Tuesday, July 28, 2009
A side note...
Not known for a shortage of words, just ask my brother-in-law when he describes my phone messages and prayers, just ask my former staffs about the lengthy memos or e-mails, just ask Joe about my "embelishment" of stories....but a side note to my earlier entry about Richard and the bread. Years ago, when our Allie took over driving my sebring convertible (wow, did she look great in that car:), she wanted vanity license plates. Of course, I was considering indulging her! But she was specific, she wanted some version, in particular the spelling of Aly-kat, but she would have settled for any variation. All were taken. In Richard's garage, since the passing of his own Allie, sits a red convertible, with none other than the license plate, "ALY-KAT". Coincidence? Maybe not.
Intuition...and Timing
Intuition is that gift that so many of us have, we don't need to be told, or we don't need proof, we don't need to read what to do or say, we just know. As I have mentioned before, it is when I DON'T follow my intuition that I always end up in trouble or making the wrong decision. Sometimes, when I don't follow it, I would never have known what would have happened had I chosen to forge ahead and follow the spirit that leads. I guess that is my lesson for myself, don't hold back, don't hesitate, don't second guess myself when the spirit is strongly leading me in a direction that I must take.
This lesson came back to me again yesterday as I dug out a very old zucchini bread recipe from my early days of marriage file...recipes that have not been made in a very LONG time. I had to find it because the vegetables are multiplying from our organic farm co-op! I made this whole bundt cake/bread and it smelled delightful, but I knew we could never eat the whole thing, especially since I travel to Boston today. As it cooled and I sliced it and placed each slice in its own bag, I knew I needed to take some to Richard...don't ask me how I knew, I don't even know Richard, but I know OF him. He lives a few doors down and has suffered great loss in the last years, two children, and recently, his beloved wife, Shirley. They are the neighbors that you wave to but don't know much about, a simple nod or wave has always seemed sufficient, after all, we don't want to intrude on others' lives sometimes. I didn't know of the loss of a first child, but I did know of the daughter in 2008 who passed away from cancer on the heels of our own daughter. I tried to go over and extend condolences, but couldn't, and time got by. Last Christmas I bought them an angel for the tree, knowing it was the first Christmas without her, and walked over with it, only to turn around three times...always an excuse, cars in the driveway, shades pulled, whatever. So, the angel sits, beautifully wrapped, never given to the recipient. Now I cannot extend that gesture because Shirley, Allie's mother, is gone. But Richard is here. And we were introduced recently at a neighborhood gathering. The sadness in his eyes would overwhelm you, but one could tell that he was trying, and of course, no one said a word about his grief. We all looked "normal", enjoying an impromptu gathering and getting to know one another better, yet, there we were, all struggling with some form of loss that has occured in just the few short years we have all lived on this corner of the world.
Well, the bread should be delivered and I added one of the greatest books I read daily on healing through loss, wrote the card, and went on my way. I started out in the morning and found an excuse not to go over, then again around noon. I thought we may end up saving this gift and eating the bread! But the spirit moved me and spurred me to go over, be brave, ring the doorbell, and I did. And Richard came to the door. And I reminded him who I was and where I lived and that we had never appropriately extended our condolences and the tears sprang. At that very moment he was doing one of the most difficult things he had ever done, he said, he was sorting through his beloved wife's clothes, not sure what to do. He marvelled at the gesture of the bread, the gift, the timing. He needed support, this man who has buried two of three children and a wife, and there it was, and he will read the book, stating that he needs something, that it has been three months, and he is clearly in pain. But for one moment, in what I always call God's perfect timing, he had hope, that he was not alone. This isn't about me being a wondrous person, this is about hearing and heeding the signs that come from above, to not miss an opportunity when it stands right before me. I missed the chance to meet Shirley and give her that angel to signify the passing of her precious daughter, but I learned from it, and I won't miss another, if I can help it.
I walked away and Richard spoke, May God bless you. God has, does, and always will. Thankfully, I followed my intuition and His perfect timing.
This lesson came back to me again yesterday as I dug out a very old zucchini bread recipe from my early days of marriage file...recipes that have not been made in a very LONG time. I had to find it because the vegetables are multiplying from our organic farm co-op! I made this whole bundt cake/bread and it smelled delightful, but I knew we could never eat the whole thing, especially since I travel to Boston today. As it cooled and I sliced it and placed each slice in its own bag, I knew I needed to take some to Richard...don't ask me how I knew, I don't even know Richard, but I know OF him. He lives a few doors down and has suffered great loss in the last years, two children, and recently, his beloved wife, Shirley. They are the neighbors that you wave to but don't know much about, a simple nod or wave has always seemed sufficient, after all, we don't want to intrude on others' lives sometimes. I didn't know of the loss of a first child, but I did know of the daughter in 2008 who passed away from cancer on the heels of our own daughter. I tried to go over and extend condolences, but couldn't, and time got by. Last Christmas I bought them an angel for the tree, knowing it was the first Christmas without her, and walked over with it, only to turn around three times...always an excuse, cars in the driveway, shades pulled, whatever. So, the angel sits, beautifully wrapped, never given to the recipient. Now I cannot extend that gesture because Shirley, Allie's mother, is gone. But Richard is here. And we were introduced recently at a neighborhood gathering. The sadness in his eyes would overwhelm you, but one could tell that he was trying, and of course, no one said a word about his grief. We all looked "normal", enjoying an impromptu gathering and getting to know one another better, yet, there we were, all struggling with some form of loss that has occured in just the few short years we have all lived on this corner of the world.
Well, the bread should be delivered and I added one of the greatest books I read daily on healing through loss, wrote the card, and went on my way. I started out in the morning and found an excuse not to go over, then again around noon. I thought we may end up saving this gift and eating the bread! But the spirit moved me and spurred me to go over, be brave, ring the doorbell, and I did. And Richard came to the door. And I reminded him who I was and where I lived and that we had never appropriately extended our condolences and the tears sprang. At that very moment he was doing one of the most difficult things he had ever done, he said, he was sorting through his beloved wife's clothes, not sure what to do. He marvelled at the gesture of the bread, the gift, the timing. He needed support, this man who has buried two of three children and a wife, and there it was, and he will read the book, stating that he needs something, that it has been three months, and he is clearly in pain. But for one moment, in what I always call God's perfect timing, he had hope, that he was not alone. This isn't about me being a wondrous person, this is about hearing and heeding the signs that come from above, to not miss an opportunity when it stands right before me. I missed the chance to meet Shirley and give her that angel to signify the passing of her precious daughter, but I learned from it, and I won't miss another, if I can help it.
I walked away and Richard spoke, May God bless you. God has, does, and always will. Thankfully, I followed my intuition and His perfect timing.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Come To Grips
I wonder if I will ever fully "come to grips" that she is gone, my youngest child. But in some ways I know I must, have, am coming to grips for when we don't, we cannot live. It is a false fantasy to believe that mourning is going to ever go away, that I will wake up one day and this will be "over", things will be different. They won't. I have prayed every day to God above to give me the wisdom and strength to focus my energies on my life and the lives of those I love. He has never let me down for I have found life in every day. Sometimes the life, especially in the early days, as I "adjusted" to this overwhelming change of life, the unexpected shock to a body, mind and soul that pierced my very existence, consisted only of getting to the grocery store and making a meal. How I went through the motions for so long, and some days, still do. But I live, in the only way I know how to do so. My task is to incorporate this grief into the rest of my life so that it doesn't consume or dominate, a task that doesn't get accomplished by accident, but by faithful prayer and reflection and purpose.
I look for the good things to outweigh this loss, this pain, this trauma, this fatigue. I keep looking and searching and inevitably, there it is, something good, so that I can honestly say, "life is good". I believe that, and live it, for myself, my daughter, my husband, my family. And the memory of the one who went before us gives us strength and motivation to "come to grips" with the reality of death and loss. Even in this sadness I must be open to new adventures and opportunities.
Such an opportunity came last evening as we celebrated the July birthdays, Kathy's and Jen's, at a restaurant where they cooked at your table...we laughed, we enjoyed the moment, we tried something so far out of the ordinary for us! Yes, we knew there was the missing piece, the reservations off by a number, always. Yes, the youngest one of our small family surely wanted to share this celebration with her sister, to have the companionship of days gone, to laugh and make a memory that could be talked about for years. But that is not to be...instead, we get up, get dressed, put our best foot forward, look at the moment, and find the one thing, anything, big or small, to celebrate. My heart, body and mind can tell you exactly how long she has been gone from our physical grasp, but it can also tell you how her presence lingers. Like a gift, just last night, as we came back to our house for dessert and presents, pink, puffy clouds lined the sky, clouds like we have never seen before, so much so, that again, our house seemed to be illuminated by the look and glow of pink cotton candy. In the middle of our evening, the message was clear, "I am here, mom, dad, Jen, Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Kathy, Uncle David, Danny, I am here, and I am assisting you as you come to grips with death, and live". She wants us to live, and she must know how difficult it has been, and still is, but she is there to guide us into living strong and seizing this day.
I look for the good things to outweigh this loss, this pain, this trauma, this fatigue. I keep looking and searching and inevitably, there it is, something good, so that I can honestly say, "life is good". I believe that, and live it, for myself, my daughter, my husband, my family. And the memory of the one who went before us gives us strength and motivation to "come to grips" with the reality of death and loss. Even in this sadness I must be open to new adventures and opportunities.
Such an opportunity came last evening as we celebrated the July birthdays, Kathy's and Jen's, at a restaurant where they cooked at your table...we laughed, we enjoyed the moment, we tried something so far out of the ordinary for us! Yes, we knew there was the missing piece, the reservations off by a number, always. Yes, the youngest one of our small family surely wanted to share this celebration with her sister, to have the companionship of days gone, to laugh and make a memory that could be talked about for years. But that is not to be...instead, we get up, get dressed, put our best foot forward, look at the moment, and find the one thing, anything, big or small, to celebrate. My heart, body and mind can tell you exactly how long she has been gone from our physical grasp, but it can also tell you how her presence lingers. Like a gift, just last night, as we came back to our house for dessert and presents, pink, puffy clouds lined the sky, clouds like we have never seen before, so much so, that again, our house seemed to be illuminated by the look and glow of pink cotton candy. In the middle of our evening, the message was clear, "I am here, mom, dad, Jen, Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Kathy, Uncle David, Danny, I am here, and I am assisting you as you come to grips with death, and live". She wants us to live, and she must know how difficult it has been, and still is, but she is there to guide us into living strong and seizing this day.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Don't Think It, Don't Say It
We have all heard the lessons about not judging others until you walk in their shoes. We learn it in Sunday School through the Bible stories, we hear it from our parents, we are drilled in classrooms across America, but, still, unless it is modeled for us, we don't really ever get it completely. We still do it, at times, we THINK we know what would be best for others, or what we might do in their circumstance. We just have great opinions, that is, until it comes closer to home.
My brother and sister and I were pretty fortunate that in our parents, we did not see them judging others. Sure, our mother did have her opinions and could lean toward the side of gossip! Our father not only taught us with words, but with actions, that until we walked in those exact shoes, we would never know, so there was no point, or sense, in voicing an opinion. He really did help us understand the true meaning of The Golden Rule! However, who among us has not "slipped" occasionally, or over time, in thinking, or making a statement, about what others should or should not do. I have tried to refrain, but know I have surely "judged" another in my lifetime. I see or hear what they are going through and perhaps think, or believe, I would do something differently. I wonder why they don't just get the help they need or make the choices or changes necessary to move through their situation. And when I slip into that type of thinking, I am reminded of how we teach our children that each of us have choices, that indeed, we are responsible only for ourselves and our decisions. We cannot make the choices for our spouses, our children, our friends, our loved ones. Still, sometimes, we think we know best. And we know best because we have no frame of reference or perspective, we just think we do, we think we know what we would do, given the same circumstances. But we don't.
Since the passing of our precious daughter, I have been privy to so much learning, met new people along the way that I know would have never entered my life had Allison not paved the way. And we have amazing conversations, most likely because in each other, we find that common bond, that one individual who truly knows, understands, feels what we feel, even when our circumstances are different. Loss is loss, but add to it the type of loss, and that factors in other issues...suicide, car accidents, murder, cancer. Not only do we lose our child, but then we have to "deal" with the circumstances that are unique to our own case, and that adds another element. Perhaps that is why some parents whose children took their own life, intentionally or not, bond together. Perhaps that is why I am drawn to the mothers and fathers who suffer right along with their child who fights the intensity of cancer only to find one day that they must prepare to leave this earth. God knows the pain in my heart even as I type these words and the extra pain sometimes extended by "well meaning" friends or acquaintances.
One such person commented to me recently, via an e-mail, that we all know Allison is gone but that it is time to focus on our daughter who is alive, and that she hoped I took no offense. I was stunned and brought to my knees with the audacity of such a statement. Who among us knows, unless you live in this house, just what we have been through and how we react with our living child? Yes, I know that most people would never think such a thing, let alone say it, but the words ripped to my core, and hovered over me like a dark cloud for days. This person is not the only one who has expressed an opinion, maybe not as bold, but others such as...Allison would want you to attend my child's wedding, you should get out more, isn't it time to socialize more, wouldn't it be better for you if you went back to work...I could list a litany of concerned expressions. Instead, what I work to focus on is the love and support (I will not say understanding) of those who not only could not imagine, but admit that they do not. I appreciate so much those who just say that there are no words that they can say, and to them, I say, silence is golden, love and support are felt. Words can never be taken back once they are out, so in an effort to try to say something, I encourage others to not even think such things, let alone say them. Do not judge until you walk this journey.
I share this today because so many grieving mothers have shared statements with me that have brought them to their knees, in their time of vulnerability and pain. I share this today because there is going to be another grieving parent in your midst, it is not going to stop with the Haake family. I share this today because we must stop feeling and thinking we know what someone else journeys through, that what we "see" is not what it is...
Parental grief is the one type of loss that most of us do not know how to respond to. I was there once, too. I hope and pray I never said anything that could be understood as less than loving. I hope and pray that I never sought to put a time limit, that in 28 months I expected the parents to "get over it". I hope and pray that I kept them in my prayers, asking God to hold them up just so they could find a way to live, honor God, their deceased child, their living children, and themselves. And God knows what is in my heart, so I ask Him every day, and have since January 9, 2007, to help me learn what is intended from this bend in the road, to be the beacon He desires, to speak when appropriate, to be silent when needed, to touch a hand, or just be there, to know what is needed and not wait for someone who will never know what they need, to ask. I pray I am taking this journey as He has intended, knowing He has used Allison for powerful purposes, knowing He left us all, Joe, Jennifer, me, and yes, even Barkley, to serve out His will.
Yes, silence can be golden, words are often unnecessary, especially when there is love. If we don't even think it, we won't feel compelled to say it. There is no room for judging others, even when we THINK we HAVE walked in their shoes.
My brother and sister and I were pretty fortunate that in our parents, we did not see them judging others. Sure, our mother did have her opinions and could lean toward the side of gossip! Our father not only taught us with words, but with actions, that until we walked in those exact shoes, we would never know, so there was no point, or sense, in voicing an opinion. He really did help us understand the true meaning of The Golden Rule! However, who among us has not "slipped" occasionally, or over time, in thinking, or making a statement, about what others should or should not do. I have tried to refrain, but know I have surely "judged" another in my lifetime. I see or hear what they are going through and perhaps think, or believe, I would do something differently. I wonder why they don't just get the help they need or make the choices or changes necessary to move through their situation. And when I slip into that type of thinking, I am reminded of how we teach our children that each of us have choices, that indeed, we are responsible only for ourselves and our decisions. We cannot make the choices for our spouses, our children, our friends, our loved ones. Still, sometimes, we think we know best. And we know best because we have no frame of reference or perspective, we just think we do, we think we know what we would do, given the same circumstances. But we don't.
Since the passing of our precious daughter, I have been privy to so much learning, met new people along the way that I know would have never entered my life had Allison not paved the way. And we have amazing conversations, most likely because in each other, we find that common bond, that one individual who truly knows, understands, feels what we feel, even when our circumstances are different. Loss is loss, but add to it the type of loss, and that factors in other issues...suicide, car accidents, murder, cancer. Not only do we lose our child, but then we have to "deal" with the circumstances that are unique to our own case, and that adds another element. Perhaps that is why some parents whose children took their own life, intentionally or not, bond together. Perhaps that is why I am drawn to the mothers and fathers who suffer right along with their child who fights the intensity of cancer only to find one day that they must prepare to leave this earth. God knows the pain in my heart even as I type these words and the extra pain sometimes extended by "well meaning" friends or acquaintances.
One such person commented to me recently, via an e-mail, that we all know Allison is gone but that it is time to focus on our daughter who is alive, and that she hoped I took no offense. I was stunned and brought to my knees with the audacity of such a statement. Who among us knows, unless you live in this house, just what we have been through and how we react with our living child? Yes, I know that most people would never think such a thing, let alone say it, but the words ripped to my core, and hovered over me like a dark cloud for days. This person is not the only one who has expressed an opinion, maybe not as bold, but others such as...Allison would want you to attend my child's wedding, you should get out more, isn't it time to socialize more, wouldn't it be better for you if you went back to work...I could list a litany of concerned expressions. Instead, what I work to focus on is the love and support (I will not say understanding) of those who not only could not imagine, but admit that they do not. I appreciate so much those who just say that there are no words that they can say, and to them, I say, silence is golden, love and support are felt. Words can never be taken back once they are out, so in an effort to try to say something, I encourage others to not even think such things, let alone say them. Do not judge until you walk this journey.
I share this today because so many grieving mothers have shared statements with me that have brought them to their knees, in their time of vulnerability and pain. I share this today because there is going to be another grieving parent in your midst, it is not going to stop with the Haake family. I share this today because we must stop feeling and thinking we know what someone else journeys through, that what we "see" is not what it is...
Parental grief is the one type of loss that most of us do not know how to respond to. I was there once, too. I hope and pray I never said anything that could be understood as less than loving. I hope and pray that I never sought to put a time limit, that in 28 months I expected the parents to "get over it". I hope and pray that I kept them in my prayers, asking God to hold them up just so they could find a way to live, honor God, their deceased child, their living children, and themselves. And God knows what is in my heart, so I ask Him every day, and have since January 9, 2007, to help me learn what is intended from this bend in the road, to be the beacon He desires, to speak when appropriate, to be silent when needed, to touch a hand, or just be there, to know what is needed and not wait for someone who will never know what they need, to ask. I pray I am taking this journey as He has intended, knowing He has used Allison for powerful purposes, knowing He left us all, Joe, Jennifer, me, and yes, even Barkley, to serve out His will.
Yes, silence can be golden, words are often unnecessary, especially when there is love. If we don't even think it, we won't feel compelled to say it. There is no room for judging others, even when we THINK we HAVE walked in their shoes.
Friday, July 17, 2009
The Sound of Buses
I know I have written about this, or at least reflected in my own mind, what the sound of buses means to me, NOW. Not then, but now. For almost 30 years, the sound of buses ruled my day in the school building, I prayed the students got to school safely, and home again. I was "programmed" as a principal or teacher that at 8:25 and again at 3:25 bus arrivals and dismissals would set the tone for the day, or the evening, depending if any "issues" arose. The responsibility as a principal was far more heavy on my mind and heart. I really didn't mind staying late, or going early, to deal with any bus situations, I was just thankful when all could be resolved.
But NOW, I see and hear the sound of buses differently. Being home, I must admit that while I miss all those days of greeting students, or sending them on their way, I don't miss the pressure that came from it, stress I didn't even realize was part of my being, because it was just what you I did, day in and day out. NOW, the sound of buses signifies other things and I see things in amazing ways. I see the young mothers and fathers waiting in the morning and in the evening, hoping beyond hope that their children are comfortable and fine with their new surroundings. I recall, with vivid memory, the gut feeling of sending that 5 year old off to face the world, an eldest daughter more timid, a younger one ready to take on the world. With every face on that bus, I recognize some child I have taught or "disciplined" in my office! I see the smiles and hear the sound of laughter as our neighborhood children began school yesterday in their year round setting. And I have become that "old" lady, in her robe, watching from the deck, as our special neighbor girl started kindergarten and her sister cried as she was left at home for the first time, alone with her mom to venture without big sister. I'm sure if anyone would have glanced over and saw this vision on the deck, hair blowing in the wind, robe flapping, a tear in my eye, they may wonder what in the world could be going through my head! Probably quite a sight!
But, what goes through my head is how busy life was in those days, and I wonder, did I slow down enough to smell the roses, listen to the beautiful sound of a bus going by, laughter of children on a bus. I know I did, but sometimes I cannot remember. I can only remember how life changed so drastically and is now measured for all three of us, before Allie got sick, and after. I can barely retrieve the precious memories of raising the girls through the elementary years, never knowing those were the best times of our lives. I look at the parents who scurry off to work, to the gym, to the next task, and I know that life just goes on, we do our best with each given day, and we live life.
Who would have thought in retirement that the sound of busses could bring on such emotion, the buying of the school clothes, the backpacks, the school supplies? Who would have thought that it has caused me to look for the first day of school photos of the girls that are scattered someplace in the basement? Who would have thought that it could bring a tear to my heart, yet a smile on my face? As the streets are now quiet, and the children are at the school, and the busses are dormant until later today, I can only thank God I have the capacity to reflect, remember, embrace the times that once were, and be appreciative of this moment to enjoy. Even the quiet is a gift, every little thing has beome one, for it signifies life and living. Through pangs of loss I can see two little girls who grew up to be big girls and be thankful for what we did have, for as long as we had it, a growing family that can savor memories, while making new ones.
But NOW, I see and hear the sound of buses differently. Being home, I must admit that while I miss all those days of greeting students, or sending them on their way, I don't miss the pressure that came from it, stress I didn't even realize was part of my being, because it was just what you I did, day in and day out. NOW, the sound of buses signifies other things and I see things in amazing ways. I see the young mothers and fathers waiting in the morning and in the evening, hoping beyond hope that their children are comfortable and fine with their new surroundings. I recall, with vivid memory, the gut feeling of sending that 5 year old off to face the world, an eldest daughter more timid, a younger one ready to take on the world. With every face on that bus, I recognize some child I have taught or "disciplined" in my office! I see the smiles and hear the sound of laughter as our neighborhood children began school yesterday in their year round setting. And I have become that "old" lady, in her robe, watching from the deck, as our special neighbor girl started kindergarten and her sister cried as she was left at home for the first time, alone with her mom to venture without big sister. I'm sure if anyone would have glanced over and saw this vision on the deck, hair blowing in the wind, robe flapping, a tear in my eye, they may wonder what in the world could be going through my head! Probably quite a sight!
But, what goes through my head is how busy life was in those days, and I wonder, did I slow down enough to smell the roses, listen to the beautiful sound of a bus going by, laughter of children on a bus. I know I did, but sometimes I cannot remember. I can only remember how life changed so drastically and is now measured for all three of us, before Allie got sick, and after. I can barely retrieve the precious memories of raising the girls through the elementary years, never knowing those were the best times of our lives. I look at the parents who scurry off to work, to the gym, to the next task, and I know that life just goes on, we do our best with each given day, and we live life.
Who would have thought in retirement that the sound of busses could bring on such emotion, the buying of the school clothes, the backpacks, the school supplies? Who would have thought that it has caused me to look for the first day of school photos of the girls that are scattered someplace in the basement? Who would have thought that it could bring a tear to my heart, yet a smile on my face? As the streets are now quiet, and the children are at the school, and the busses are dormant until later today, I can only thank God I have the capacity to reflect, remember, embrace the times that once were, and be appreciative of this moment to enjoy. Even the quiet is a gift, every little thing has beome one, for it signifies life and living. Through pangs of loss I can see two little girls who grew up to be big girls and be thankful for what we did have, for as long as we had it, a growing family that can savor memories, while making new ones.
Monday, July 13, 2009
So Much In A Day
There is so much to seize in just one day. I go back to why I entitled this blog, "This Is The Day", many months ago when I felt the need to release and sort out feelings and thoughts through my fingers that seem to fly and barely stop on the keyboard, as if the internal release cannot escape fast enough. It's still that way, and it is still my morning message from God, to take the day He created and make it the best, the best I can for that moment, that hour or that day. Where would I be without those words (...this is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it)..., even on the days of despair, and pain, and sorrow, and on days when phone call after phone call seems to bring sorrowful news. There is so much goodness to share and embrace, but when one is in the trenches of finding out how to live again, to move, even learning a new way of breathing, eating, shopping, socializing, it can be a difficult job to "see" the blessings. But they ARE there, and I am thankful. I've kept that blessing journal for so many months now to help me focus on the beauty and the rapture in my world, especially when it seemed no sense could, or would, ever be made of this loss, a mother's journey in grief. And I've mentioned that sometimes the blessings were so simple, the only ones I could see from the couch that brought me comfort each and every day. I see common threads...coffee with Jennifer, opportunity to make her breakfast, walk with Barkley, late afternoon chats with Joe, phone calls from family or friends, even on those days I couldn't pick up the phone, sunlight streaming in all the windows of this house, even though it showed how much housework was NOT getting done:) Common threads that held, and still hold, me together.
Sometimes I know I am turning that corner, for when newly grieving mothers turn to me now, to make sense of the madness, to try to comprehend how you weave your life back together with all that is missing, how to cope with friends who say the most insensitive things because they just do not know, how to shop in the same places, how to break a 20 year pattern of being with their child, and hearing their voices everyday...when those phone calls come, I shake my head to myself and I know this is what God had planned for me, and this is what makes Allison smile from the heavens. Her death was not in vain, she is teaching us, by using God's own words, to take the day, make the best we can from it, and help each other along the way. By choice, I would have remained ignorant of all this entails, but choice and control were not part of this equation. It was clearly designed by God above for His distinct purpose, and on this day, I see that so poingantly, feel it so intrinsically, and am thankful for the blessing of being the one chosen. That is not to mean in the next minute I won't be brought to my knees by a vision, a memory, a fragrance, a girl driving down Kisker Road in her white headband, ponytail flying in the breeze, loving life in her gold sebring convertible. That is not to mean that when we head to Hull, or celebrate Jen's upcoming 27th birthday we won't feel the pang and emptiness of a family that has been pulled apart, but stands together through the veil of pain and loss. But for now, I can smile, and know in my heart, I am being held up for the bigger plan, the bigger purpose, and when God deems it time for the sweet reunion, Joe, Jennifer, and I will know we served Him well.
Sometimes I know I am turning that corner, for when newly grieving mothers turn to me now, to make sense of the madness, to try to comprehend how you weave your life back together with all that is missing, how to cope with friends who say the most insensitive things because they just do not know, how to shop in the same places, how to break a 20 year pattern of being with their child, and hearing their voices everyday...when those phone calls come, I shake my head to myself and I know this is what God had planned for me, and this is what makes Allison smile from the heavens. Her death was not in vain, she is teaching us, by using God's own words, to take the day, make the best we can from it, and help each other along the way. By choice, I would have remained ignorant of all this entails, but choice and control were not part of this equation. It was clearly designed by God above for His distinct purpose, and on this day, I see that so poingantly, feel it so intrinsically, and am thankful for the blessing of being the one chosen. That is not to mean in the next minute I won't be brought to my knees by a vision, a memory, a fragrance, a girl driving down Kisker Road in her white headband, ponytail flying in the breeze, loving life in her gold sebring convertible. That is not to mean that when we head to Hull, or celebrate Jen's upcoming 27th birthday we won't feel the pang and emptiness of a family that has been pulled apart, but stands together through the veil of pain and loss. But for now, I can smile, and know in my heart, I am being held up for the bigger plan, the bigger purpose, and when God deems it time for the sweet reunion, Joe, Jennifer, and I will know we served Him well.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Her Clothes, Her Make-Up, Her Things
I have talked with parents who immediately rid themselves of the personal belongings of their deceased child, and some, who, years later, still cannot bring themselves to let go of the items. There seems to be no right or wrong way to do this, it's such a personal choice. As for us, we have all her Chicago items right in the same place in the basement, the spot where they were dropped off when her friends and their parents went to move things home. What a gift that was, we never had to re-enter the apartment and pack up the items, instead, this wonderful group travelled up and back, loaded and unloaded, and gave us the peace of mind that all things would be taken care of...I hope I sufficiently thanked them. I think I did, but as with many things during that first year or even two, I know I didn't adequately thank anyone for the kindnesses and generosity of their ways. Nevertheless, there lies the comforter, the pillows, the shams, the boxes, the bags, the books, the shoes, the clothes. Still. But bit by bit, I am able to pick through and decide what to do with each item. Some have been donated to Goodwill, some given to someone special, but most just sit there. The same with the items in her room. She and Jenny could mix and match clothes so often that it was hard to know what belonged to whom, so the things in the room, they still sit, too. But we know we must begin to make a dent. We must decide what to do with certain things. The time is right for us. So, we begin, and start and stop, and begin again. We make what seems a huge difference, only to find that the boxes and bags seem to multiply. And it is hard. It is painful and comforting all at the same time. We will take the infamous t-shirts and have quilts made, keeping her with us, wrapped in her bright life and smile, her love and her zest for life helping us to stay focused and live. We will wrap ourselves in her blankets and live for her, for ourselves and for those we meet. We will do it because she would want us to, but still, to give away the items that must be discarded, it's as if another door has closed, and we have hung a shingle that states, "she is not coming back". We know that, but as the bags pile up and the donations to charity or others less fortunate mount, my heart beats faster and a dark cloud hovers in my soul. She is gone from my grasp, no longer needing the "things" that have become too precious.
So, we pace and move in a direction that works for us. With each personal item, a part of her leaves this house, but with them, I am reminded of her very own words. In her final days, when this life was almost behind her, and she embarked on another, it was she who brought to my attention that "stuff" didn't matter. She told me, "I didn't really need all those things, all the t-shirts, all the jeans, all the shoes, and all the pajamas. I had what I needed all the time, just my family". That's what she entered this world with and that's how she left us, needing nothing, just her family and the love God taught us to know. To Allison, today, and everyday, I say, thank you for helping me get through this. And to God above, today, and everyday, I say, thank you for the blessings in my life, the love of family and friends so dear.
Maybe tomorrow I will find the strength to find my way through more possessions, more trinkets, more items, more personal "stuff", and maybe I will be able to do a little more.
So, we pace and move in a direction that works for us. With each personal item, a part of her leaves this house, but with them, I am reminded of her very own words. In her final days, when this life was almost behind her, and she embarked on another, it was she who brought to my attention that "stuff" didn't matter. She told me, "I didn't really need all those things, all the t-shirts, all the jeans, all the shoes, and all the pajamas. I had what I needed all the time, just my family". That's what she entered this world with and that's how she left us, needing nothing, just her family and the love God taught us to know. To Allison, today, and everyday, I say, thank you for helping me get through this. And to God above, today, and everyday, I say, thank you for the blessings in my life, the love of family and friends so dear.
Maybe tomorrow I will find the strength to find my way through more possessions, more trinkets, more items, more personal "stuff", and maybe I will be able to do a little more.
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