A Flawless Performance

If anyone has heard the story, or seen the performance, of the Olympic skater whose mother passed away literally hours before the event, it tells us so much of the human spirit and bonds of love. I know this young woman has not even comprehended that her mother is gone, yet, at some level, she knows. She's heard it, seen her father, and in the wonderment of commitment and dedication to her mother's life, she carried on...she performed, and it was elegant, beautiful, flawless. She set an example high above the bar and many stand in awe and ask how she did it, some even questioned her ability to return to the ice, and others were expecting less than her usual standard. But it didn't happen. No words can describe it, because they don't need to. It is where you get your strength when devastation and shock become part of who you now are, it is where you get your drive, your resolve, your hope...that organ of the body that does so much more than pump blood, that place that holds more love and emotion than can be described, that chamber called the heart. It stores a love that inspires, drives, and compels one through anything to keep going, to show up, and to do our best. Often, our best is not as flawless as that beautiful performance on ice. Often, it is just managing to get that left foot on the floor, just to begin that day. Or it is that energy it takes to clean up, fix your hair, go meet friends for dinner, or prepare a meal, or make a house a home. Or it is returning to a job that hasn't changed, that must be done, and will be done, whether we are in grief or not.

This beautiful young woman who lost her mother has all the angels smiling. She did it and she, too, will have her time to break down, cry, realize the impact, and continue to hold her head up. I truly didn't wonder how she did it at all. I know that the spirit of the loved ones gone before us have a compelling way of guiding and helping us make movement. When asked of me, "how do you do it", "how do you go on", I wish I could convey, in simple terms, the answer. I cannot explain it. But what I have said, repeatedly, is that when the loved one who has passed takes up residence in your soul, you are capable of anything.

In some complex way, the deceased have a way of accompanying us, like that shadow or cloak I have described. Sometimes it can be so powerful that I feel I have to shake it off a bit, it seems tangible. It doesn't happen right away. It happens when it does, when there is time for the separation to set in, for the acceptance to settle a bit. Like the settling of a new house, it has to "settle" for a bit, in each person's own timeframe, and then, it follows you everywhere, permeates, and guides. While I have to say so often, "She is not coming back", I have come to realize it is not over, this relationship with Allison. In many way, it is just beginning. It is not what I would want or wish for, and I don't always understand it, but I do find comfort and strength in knowing she remains a part of me.

We have the power to decide what we will make of ourselves once our beloved is gone. There are days, like yesterday, where the tears won't stop. There are days, like today, where my first thought was of her, hoping this is still a dream. But we have choices to make and a new strength and a new power. We are evolving as new people, souls never to be the same. The best thing about it all is we get to choose. Like the elegance of the skater, we will have our shining moments, and we will have our times of pain and pure devastation, later, or when the time is right for our spirit. We will have our own flawless performances, definitely not on the ice, but in what we do, how we do it, and when we do it. All things come, in their own time. But for now, we get to do what is needed, for ourselves, for our loved one who left us way too soon, for those who are still with us, and for God, who allows us this day and this opportunity.

Repeat After Myself

Today is one of those days where affirmations come in very handy and are a MUST for survival. Some days are just like this and they cannot be helped. Grief takes hold and the mystery of life and death is overwhelming. When I took Rex for a very long walk, there it was, the sound of spring. Faint sounds of birds, a beautiful blue sky and a touch of warmth in the sun, just a touch, but still, there it was, and is, and we welcome it. And, again, we are on the heels of March, that month that brings most of our souls to a new place. That month when we can begin to shed the winter coats, and by month's end, maybe even wear a pair of sandals or capri pants. That month that we long await, especially this year with the long winter almost behind us now. Sure, there will be a resurgence, maybe a snowstorm, some bitter cold or windy days, but we will get that glimpse, that glimmer, that tease that we are about to be warmed by God's goodness in the form of a new season.

The colors will burst, and all will be well. Still, with no time frame in mind, I cannot deny that with the hope of spring and promise, I long, with every fiber of my being to touch her cheek, to feel that vibrancy, other than to know it in my heart. I am tired of this way of living. Yet, I don't have a choice. Thus, the affirmations, those words that must come, out loud, or through tears, or even through smiles. Those words that help me know and believe she is really gone, and not coming back. Some may say, it's your third, well fourth spring now, but the first ones don't count, to me. I don't know if they ever will, because there is no counting when it comes to a time frame of loss. I only know it is what I must travel with, the seasons of the year, the changes, and yet, no physical presence of my beloved daughter. For sure, we do all we can to seize the day, praise God for the true blessings that we do have, but I cannot deny that I would give so much to have that one more day, that chance to hear the birds together, to walk the dog around the block as we did with Barkley on those days when she could still walk strong, that opportunity to birthday shop and have lunch in a cheery, bright restaurant, savoring the time that seems to stand still when you are with someone you love. I cannot deny that there are days I must do all I can just to get to the next moment. So, today, in spite of my cold and sinus infection, I chose to dust and make cheery a house that has a missing part, bring light into darkness, make my world shine as best I can, with the clean, crisp look of the smiling faces of both my daughters looking back at me, holding on to each other, to their dog, to us, to their life. So much is captured in the essence of a photo, and as I look into their eyes, I say out loud, I repeat after myself, "I can do this", "God, with your strength and wisdom, I don't know how, but I will make it, you will show me", "I know not what tomorrow brings so for this moment, I must make it the best it can be", "Lord, please help me know what to do next".

I repeat a lot after myself. Maybe I have become one of those ladies who talks to themselves! It is my coping, my way, my crutch, my survival. I affirm all that is good and right in my life, even in the darkness, even when my arms and soul literally ache with desire to touch that sweet face. I will affirm and I will await the hope that comes with the spring, the month of her birth, the renewal of a spirit that is grieving, I will await, and in God's time, I will be whole again.

Merging and E-Merging

It occurred to me the other day as I drove to an appointment, and merged from the Page Extension to Highway 270 and then to Highway 40, that I don't like to merge in traffic. Not at all. I recall arriving in the "big city" as a young, newly married woman, having never really driven on more than a two lane highway. Back then, I simply learned how to do it, with relatively, no fear. But the more I knew, the older I got, and the less I like traffic, merging was not a favorite thing. But I had to do it to get some places. Surely, I could have been like my friend who never took a highway, only the back ways to places she had to go or drive her children. I don't know if she has ever found her way to the highway!

Well, as I made those merges the other day, it was that time of day when cars are all around. Merging onto Highway 40 is my least favorite, especially in this particular spot, because not only are the cars on your rear, they are in front, braking for those not sure what to do, and the cars come at you from the right and the left. You enter the highway from the left, but if you merge right, you can find your way to my daughter's grave site. So, I was torn, but when the cars were coming from both sides, I just decided to stay where I was, stay the course, and keep on. That's when the analogy struck me, profoundly. Merging is like my life, like most lives, I would suspect. We are jockeying, looking right, left, in front, and behind. We are not sure what is coming from which side, there are days when it is smooth sailing, when there is not a car in sight, then there are days when there seems no spot on the road for me. I put my blinders on and pray for the best, that I do the right thing, that I don't get side tracked, that I look ahead, be aware and keep going.

By merging, I guess I find myself e-merging (my own spelling for it-:). By simply trying, getting up, dressed, in the car, getting together with others for that occasional lunch or dinner date, trying so desperately to take advantage of what is out there, new plays or performances, concerts, opportunities, I am e-merging, as I merge. It all still comes at me, nothing is as it were. Grief has struck and in doing so, has limited all my former ways of living, coping, surviving, driving, and staying on the road of life.

It has struck me so often that grief can be so central to my being, so occupying that even an analogy of driving and merging onto a highway can take me to it. It seems to define my existence, and that doesn't mean in the worst sense. It also means in the ways that I embrace those chances and opportunities mentioned, to seek a new way of doing things, to learn more while I can, to read books that speak to me in ways never before or to attend the performances, such as last week, The Diary of Anne Frank, a dark, yet uplifting true story that we all know very well, thanks to a girl who made the best of a very dark, rancid and dooming situation. Oh, the life that is to be learned from those who have gone before us.

Still, it is puzzling and perplexing, this thing called grief. As it takes hold and hovers and consumes, it is as if the rest of the world cannot tell. Would I even want it to, would I even want everything to stop and focus on me, would I want the security that comes with a world that just carries on to come to a screeching halt just to recognize that I am not the same? Maybe at one time, yes. I suppose that is how I know I am merging and e-merging. I need the world to stay the same, so that there is one constant in my life. For, I am never to be the same. I am learning how to do this, to carry this balance of loss and love, and to "live" while she has "died".

To merge is to take chances, at least from my perspective. I used to avoid it in every way, even going other routes or passing up my exit if I wasn't quite sure I was entirely safe. Now, I know to keep going, look around, make my way, and be stronger. This has become my life, not my way of moving through traffic. I am working to stay the course, look around, be aware, know myself, and move. Just move and live and have the confidence to do the right thing.

Children Who Go Before Us

Another child, a young man of 32 years old, Phil, left this earth before his mother. In a short timespan of 24 hours he was gone. It started with her finding him in an unconscious state. He was taken to the hospital and gone before her very eyes. And yesterday, I sat with her at the funeral home as she made the arrangements, wrote his obituary and made decisions no mother should have to make, no father, no parent. Yet, we do, and more and more of us, must. It came back to me, as I sat there with her, with intensity and understanding, of just what she was going through. One never thinks of how to do this, so of course, you don't know what to say, what colors to choose, what urns or caskets. It's not in our realm of consciousness to believe that we will ever decide such things. Who cares about colors and symbols at a time like this? Who really cares and what difference does it matter. Yet, there we are, still making motherly decisions for our child, with his or her best interest at heart.

Spending more time with her was good, the learned one, and the one with the fresh tears and swollen eyes. The one who has done some walking down this path but still has a lifetime ahead, the one who had not lost her child even 24 hours yet. To bystanders or people passing us by in the restaurant perhaps we "looked" like two friends out for lunch. We were, and we weren't. We shed tears, we held hands across the table, we talked, we listened, we cared, and she expressed that she is now in a "club" she never wanted to be in, never dreamed in her wildest imagination, that there she would sit. Somehow my presence brought her strength and if that is to be part of my purpose now, then I thank God I can bring that to someone else, if even for a moment. We, the grieving mothers of the world, somehow draw strength from the ones who walk the walk, talk the talk, and still stand strong. Until called upon to do so, we think we could never do it, but we can. And my friend recognized that early on, that she will, too, and while it won't be easy, she will do it for her child.

She asked questions, she talked, I listened, I talked, and I spoke from an experience like no other. I pray that there was hope in the fact that we were there and life goes on, even when we wish it would all stop, for just a minute, pause and say, "I know, you are in pain, you are grieving, so why are we laughing, joking, and going on as though your world has not just been rocked". But as I have so painfully learned, nothing stops for me, for my family, for my world. The seconds turn to minutes to hours to days to weeks to months to years. And we live. We must.

As we reflected on the passing of one's child, it was unexplainable, really, but I tried to articulate how her life will change and Phil will reside now in her heart for eternity. He already did, but now, it will be different. His body is gone, but his soul not only lingers, but permeates. It spreads and it guides and it is a new way of living. Without the physical, we think we cannot go on, but we can, because we DO learn how, much like someone who has to relearn all the basics of life after a stroke, or an amputation, or one who is confined to a wheelchair after knowing a life of mobility. I don't claim to compare, all I can say is that grief has no sign, no outward appearance. You wouldn't know, if you didn't know. You wouldn't know unless you carried that child in your heart, or that sister, or spouse, or loved one. You wouldn't understand that now, they are even more present than had they lived out their days with us. They are more present and as we talked of Phil, and Allison, and Jessica and Scott, and CJ and David and Tyler and Chrissy, and Larry, and oh, so many, we spoke of how others know them now, even more so, than if they were still standing among us. I told my friend that there will never be another Valentine's Day when Phil doesn't come to my heart, another Sunday afternoon snow storm that dropped inches of snow in such a beautiful way that I won't know her son. I will know him better than had he lived. Just as there is never a time I don't look at art work and feel Jessica's spirit, or think of the hustle and bustle of a city I often visit without feeling the presence of Scott, or feel the winter hush without feeling close to David. There will never be a time I won't think of how much is being done for childhood cancers because of CJ and the smile he brought to this world. I will never know an ice or snow storm without knowing the blessing of my own daughter who was laid to rest on the midwest new england day! Those we knew briefly, or maybe not even at all, we know more profoundly once they are gone. Because they have left a legacy, a whole new world for us to know and explore, and in the process we learn more about ourselves.

Allison's passage has taught me much. I don't want to be the wise one. I don't want to know what it is like to sit at the end of a table making decisions for burial and arrangments. I don't want to know this pain. But I don't get to exchange it. So I trust in the God above who knows more than me, who arranges in whatever way He deems necessary that this circle keep going, and that we are there to make it more complete by being there, by lending our love and care and support, giving us others to turn to for hope and promise. And as my friend will discover, one day it will be her turn, she will be the one holding the hand of another, slipping that trinket into their hand, being there to hold another up through the brokenness of loss. Our children who go before us leave us much. Perhaps she doesn't know it now, but she will, and she will stay inspired by her son, his love, and his life. Our children who go before us...there are blessings in the brokenness if we keep our eyes and hearts open.

Allison, I Love You

Allison, I have learned a lot about love in my life, and today is Valentine's Day, a day that we would send the cupcakes (back in the day when you and Jen could take them to school, homemade ones, that is), decorate the boxes, write out the cards, all the things that little ones do. As you grew up, things changed, but we always made sure you got special surprises on this day, just as I still do with your sister. Her bag was filled with pink and purple wrapping and several goodies inside! Our new traditions include special touches of pink, and special trinkets that only we know what they mean, they are that tangible, significant present that brings you closer to us, as if you could be any closer at all. This is the day of love and all it represents. You had boyfriends along the way that gave you little gifts, too, but your dad and I always made sure you knew we loved you most, more than anyone else ever could! That will always hold true for both of our daughters, no one on the planet could love you more.

I am learning more about love than I ever thought possible. I know the scriptures from the Bible about love, I know great love stories, I see specials on television about married couples who stay together for years and years sharing their "secrets" as to how they have kept a marriage together, and I see and hear the stories of motherly and fatherly love for their children. All you have to do is talk to someone or watch the news to fully realize that love is in the air, and it is so deep, and often personal that no words can describe it. Sometimes when I think about my own relationship and marriage to your father I am in awe that we have been married for 32 years, well over half of our lives! And your grandparents, well, they will celebrate 60 years this summer, still together and holding hands. The grandparents you have been reunited with were married 40 years and I can tell you, your grandfather was never the same after your grandmother left this earth eight years before him. In some of his last conversations that March of 2002 he spoke of his love for her, often times at the end, confusing me for her, but nevertheless, he spoke of their walks on the beach, her beauty, and the one thing that he never stopped praising and loving her for, the delivery of three children. His children were his world and he never ceased to tell us of his love.

I think there is no love like a parent's love for their child, and today, I must say, as the valentines are exchanged, and as I struggled not to buy yours and create your "care package" to send, I miss you like any other day. This is not different. But my heart is weeping. It's as if a bucket of tears could be filled. I went to lay a pink rose by your gravesite the other day and my heart filled with the most amazing sense of love. You know, I barely go there. I cannot bear to see your name etched on the bench, still. Every time I go, I trace the letters and I stand in disbelief that your physical body is there. I know you are not, yet, there are times that I don't even plan it, but my car takes me to get that rose and visit the site that has become yours, now. I have so many mixed emotions as I stand there. But this time, as my heart wept, but no tears came, I was overcome with love. I am learning to live with you in my heart, in my every move, in my every step. You have taken up residence in my heart and I hold you there with the tenderness a new mother holds her newborn. I am learning to love you in a new way. It's not easy, it takes work, as I say, always. I do not know how to do this. It is foreign and unchartered and feels strange. But I am learning that I am not destined to see your physical form again, but to find the pleasures of the heart by knowing you in love.

I know that love will heal this broken heart, that I will summon all I can to move through grief and love again, and still....for you, for your sister, for your father, for Rex, for your aunts and uncles, cousins and friends, for MY friends, one of whom sits by her own son today as she finds out, medically speaking, if he will come through his coma to live out a life with her, or whether it is his time to spend his life in eternal peace. Allison, it's complex. I don't want to know this pain and I don't want anyone else to, either, but I have said before, to not love at all would be the crime, the shortcoming to life. How I would have missed out on knowing you, being your mother, being guided by your own words and the life you led, the dignity in which you faced trial after trial, the smile that penetrates my soul, and the souls of so many, the impact and the footprints you have made on my heart. I would have missed it all had I not loved you at all.

My love has not stopped because you are gone, it has only deepened. I love you, Allison, in all your ways, your imperfections, yes you had them, don't we all, your beauty, and your radiance. My heart skips a beat as I know you live on with me, in the bosom of my soul, till we meet again.

Other People's Stories

When I first began this blog, I knew I would share some personal moments and feelings regarding the loss of our daughter, Allison. I didn't know how it would evolve, and I still don't know what inspires me to write when I do. I can be in the middle of working on a project, doing laundry, dusting, and I know I must find that release, and I find my way to the computer and my fingers fly. It's as if this is MY type of therapy, MY way of getting through the moment, and it really doesn't matter who reads it, I don't feel I am writing for an audience. I am writing for me. I also thought, back when I started, that I would be sharing stories of others, not just my own journey, but I haven't done that as planned. Now and then, yes, and I certainly carry those in my heart with me when I sit down to type. But I can't tell their story, it's theirs to tell, should they desire. I can say that all of them influence me in some profound way. There is not a story that doesn't cause my empathetic spirit to be sad or to walk with them, sometimes for a lot longer than the day of just hearing about it. It's as if our hearts can hold more and more and these tiny snippets just grow and grow...so in my heart, there are so many, there is Vanessa and her family left to live without her, there is Chrissy's Frank and their children and all the sisters and brothers of that dear family, there is Lilly's brother Cowen who lost his twin sister at birth, who spent nine months with her in the womb but never to know her in this life, and of course, her parents, who celebrated one twin's birthday without the other, there is Kim, who will find her way as she approaches the first anniversary of her daughter's passing, there is Diana, who this very week honors her son's life, gone two short years from her grasp, there's Amanda who has just had her first baby and how she wishes her dad were here to see him, after passing on from his own intense battle several years ago, there's Faith's parents who honor her life everyday in their own sweet way, and there's more...so much more...there is Jeanine who was featured on the news show about raising awareness for childhood cancers in memory of her son, CJ, who shared her journal with the world, who brought tears streaming down my face because I thought she was reading a page from my own journal. I swear, they were the same words, so I discovered, yes, someone else does know, does feel, does keep on living to honor the deceased child while staying strong for the one on earth.

And while there are way too many more to mention, there is one more. There is a young lady who is a client of my daughter, Jennifer. This young lady has lost her parents, several years back, to brain and other cancers, then in the past few years, her only sibling, her brother. Now, as life would have it, her brother's wife has passed from brain cancer, leaving three or four young children. There is not another existing family member left to help, so this young 27 year old woman has packed up her life and moved to Colorado to raise the children, perhaps bring them back to St. Louis, but unsure and uncertain of what the future holds.

It maks us wonder, wonder and ask questions that have no answers. This is life. This is our temporary place, this is our stopover and seldom do we think we could face this much loss. We think we may grow older with our children, become grandparents, perhaps, or be here to watch them grow, and we never expect that we will be here, and they will not. This doesn't happen to us, it happens to others. But, oh yes, it does, and this is life. Life is loss, and yet, it is joy, laughter and celebrations. But now, for me, plans are made more tentatively, more cautiously, plans are contingent on many factors. When plans were made BEFORE I never had a thought that the event or activity or ceremony would not take place for my world had not been quite rocked in the same way. If I am truthful, now, when plans are made, I pray that God will bless me to be here and that they can come to fruition. I do not take for granted that I will have another trip to see my sister, or that I will be here to attend the weddings that we get invited to, or that we can plan a 30th birthday for Jennifer in a couple of years, perhaps a visit to New York or another place we would like to go and spend time together. I take nothing for granted, not this day, not this house, not my retirement check, not my life, or the life of those I hold dear. The silence and my aching heart, the shadow of grief, the cloak that I never shed, tells me to appreciate where I am, what I have, and with God's grace, I will have what is needed. All things are temporal and as I remind myself every day, it can be gone as easily as it was granted.

It didn't take my daughter's death to know all this, but it did take her leaving us for me to start being me and knowing myself. This is my journey now, I have raised her, and Jennifer and now it is my turn. And it's scary. I don't know myself some days. I don't want to do this. I don't want to get up or keep the lunch date or join in social activities. But I overcome my fears, I draw strength from God and the child of mine He holds tightly and I go on. I am powered by something stronger than anything I could find on my own, God's love and faith and the determination of one sweet soul who left long before she should have.

The stories will never stop, each day we will hear those that impact us and sadden us and make us wonder, why, how, what is fair...but we will learn from them and if we do not, shame on us. That is what they are there for. We get to try again today, make it our best, live for ourselves, and those we love, and yes, live like we are dying. Because one day it WILL be our turn and when we look in the eyes of those waiting we want to feel that rapture, that love, that pride. We want to know we lived and made a difference.

That Source of Strength

My heart has been heavy and burdened by the many who are struggling with their own trial, whether it is financial, illness, death, grief, new diagnosis, families needing to move in to crowded situations, or whatever troubles their heart. I see firsthand how many choose to respond to it, so many with the determination and faith, although extremely tested, and some with substances or other things to dull the pain. I must say, that I have never understood how those who cannot pay bills, or buy groceries, can find the way to spend the many dollars on cigarettes or drugs or alcohol, let alone abuse the body that is theirs. But as I have talked about before, we all have our own forms of addiction, and kudos to those who have found the support and conditions to face their own truths and demoms without benefit of being numb and naive. I pray to God that I do not cast stones or make judgement, I surely have my own "addictions" that some might question, but I think I am just simply coming to a place in my life where, when the conditions continue, and the years and years go by, and those folks don't seek some sort of change of pattern or behavior, and continue to live under those very circumstances, well, I don't know how supportive I can be. I can accept them, care, tend, listen, but it is wearing on me now, even more than ever, now that every step takes strength and courage and determination, and every second carries an emotional fatigue that I have never known before.

Some of these situations occur, and they are not at all by our own design. Some are by our own making and our own decisions. That doesn't make the situation more, or less, tolerable, it just is as it is. So many do not see the light at the end of the tunnel so to speak, and how can they. They don't know where to turn, how to even begin, so some take the route that is a little easier, takes the edge off, and soon, they can smile, or hope, or have a good time, if only for a moment. But what I have found is that the situation is still there in the morning, after the effects wear off, when it is all said and done, it must be dealt with. I thank God that I have Him to turn to for truth and comfort. I thank Him every day that He is MY source of strength, that without Him who knows where I would be, what I would do, and as He truly knows how I want to numb this pain, this shadow, to let grief go for just an hour, He provides many opportunities for me to seize.

I opened the bible this morning needing some words of wisdom and comfort. You see, we are having a family gathering. And as always, now, she is not here. Maybe she wouldn't be anyway, maybe she would be in school or off to Africa by now (one of her last desires of her life...another story of who she was, and is:). Nevertheless, there is still that missing piece, always will be. We laugh, we eat, we may play games, but when the family gathers, there is that recognizable loss, that gut wrenching realization that she will never join us again. Maneuvering through that concept still takes my breath away. But her candle shines brightly, now, not just when we have gatherings, but continually (thanks to the invention of flameless votives:). She shines and we find our way.

As for the words that jumped out at me from the page from the book of Phillipians, 4:12-13, "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength."

I can't say I have learned the full secret, I am a work in progress, but each day I get the opportunity to make the changes needed to adapt to my own situation, pain, trial, and loss in this spiritual journey. One day I will need to make peace and be accountable to the God who awaits, and I am thankful He is giving me time to do so, to live the life He has desired and designed. No, not easy, not without intense struggles, that didn't begin with a cancer diagnosis, but began the day I was born. I have had a blessed life, but I have had to overcome much, maybe not by the standards of others, and what they have had to endure. But we cannot compare. My burden is my own, others are their own, this is mine for now, who knows what the turn of the clock will bring. Whatever it does bring, I want to be ready, live with that source of strength that helps me find my way, the higher power of God almighty, who is my light and my way. It's only by His own grace that I am standing strong, smiling, and remaining hopeful for my future.

God's Plan...For Me

I suppose we all experience our personal moments in life, our "ahh haaaa" moments, when we know there is a God. He can remain a mystery, and we don't know much about Him, we cannot comprehend His spirit and the depths to which it can reach, but we begin to know He exists. Our spiritual walk is enlightened and we believe. We cling to the hope and faith of a loving God, not one who imposes disaster, disease, destruction, pain, loss, rather one who is there to love and support and guide and teach, and to be our constant companion. Often times, in my life, I mainly turned to Him when I was in need. That's what I was taught and so, I followed suit, that you turned to Him in times of trouble. Yes, you gave thanks or said "grace" at the table on those rare occasions, or rejoiced when something went well, but we never really bowed on bended knee when life was going beautifully. It was only over time, years and years, that I began to understand how to praise Him and love Him and know Him. It was only over a long span of years that I began to ask Him what He wanted from me, or ask Him to give me strength, or to show me the way, or to guide me, or to help me make a decision. I tried to be a good listener and heed His word and His way. I followed His advice, knowing that He brought people into my life for His own purpose, those who have stayed awhile, those who were mere acquaintances, those who are still with me. I have said it many times, and I will say it again, my deeper and more personal walk with God started when my mother passed away before my very eyes. It was at that moment that I knew even more than I did before that God not only existed, but that He was with ME. And at that time, I put all my faith and trust in Him, and have, ever since.

Of course, I have faltered. I thought I was the one in control during certain times, and Allison's cancer diagnosis was no exception. I was so distraught with what my child was going through that I was convinced there was something I could do. Little did I know that eleven weeks later, she, too, would find the sweet peace of leaving us and entering the heavenly Kingdom of the God I have come to know, who she also knew and loved, and trusted. Even at such a young life, she taught me about His own grace and mercy that had taken me years to know. She left us so easily at the end because of the love of her Heavenly Father.

When others have asked how I go on, or how I live without the presence of my daughter, I have always answered the same...it's by the true grace of God and only Him. But I must admit I am learning more and more about His grace with each passing day. I may learn it through my readings, the stories of those who lived in Biblical times that faced suffering, persecution, pain, yet with faith in their God, they persevered and rose above to new heights. I may learn about His grace through the peace that comes when I walk in complete faith that His Will is all I need. I recall a time during Allison's weeks of pain and diagnosis, procedure and treatment, one after the other, fatigue and pain setting, that we prayed and we found peace in knowing we cannot control the raging cancer, but trusting that God's Will would be done was all we needed. The peace and comfort that came enabled us to all enjoy the remaining days and weeks we had together. We didn't know how many there would be, we thought there would be years, but in that moment of trust, we knew to live the moment as if it were all we had. It was, and is, still, a beautiful part of a painful journey. The peace that passes all understanding when we give it to God's hands.

It surely is not always easy to "see" the plan God has for my life. I have asked myself hundreds of times, how does losing my daughter to the rarest of cancers for a young lady her age happen in this family, and what am I supposed to do with this? How am I supposed to keep going? I ask God questions every day of my life. I suppose I always will. Before, I used to ask Him questions of another sort. Things that seem more mundane now, because all of the circumstances of my life seem rather trite and insignificant. But they aren't. They were meant to be. They were to bring me to the place where I am in this significant moment. There is peace and contentment when I no longer try to figure it out, to let go and let God, as the saying goes. But literally living that through each step of life, well, there is a freedom and a peace that just cannot be explained. God's Will WILL be done, and that's the way it is.

I have come to understand through my spiritual journey that there is indeed a bigger picture. Every thing and person under heaven is brought into my life for full purpose. I see it when I look back. I understand it all. And as I have known in my heart, God has used Allison in powerful ways, and still does. I don't expect others to understand that. And I am not saying I wouldn't want to turn back the clock and have this be the nightmare it has felt like, in the dark of night, in the light of day. But as I learn to live life without her physical presence, it is so easy to see how all the parts of the puzzle fit.

In the book of Jeremiah, 29:11, it says, "I know the plans that I have for you," declares the Lord. I no longer sit and wait to see, I read His word, I study, I praise, I hear, and I know. I don't know where I am going, but I know how to trust and hold true to faith, and I know that when I get there, miraculous blessings will occur. I used to hold Allison's hands and tell her that she is going to receive her miracle. I knew not what it was, nor did she. I know not what mine is, I just know that we receive them when we believe. They may not "look" like the miracle WE desire or seek, but they are there, nevertheless. I know His plan for me is beautiful, I can see it all connected as I look back, and as I live this day in service and love for Him, I know that it is all in His timing, not mine. He knows the perfect moments, I do not.

I start and end my day with the simple words, "teach me to do your will, may your spirit lead me in the direction you desire". Those words helped us all accept a passing of a life from this world to the next, and they help me get through anything and everything in between.

Go On

Today I need to see her face, her smile, feel her energy and know she is here. I need to remind myself that she is here and is letting me know that it is good to go on. She is saying "Go On, Mom, You Can Do It, I am With You".

Sometimes, like today, the small things, are the big things. And I will go on. If I am to find new life, I must go through this. I cannot go around it. I must learn what is mine to learn and walk on through. I must keep my eyes open to the possibilities that come from this new life, seize the day, the moment, and not even worry or concern myself with nightfall. I have to get through this time. For no rhyme or reason, sadness consumes me at times, then washes away, and I can go on. I visit that place of darkness for a bit, but it's as if that smile of hers just won't let me dwell too long. She didn't, even in the valley of cancer. She brought it on, tackled it, made decisions based on fact and truth, dealt with her own reality, and kept living, playing, smiling.

I have the strength to be myself, to live through this for me, then for my family, my husband, my daughter. I am human and I am hurting and there is no timeframe to "get on with life" or to "get over it". I am allowing myself to understand that this burden of losing one's child is the most complex and painful known to a mother or a father. And even in that, we lose and we grieve differently. It is a journey we walk as a couple, a family and it is a journey meant for each individual. No two of us are the same as to how we go on, live, and find our way. It takes courage to let the grief flow, and that doesn't mean in terms of tears. Yes, those come. But not always. Sometimes the pain is so deep, the natural flow of tears just won't release. So, I learn other ways, I strive to be honest in my way of handling this, not "positive" or unnaturally calm, but true to myself and my soul. You cannot run into me at Target or Kohl's or even stop by on a whim and know the true story, the reality of grief. That snippet may show a composed and put together person, but it doesn't tell the story of the day or the moment or my life. It may make that acquaintance or friend feel better, but only when you see and hear my inner thoughts and feelings will you know what is really the case, or the source of my strength. That comes from God and His infinite wisdom as to what I need and when I need it. He is my light and my hope and my faith that this too shall pass, this minute when I don't know how to breathe, will be gone. And I can find that picture, tangible or otherwise, and I can go on. That smile says it all, and through it all, I, too, will keep smiling. Smiling through the rough days, the pain, and the tears, when they fall.

I will go on and I will be open to new ways of resolving my grief. I find myself in a new country, so to speak, I will be patient with myself and others, and I will heal. I will live through this, somehow, some way, all the while, remembering that smile.