It is so unreal and surreal that we are in the days of remembrance, the pain and the diagnosis, yet the laughter and the tears, of cancer and Allison's life. Our immediate family, and even those afar, share that their souls are crying, that when the leaves turn color and the brisk air takes over, and Halloween night awaits, thoughts are of Allison and how she lived through the times, listening to her diagnosis, enduring treatments, accepting more and more penetration to her body, just so she could get well, and live. It's no wonder that we all keep going, keep living, keep smiling, when we would rather pull the covers over our heads for these weeks, and retreat and recoil. Could she have known just how much she left us by her sheer desire to spend each day, celebrating as if it were her last? Could she have known that her smile was so contagious that now that we don't see it light up our lives, we carry it in our hearts? Could she have known that the words and the way she chose to respond to her trials have helped each of us accept in some form the fact that she is gone and given us reason to respond accordingly?
All we have is the ability to respond. We get to choose. I have the opportunity to decide how my attitude will be set for the day, will I choose to be angry and bitter, or will I choose to live out the legacy that has been handed to us as if it were wrapped in the most magnificent, illuminated light. Will I recoil and shut off the light this evening, only to remain in my own grief and loss and misery? Or will I welcome the faces of trick or treaters and spread the cheer that little ones should receive? So many choices, each and every minute of my grief stricken life. As I do my gut level best to put one foot in front of the other, buy the candy, prepare for the upcoming weeks and holidays, my heart beats so intently that I feel it will burst, come right out and send a flood of tears that will never stop. And I do allow that. I must, I have to, and I do. But as in our St. Louis weather, when the rain stops, and it does, periodically, the sun comes out in the form of the triumphs of cancer, life and even death, I must turn my heart to God and thank Him for this day, this life, and again, I find comfort in doing my best, for this is temporal, and really, if truth be known, this life is not my own, it is His. I knew that before, but I truly know that now, God has the design on where I am and how this unfolds, and to be chosen for this journey, as grueling and painful as it is, is the sweet reminder that loss and tragedy and pain and suffering escapes no one.
These weeks are here and the reminders are strong. Allison's presence is so powerful, nudging us to keep doing, living, loving. I try my hardest not to remember the weeks of cancer and all that entails, and to focus on the fact that God released her from the pain, that she has no recollection, and that to spend time in the past will serve no purpose, for her, for me, for my family. Still, the images and feelings can surface without warning...when I recall that Halloween when the friends gathered here to be with her, when the pain was setting in and she was preparing to lose her hair. I want desperately to recall the years of going door to door, dressed in costume, laughing and looking through the candy as sisters, attending parties and living in a world that we didn't know at the time was easy. But I am not there yet. And I am at peace knowing there is no time frame to reach that destination. This journey of healing and living in our family, out of balance, and finding our way through a maze, will take us through twists and turns that we could never have imagined. There is no final destination.
You don't walk through the loss of a child without being changed forever, completely and without ever going back to who you once were...sure, there are shades of the person I was before, and I can even "look" the same, but along with facing the reminders and remembrances, I am finding myself, too. I have to redefine my purposes, my life, my self. And when this time of year comes, again, that is more important than ever. I affirm to live strong for my husband, my living daughter, my deceased daughter, my siblings, my friends, my self.
We are here again, and I will find my way. I must.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
No Manual, No Handbook
There is certainly no handbook or manual that exists that can help any of us know what to do or how to do it when it comes to LIFE and all its experiences. That thought has crossed my mind so often, lately, as I view the news and hear of mothers and fathers not knowing where there children are for years, of young ladies kidnapped only to return to society with some form of resilience that most of us cannot comprehend, how one young lady spoke of being raped more than four times a day while being held captive for months, and now, to speak of it with dignity and grace with an eye on the future. The examples are many and I draw strength from each one. I seem to hear the stories differently than had I not walked in my own experiences, and while burdens cannot be compared, I am inspired to keep going by those stories, the public stories, and the quiet stories, the ones that go on in our own backyard, our own family, our own home.
In younger years, and in what I know now as lighter years, I certainly recall thinking about the manual of life. I wondered where it was when I had all the textbook knowledge a person could hold at the time, graduated, and entered my first classroom of third graders. Nothing in those classes prepared me for the 28 smiling faces, sitting in desks, waiting to be taught! Could they have known they were about to teach me perhaps more than I would ever teach them?! What I learned is there is no page 22 to go home and read up on and figure out how to meet each one of them where they were coming from, help them achieve, cope with their behaviors, meet with their parents, and teach them all the objectives of the grade level! Fast forward many years, to a sixth grade class who really didn't want to be taught, who were NOT sitting smiling in seats, rather disgruntled, tired, angry, hungry, standing up, throwing things, verbally assaulting each other, then tell me I didn't need a manual to help me find my way, but again, no class or lesson or textbook prepared me for that one! But through the grace of God, and prior experience, and learning from mentors AND experience, I didn't need the handbook! I found my way.
I found my way through marriage (where there certainly is no manual), childbirth, again, who is really prepared for that, and the intense delivery of a firstborn child, who was wisked away to an intensive care unit for the first eight days of life, never held by her mother in another hospital, on the other side of town. My arms longed for her, to touch her, to see her, to know she was fine, and I recall that ache like it was yesterday and not 27 years ago. Much like my arms and heart and soul ache today, and everyday. I ask God if it will go away, will it always be like this, will I just die from the ache? This ache, while similiar, is different, because I have to come to terms with the fact that our second born daughter is gone from our grasp, sight, and arms. I cannot touch, smell, hear, hold her ever again. And there is no manual for that. There is no one outlining what needs to be done, there is no script, no page 45 to read, there is nothing that lets a mother know how to be prepared, or to deal with, the loss of a child. So, as in all aspects of life, I find my way. God has provided endless scriptures to assist me in ways I would have never dreamed possible, perhaps right there, that is my manual, my compass, my guide. He sends the words that I need most at the time, He sends the people or person I can be myself with, who I can talk with and cry if I need to, laugh when I can. He knows what I need when I have no idea what that could be and He provides. But I have to work at it, too, and open the Bible, read and heed the words, speak to the people he sends, open my eyes to the signs, and live. He knows, during these days, especially, that tears spring and do not stop, that I cry in my sleep, and I feel the reminders of these days and "anniversaries" so intently. But all I need to do is ask, and He is there, ask and you shall receive.
I know that grief and pain are part of me, just as my smile and zest for life, is also. I know I have earned them and that only in feeling and experiencing them do I open myself to the lessons. I have known that all along, just as in simpler times, I knew one experience prepared me for the next and the next and the next. God works that way. We don't know what He is preparing us for, but when we are there, we can have our AH HA moment, and say a grateful prayer, thank you God for taking me down this road, I see your purpose and your knowledge is greater than mine. All along, I never needed a handbook, He was always there.
In younger years, and in what I know now as lighter years, I certainly recall thinking about the manual of life. I wondered where it was when I had all the textbook knowledge a person could hold at the time, graduated, and entered my first classroom of third graders. Nothing in those classes prepared me for the 28 smiling faces, sitting in desks, waiting to be taught! Could they have known they were about to teach me perhaps more than I would ever teach them?! What I learned is there is no page 22 to go home and read up on and figure out how to meet each one of them where they were coming from, help them achieve, cope with their behaviors, meet with their parents, and teach them all the objectives of the grade level! Fast forward many years, to a sixth grade class who really didn't want to be taught, who were NOT sitting smiling in seats, rather disgruntled, tired, angry, hungry, standing up, throwing things, verbally assaulting each other, then tell me I didn't need a manual to help me find my way, but again, no class or lesson or textbook prepared me for that one! But through the grace of God, and prior experience, and learning from mentors AND experience, I didn't need the handbook! I found my way.
I found my way through marriage (where there certainly is no manual), childbirth, again, who is really prepared for that, and the intense delivery of a firstborn child, who was wisked away to an intensive care unit for the first eight days of life, never held by her mother in another hospital, on the other side of town. My arms longed for her, to touch her, to see her, to know she was fine, and I recall that ache like it was yesterday and not 27 years ago. Much like my arms and heart and soul ache today, and everyday. I ask God if it will go away, will it always be like this, will I just die from the ache? This ache, while similiar, is different, because I have to come to terms with the fact that our second born daughter is gone from our grasp, sight, and arms. I cannot touch, smell, hear, hold her ever again. And there is no manual for that. There is no one outlining what needs to be done, there is no script, no page 45 to read, there is nothing that lets a mother know how to be prepared, or to deal with, the loss of a child. So, as in all aspects of life, I find my way. God has provided endless scriptures to assist me in ways I would have never dreamed possible, perhaps right there, that is my manual, my compass, my guide. He sends the words that I need most at the time, He sends the people or person I can be myself with, who I can talk with and cry if I need to, laugh when I can. He knows what I need when I have no idea what that could be and He provides. But I have to work at it, too, and open the Bible, read and heed the words, speak to the people he sends, open my eyes to the signs, and live. He knows, during these days, especially, that tears spring and do not stop, that I cry in my sleep, and I feel the reminders of these days and "anniversaries" so intently. But all I need to do is ask, and He is there, ask and you shall receive.
I know that grief and pain are part of me, just as my smile and zest for life, is also. I know I have earned them and that only in feeling and experiencing them do I open myself to the lessons. I have known that all along, just as in simpler times, I knew one experience prepared me for the next and the next and the next. God works that way. We don't know what He is preparing us for, but when we are there, we can have our AH HA moment, and say a grateful prayer, thank you God for taking me down this road, I see your purpose and your knowledge is greater than mine. All along, I never needed a handbook, He was always there.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Everywhere I Go
Everywhere I go, everything I see and touch, smell and hear, even when I don't want to, there it is, the reminder, the remembrances, the pain, and even the joy, the thanks be to God for doing what His will desired, rather than ours. We thought we knew what we wanted, but He knew better. We thought we knew what was best, but He knew what the future would bring, so He spared them, and in doing so, all of us in the process. I am not just talking of Allison, yet, here it is, the month when the world stood still as if no movement took place outside that hospital room, and it blends with the same month, different year, where the same emotion raged, knowing that with each falling, beautiful leaf, we would be brought closer and closer to our knees. That is one of the many blessings that can be found in profound devastation, pain and loss. We find God, and He is never more present than when we face a crisis.
Dear friends are facing a crisis of their own. It's not their first and it won't be their last. It never is, that's the meaning of life. October makes me always think of her in particular because of it being her only sister's birthday month, and in the few years since her sister lost her life to breast cancer, the turning of the season and page of the calendar always make me wonder...as I often do about my own surviving daughter, what would it be like to lose your only sibling and become the one to live on as the only living child, with no one to really share the memories and family history the way only siblings can...what it would be like to grow older and find yourself alone to tend to parents and family responsibilities? What would it be like to look around and see the families together, sisters dancing at weddings, attending celebrations, and there you are, searching for yourself in the eyes of the crowd? I hope to never know. But I might. In the blink of an eye, I might, just as my friend does, just as my daughter does, and now my friend, who in the blink of another eye, has all her closest family, each one of them, in separate rooms of a hospital after a very traumatic car accident this weekend. She has in an instant become the caregiver, the errand runner, the interpreter, the note taker, the one who will assist and nurture and tend to every need. She has wonderous support from her own husband and children, but no sibling to make decisions with, to listen, and to empathize. Oh sure, we all know that even when there are siblings here, sometimes they don't help in the way one would hope. I have heard those stories and am grateful I never had to cope with that in any sense. We have all done what we were able at every juncture, and are at peace with what was done. And where would I have been had I not had them to call and talk to and in my sister's case, just breathe, knowing she would feel my heart from afar?!
These are days when life is not fair, loved ones in a hospital, consuming grief of October, a month of tears, as a friend of mine has termed it. A month that has the most beauty and celebration, a 32nd wedding anniversary of ours coming up, the day the good Lord took my mother to be by His side, as we were contemplating having dinner for our 17th anniversary. Fifteen years ago and the pangs and feelings still exist, yes, softer perhaps, less intense, but still, the tears can come without me knowing what day it is, only to realize, oh yes, this is the day she entered the hospital, remained in a coma, and fought to live. This is the day, as it relates to my daughter, that we packed our bags for Florida, as we are doing today, only to return to pack up again, this time for a lifetime of change. This is the day my friend will begin to take it all in, find her way, perhaps fall to her own knees and thank God that her family is still here, and ask His mercy and grace upon their healing.
This is the day, and it is all we have, this we know.
Dear friends are facing a crisis of their own. It's not their first and it won't be their last. It never is, that's the meaning of life. October makes me always think of her in particular because of it being her only sister's birthday month, and in the few years since her sister lost her life to breast cancer, the turning of the season and page of the calendar always make me wonder...as I often do about my own surviving daughter, what would it be like to lose your only sibling and become the one to live on as the only living child, with no one to really share the memories and family history the way only siblings can...what it would be like to grow older and find yourself alone to tend to parents and family responsibilities? What would it be like to look around and see the families together, sisters dancing at weddings, attending celebrations, and there you are, searching for yourself in the eyes of the crowd? I hope to never know. But I might. In the blink of an eye, I might, just as my friend does, just as my daughter does, and now my friend, who in the blink of another eye, has all her closest family, each one of them, in separate rooms of a hospital after a very traumatic car accident this weekend. She has in an instant become the caregiver, the errand runner, the interpreter, the note taker, the one who will assist and nurture and tend to every need. She has wonderous support from her own husband and children, but no sibling to make decisions with, to listen, and to empathize. Oh sure, we all know that even when there are siblings here, sometimes they don't help in the way one would hope. I have heard those stories and am grateful I never had to cope with that in any sense. We have all done what we were able at every juncture, and are at peace with what was done. And where would I have been had I not had them to call and talk to and in my sister's case, just breathe, knowing she would feel my heart from afar?!
These are days when life is not fair, loved ones in a hospital, consuming grief of October, a month of tears, as a friend of mine has termed it. A month that has the most beauty and celebration, a 32nd wedding anniversary of ours coming up, the day the good Lord took my mother to be by His side, as we were contemplating having dinner for our 17th anniversary. Fifteen years ago and the pangs and feelings still exist, yes, softer perhaps, less intense, but still, the tears can come without me knowing what day it is, only to realize, oh yes, this is the day she entered the hospital, remained in a coma, and fought to live. This is the day, as it relates to my daughter, that we packed our bags for Florida, as we are doing today, only to return to pack up again, this time for a lifetime of change. This is the day my friend will begin to take it all in, find her way, perhaps fall to her own knees and thank God that her family is still here, and ask His mercy and grace upon their healing.
This is the day, and it is all we have, this we know.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Sundays and October
Combine Sundays and the month of October and many emotions charge and explode. Everyone has that inner sense in their soul when it is THAT time, when you don't need a calendar or a clock to know what took place then and what takes place now, in relation to loss and grief. We ALL have those anniversaries, those times when without being told, we just know what was happening then, compared to now. We may not want to go back to that time, we don't want to dwell, we want to live today, but that internal beat surges and sends messages that must be dealt with...and this year, I have tried faithfully to prepare, weeks in advance, praying that I can simply move through the times that are, and have been, painful, that I will find the simple blessings in the reminders that this is a very rough time, season, even in all its beauty, there is deep grief. I am brought back to times when I would bend over in the utmost pain and want to scream, cry, vomit, die. I am brought back to the disbelief that I would spend every day of October in a hospital with my mother in a coma, in total shock of her sudden illness, changing prayers from please save her to your will be done, dear Father. I am brought back to the sense that I believed no loss would ever compare, only to find myself and my family spending yet another October, 12 years later, in a hospital or doctor's offices nearly every day, tending to my courageous daughter who battled cancer as if it were just a cold. Thank you God for the innocence of youth. I am brought back to so many things as I comprehend that it takes time for the shock and impact of it all to subside and ease, but to never completely wear off.
I am reminded of something shared with me by a counselor/therapist I see from time to time. When speaking of after shock, and all that encompasses cancer, not to mention death, he reminded me in his gentle way to be patient and to look at it differently. He made the comparison that if I had been in an accident, or been struck by a car, or God forbid, cancer myself, I would perhaps accept the healing process much better. He shared that I may indeed understand the longevity of time it would take to heal the shattered bones and the rehabilitation it would take to restore and resume life. And he, in all his wisdom, helped me see that with grief there is no description, there is no timeframe, that healing comes as it is intended, and the peaks and valleys will arrive, to be lived and endured, and that in time, there will be restoration. I understand more fully now that there is nothing you can see about grief, it wears no bandages, no casts, no loss of hair as in cancer patients, no outward signs, only inward, for no one else to "see".
So, as the Sundays and October begin for me a new season, I tend to what needs attention. I do as I have tried to do from that first January, when Allison left this world for her eternal peace, to live my grief and walk through it. That will mean something different for me than Joe or Jen. Individually and together, we have begun to face the new season, knowing the senses are deep and painful, yet wonderous and freeing. It's complicated. No one can understand the complexities of it all until they walk the walk. No one can comprehend just how saddened we are, the leaves representing God's beauty, yet reminding us of a time when loss prevailed. But in that loss we must prevail, we will, and we shall. We will face the pain straight on, we will cry and grieve, we will bend to our knees in tears at how Allie should be here to help her sister move into an apartment, be with her friends on their first real vacation, be the one everyone could count on as she did in this life, shop with me, take Joe and me to the airport as she always did for the annual Florida trip, meet Lucie under different circumstances. But that is not meant to be, so we will take our memories, too, and we will remember the laughter, the girl and young woman she was before cancer, the family gatherings, the fun she had with aunts and uncles and grandparents, and we will be thankful for the blessing of God that He has reunited her with her grandmother and grandfather in His blessed Kingdom.
I will continue to pray for a season of grace, that we will move through the conscious and subconscious memories and times. That our pain may be replaced with the beauty of a daughter/sister's smile, of a mother who left in October, free from
her own pain, that we can find joy in the simple pleasures and that we have this day to laugh, cry, celebrate, mourn, whatever God deems necessary.
I am reminded of something shared with me by a counselor/therapist I see from time to time. When speaking of after shock, and all that encompasses cancer, not to mention death, he reminded me in his gentle way to be patient and to look at it differently. He made the comparison that if I had been in an accident, or been struck by a car, or God forbid, cancer myself, I would perhaps accept the healing process much better. He shared that I may indeed understand the longevity of time it would take to heal the shattered bones and the rehabilitation it would take to restore and resume life. And he, in all his wisdom, helped me see that with grief there is no description, there is no timeframe, that healing comes as it is intended, and the peaks and valleys will arrive, to be lived and endured, and that in time, there will be restoration. I understand more fully now that there is nothing you can see about grief, it wears no bandages, no casts, no loss of hair as in cancer patients, no outward signs, only inward, for no one else to "see".
So, as the Sundays and October begin for me a new season, I tend to what needs attention. I do as I have tried to do from that first January, when Allison left this world for her eternal peace, to live my grief and walk through it. That will mean something different for me than Joe or Jen. Individually and together, we have begun to face the new season, knowing the senses are deep and painful, yet wonderous and freeing. It's complicated. No one can understand the complexities of it all until they walk the walk. No one can comprehend just how saddened we are, the leaves representing God's beauty, yet reminding us of a time when loss prevailed. But in that loss we must prevail, we will, and we shall. We will face the pain straight on, we will cry and grieve, we will bend to our knees in tears at how Allie should be here to help her sister move into an apartment, be with her friends on their first real vacation, be the one everyone could count on as she did in this life, shop with me, take Joe and me to the airport as she always did for the annual Florida trip, meet Lucie under different circumstances. But that is not meant to be, so we will take our memories, too, and we will remember the laughter, the girl and young woman she was before cancer, the family gatherings, the fun she had with aunts and uncles and grandparents, and we will be thankful for the blessing of God that He has reunited her with her grandmother and grandfather in His blessed Kingdom.
I will continue to pray for a season of grace, that we will move through the conscious and subconscious memories and times. That our pain may be replaced with the beauty of a daughter/sister's smile, of a mother who left in October, free from
her own pain, that we can find joy in the simple pleasures and that we have this day to laugh, cry, celebrate, mourn, whatever God deems necessary.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)