and she is using me as her beacon. I really try not to second guess and wonder anymore, rather, go with it and be led. I don't assume the negative, rather I believe the positive, that God used her life to inspire and provide substance to myself and others. I must carry on, even on days I don't want to, I have to say that prayer for someone else, write that note, make that meal.
My chemo angel is one of the many blessings of my life, maybe that is simply why I feel so close to her today, someone I have never met, but through her words and life and example, and her creations, I ended up being the one sustained.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
A Sign, A Message, A Dream
Those of us who are grieving long for the "signs" that let us know our loved ones are still with us...I guess because we live in a tangible world where everything is at our fingertips that we expect something concrete, something real and instantaneous to hold onto when we feel we cannot take another breath or step, when we are so broken that even the crack of light doesn't seem to be shining on us. We pray for signs, we ask or beg our loved ones to send us one, or to come to us in a dream. For me, those messages come more clearly when I just seize the day and savor where I am at that particular moment in time. This moment will never be again. This experience is temporal, and in a minute, this too shall pass. So, I am learning to savor and just BE in it, in the now. And when I don't put pressure on myself to be in a different place, the signs, the messages, the whispers, the dreams come, and they are beautiful.
I recall the exact moment when I knew "signs" would be part of my life. I always knew I was open to them, but at this particular time in my life, I was so desperate for that message that life was going to be okay, so desperate that I fell to my knees and almost bargained with God, made a deal, begged Him to let my mother enter eternal rest, for Him to let her know it was okay to stop fighting for her life, to ease out of the six week coma that had become her trap, and to stop the medical interventions that just wouldn't make a difference anyway. Our family was so traumatized by this turn of events in our lives, that never, ever would I have known just what it would prepare me for down the road. And as I asked for God's grace and mercy upon her life, that moment, such peace came upon me, knowing I didn't have to carry the burden alone, and fifteen minutes later the call came from the doctor saying that if we wanted to see her or be with her in her passing, we may want to get to the hospital. I made it in time to whisper in her ear that we were all there, my sister, my brother, my father, her grandchildren, and we were, not physically, but spiritually, we were all in that room. The moment came and her spirit left the burdened body. And in that instant, at 40 years old, I knew what I was meant to know, God is good, He takes care of things according to His plan, and by walking in faith, and trust, we don't walk alone. Now, this is not to say the next years were easy, they were anything but...grief was unknown and unchartered, losing one's mother who was also a best friend, was one of the most difficult life lessons, but again, that prepared me for my future days, the twists and turns of being with my father, years later, and my daughter, years later, still, when they left this earth. How grueling and painful this journey. But we now know that as we suffer we become stronger and more aware than had we not had the experiences.
But, back to the signs. I have kept somewhat of a journal of them, all sent to me by a loving God who knows what we need to keep us sustained, hopeful and faithful. They are all around us, and every grieving mother or father or sister or brother sees and feels them. I could elaborate on the many I have received, and maybe someday I will, but as I get to know others who walk this journey, and know that we are now in somewhat of a new "club", I know the need to search and seek and find these messages. I know the valley of darkness that we must climb out of just to be able to breathe and live and cope. I know the comfort of the sign, the whisper, the presence of the spirit that exists and has taken the place of the physical body. I know, and recognize, that the signs are meant for me, and maybe only understood by me. I also know the curious look of others when I share a story, and I know who can relate, and who cannot. I hear from mothers who have their own stories and I know it is God sending these signs of hope so that we can learn to develop and nurture an ever changing relationship with our children, who we once carried under our hearts, and now carry within our souls. We are always and forever a mother. Our children are not dead to us at all, rather they live on in a more profound way than ever before. They live and their spirit sends messages of comfort. They do not want us to be in pain, they want us to live, live in honor of who they were and what they meant to us.
I have felt the breeze at just the right time, seen the shadow when there is no reason for there to be one, and seen the ray of lightbeams bounce through the house. I have heard the whisper, "you did it, mom", or "keep going, mom" when I thought I couldn't keep on with family traditions. I have seen her name in print and recognized that she was the only Allison I knew, and now, it seems, everyone has that name, even a sea turtle featured on the Today Show, for goodness sakes! I have seen the face of cancer patients, smiling and glowing, living and loving life and know that she taught us what she did for a definite purpose, to never complain and to seize the day. I have witnessed, as have many others, the incredible pink sunset across the country on the anniversary of her passing, one year later, and the letter A etched in the skies, from Iowa to Boston. I, along with my family, observed the rainbow of colors that penetrated her hospital room at the exact moment she left us for her eternal resting place, even the nurses were astounded. And I have experienced the moment of despair when "My Wish" by Rascal Flatts comes on the radio and I hear her favorite song and its sweet message. It is then that I know her loving God tends to us all, cries the tears with us, but knows there are no coincidences, and keeps sending messages so we can carry on, while we can.
I recall the exact moment when I knew "signs" would be part of my life. I always knew I was open to them, but at this particular time in my life, I was so desperate for that message that life was going to be okay, so desperate that I fell to my knees and almost bargained with God, made a deal, begged Him to let my mother enter eternal rest, for Him to let her know it was okay to stop fighting for her life, to ease out of the six week coma that had become her trap, and to stop the medical interventions that just wouldn't make a difference anyway. Our family was so traumatized by this turn of events in our lives, that never, ever would I have known just what it would prepare me for down the road. And as I asked for God's grace and mercy upon her life, that moment, such peace came upon me, knowing I didn't have to carry the burden alone, and fifteen minutes later the call came from the doctor saying that if we wanted to see her or be with her in her passing, we may want to get to the hospital. I made it in time to whisper in her ear that we were all there, my sister, my brother, my father, her grandchildren, and we were, not physically, but spiritually, we were all in that room. The moment came and her spirit left the burdened body. And in that instant, at 40 years old, I knew what I was meant to know, God is good, He takes care of things according to His plan, and by walking in faith, and trust, we don't walk alone. Now, this is not to say the next years were easy, they were anything but...grief was unknown and unchartered, losing one's mother who was also a best friend, was one of the most difficult life lessons, but again, that prepared me for my future days, the twists and turns of being with my father, years later, and my daughter, years later, still, when they left this earth. How grueling and painful this journey. But we now know that as we suffer we become stronger and more aware than had we not had the experiences.
But, back to the signs. I have kept somewhat of a journal of them, all sent to me by a loving God who knows what we need to keep us sustained, hopeful and faithful. They are all around us, and every grieving mother or father or sister or brother sees and feels them. I could elaborate on the many I have received, and maybe someday I will, but as I get to know others who walk this journey, and know that we are now in somewhat of a new "club", I know the need to search and seek and find these messages. I know the valley of darkness that we must climb out of just to be able to breathe and live and cope. I know the comfort of the sign, the whisper, the presence of the spirit that exists and has taken the place of the physical body. I know, and recognize, that the signs are meant for me, and maybe only understood by me. I also know the curious look of others when I share a story, and I know who can relate, and who cannot. I hear from mothers who have their own stories and I know it is God sending these signs of hope so that we can learn to develop and nurture an ever changing relationship with our children, who we once carried under our hearts, and now carry within our souls. We are always and forever a mother. Our children are not dead to us at all, rather they live on in a more profound way than ever before. They live and their spirit sends messages of comfort. They do not want us to be in pain, they want us to live, live in honor of who they were and what they meant to us.
I have felt the breeze at just the right time, seen the shadow when there is no reason for there to be one, and seen the ray of lightbeams bounce through the house. I have heard the whisper, "you did it, mom", or "keep going, mom" when I thought I couldn't keep on with family traditions. I have seen her name in print and recognized that she was the only Allison I knew, and now, it seems, everyone has that name, even a sea turtle featured on the Today Show, for goodness sakes! I have seen the face of cancer patients, smiling and glowing, living and loving life and know that she taught us what she did for a definite purpose, to never complain and to seize the day. I have witnessed, as have many others, the incredible pink sunset across the country on the anniversary of her passing, one year later, and the letter A etched in the skies, from Iowa to Boston. I, along with my family, observed the rainbow of colors that penetrated her hospital room at the exact moment she left us for her eternal resting place, even the nurses were astounded. And I have experienced the moment of despair when "My Wish" by Rascal Flatts comes on the radio and I hear her favorite song and its sweet message. It is then that I know her loving God tends to us all, cries the tears with us, but knows there are no coincidences, and keeps sending messages so we can carry on, while we can.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Feed our Souls
I attended a church service late yesterday afternoon, invited by a friend who is heading on a mission trip this week, to Honduras. This service was a commission of prayer for those leaving the country to spread the word of Jesus and to do God's work. I was merely present, a source of support for my friend, who will make her third or fourth mission trip. Unknown to me, the service was a regularly scheduled one, held every Saturday at 4:30, to help accommodate the average weekend attendance of 1500 people. That is amazing to me when so many churches are striving to find what it is that lures folks to worship, 1500 people each weekend! Naturally, I was intrigued. Intrigued by the warm welcome, the high techno world inside the sanctuary, and the display of tables for coffee and punch and snacks, strategically placed for fellowship and comfort. You step in and you are not really sure what is about to take place. What took place for me was a much needed message of God's grace being sufficient, being there for the asking and for the receiving. Not a new concept to me at all, it seemed, though, to have a different twist. Maybe I was just ready for the message, led to this particular service on a Saturday afternoon when there were so many other things I could have been doing, sitting by a friend's pool, going to the winery, cleaning my house, finally unpacking from my recent trip to my sister and brother-in-law's, whatever...instead, I didn't hesitate when invited, and I know God had a reason for my attendance.
I think He wanted me to know that I have been trying to do all of this alone, again. As my brother-in-law battles through the pain and fatigue and side effects of chemotherapy in preparation for a stem cell transplant for multiple myeloma, and cancer has invaded more directly, once again, I find myself relying on my own resources and experiences as I try to sort it all out. As my sister, who I have dubbed "caregiver extraordinaire'" juggles and maneuvers through the many demands of her new found role, I, again, rely on my own experiences as the caregiver to Allison, to my father, and I empathize so completely, that I carry some of the burden, unnecessarily. My own belief and understanding of letting God take control has been overshadowed by my need to DO something, or take some of this away for those I love. But I cannot. What I can do, is let go and let God carry the burden. His grace is sufficient and He will carry this for all of us.
I was struck, yesterday, thinking that finally I know some of the problem I have faced of late...when grief has struck me down, again and again, and I don't want to face another summer, another birthday, another day without Allison, when my pain is almost unbearable to the point that I feel I, myself, have a chronic illness. It is then that I realize that I have not spent as much time working to be sanctified. Reading God's word and prayer and meditation has given way to activities, mental as well as physical, allowing negativity to flow, and the burdens of others to completely weigh me down. I don't mean family burdens, I mean the burdens that are not life threatening and that are minuscule and not pertinent to my positive state of mind and body.
I must work for change. Now, I know it is not the works that give us God's grace, but it does take work to know God, to strengthen the relationship, to understand and be sanctified. To be transformed, as I feel I am being, I must renew my mind, and that means to change. Sometimes the change is not welcome by others, friends or family. But it means standing up for what is good and right and needed by myself at the time. I shared with another grieving mother how to protect herself from the exhausting and draining activities of life, and she is doing that, just as I have, and do. In doing so, in declining invitations, passing on the outings, to take care of oneself is not the norm. We want to do those things, but they have suddenly become more difficult, more painful, just different. Nothing is done with ease any longer. In a way, I guess that is why sleep is so restful, emotional exhaustion is a different kind of tired and needs a different kind of rest.
The change also means trading what was once important, like going to the pool, or shopping, and stepping into a new place of worship, in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, to hear a message that was so in tuned with what I needed. My advice to my nephew and others, lately, has been to make sure in all the madness and pain of what we all deal with, that we continue to feed our souls. Feed them in the way that works best, with God's words, time in meditation, praise songs, inspirational readings, whatever...we won't get through any of this without our food for the soul.
Food for the soul, to nourish us as we do with food, we cannot live or get through these days of upheaval without it, and I am thankful that the spirit led me to a place where I received just the reminder I personally needed to get back on track. Nothing is going to change, Michael is still going to have cancer, Karen is going to be weary, Allison is not coming back, memories of the pain of cancer are going to linger, but we get today to be here and work for change, and feed our souls.
I think He wanted me to know that I have been trying to do all of this alone, again. As my brother-in-law battles through the pain and fatigue and side effects of chemotherapy in preparation for a stem cell transplant for multiple myeloma, and cancer has invaded more directly, once again, I find myself relying on my own resources and experiences as I try to sort it all out. As my sister, who I have dubbed "caregiver extraordinaire'" juggles and maneuvers through the many demands of her new found role, I, again, rely on my own experiences as the caregiver to Allison, to my father, and I empathize so completely, that I carry some of the burden, unnecessarily. My own belief and understanding of letting God take control has been overshadowed by my need to DO something, or take some of this away for those I love. But I cannot. What I can do, is let go and let God carry the burden. His grace is sufficient and He will carry this for all of us.
I was struck, yesterday, thinking that finally I know some of the problem I have faced of late...when grief has struck me down, again and again, and I don't want to face another summer, another birthday, another day without Allison, when my pain is almost unbearable to the point that I feel I, myself, have a chronic illness. It is then that I realize that I have not spent as much time working to be sanctified. Reading God's word and prayer and meditation has given way to activities, mental as well as physical, allowing negativity to flow, and the burdens of others to completely weigh me down. I don't mean family burdens, I mean the burdens that are not life threatening and that are minuscule and not pertinent to my positive state of mind and body.
I must work for change. Now, I know it is not the works that give us God's grace, but it does take work to know God, to strengthen the relationship, to understand and be sanctified. To be transformed, as I feel I am being, I must renew my mind, and that means to change. Sometimes the change is not welcome by others, friends or family. But it means standing up for what is good and right and needed by myself at the time. I shared with another grieving mother how to protect herself from the exhausting and draining activities of life, and she is doing that, just as I have, and do. In doing so, in declining invitations, passing on the outings, to take care of oneself is not the norm. We want to do those things, but they have suddenly become more difficult, more painful, just different. Nothing is done with ease any longer. In a way, I guess that is why sleep is so restful, emotional exhaustion is a different kind of tired and needs a different kind of rest.
The change also means trading what was once important, like going to the pool, or shopping, and stepping into a new place of worship, in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, to hear a message that was so in tuned with what I needed. My advice to my nephew and others, lately, has been to make sure in all the madness and pain of what we all deal with, that we continue to feed our souls. Feed them in the way that works best, with God's words, time in meditation, praise songs, inspirational readings, whatever...we won't get through any of this without our food for the soul.
Food for the soul, to nourish us as we do with food, we cannot live or get through these days of upheaval without it, and I am thankful that the spirit led me to a place where I received just the reminder I personally needed to get back on track. Nothing is going to change, Michael is still going to have cancer, Karen is going to be weary, Allison is not coming back, memories of the pain of cancer are going to linger, but we get today to be here and work for change, and feed our souls.
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