Thursday, April 29, 2010

Does Prayer REALLY Change Things?

Native American Prayer:

O Great Spirit,
Whose Voice I Hear in the Winds,
And whose breath gives life to all the World,
hear me! I am small and weak, I need
Your strength and Wisdom.


I have a little plaque with the quote, "prayer changes things" posted in my reading room. I look at it several times a day as I sit, read, reflect, write, pray, play with Rex, rest, or chit chat with friends or family. It's an affirmation for me, I repeat it over and over again, as I do many affirmations in a day, and as I do so I begin to believe it. It's not that I have ever really wondered, I know that prayer DOES change things, but I cannot deny that I have sometimes wondered what, how, and when my prayers would be answered. My deepest, soulful, intense, heartfelt prayer to God above was that He would, or could, spare my daughter, spare her the diagnosis, the treatments, the pain, the fatigue, the side effects, the loss of mobility, spare her life, Oh, dear God, that above all, please spare her life and cure her and make her whole again. It was not to be. At least not from this perspective. She was never to be whole again, at least not in the physical sense.

I begged God to let it be me, I went to Him on bended knee, asking and pleading, wanting Him to make sense of this travesty, this unforeseen part of life, this uncharted course. I prayed so hard that even when I didn't know what to say or how to say it, I prayed, I prayed not with words but with my heart. And I knew God was listening, and even crying with me.

Oh yes, I have prayed many times before. Haven't we all? I have prayed for miracles, for healing, for finances, for state of mind, for new jobs, for safe travels, for peace, for just about everything. And over the course of my spiritual growth, my prayers have changed. They are so much more purposeful, more meaningful, more intense, more deeply personal, and as a result, my private relationship with God above has become my most treasured gift of all. And all through tragedy! Not through the good times, not through the days that flourished, not through the happier times. Those I sort of just took for granted! I would praise God for those blessings, but quickly my prayer would turn to what I felt I needed, wanted, desired, struggled with, all the while not really knowing that God already knew, and was providing all along.

So what happened through Allison's diagnosis, eleven weeks living through cancer, and passage, was that prayers changed. Not only did prayer REALLY change things, my words changed, my own desires were put into the hands of a loving God who truly knew more than I did about what was best. So, I went from begging for her life, to trusting, allowing Him to take control (cancer has a way of teaching you that), to asking His will be done, to allow us time together that would bring meaning and comfort, to alleviate her suffering, and to bring blessing to the brokenness. And finally, when I let go and surrendered, and took myself out of the equation, there it was, the sweet and simple answer to prayer, there all along, revealed at just the time I needed to see it. God had shown me, once again, that prayer REALLY does change things.

It changes things in a big way! And no, the answers are seldom what we hope for, beg for, plead and cry for. They are HIS answers and how easy to trust when all is going well, when the family is well and healthy, when everyone gets to sit down to family dinners, when a new home is built, when there's money in the bank, when there is no dark cloud or missing piece to the puzzle, when all is right with the world. So easy to trust then! Not so easy, until God has you right where He had intended all along, on your knees, coming to know Him in a way that you may never had known, had the trial and tribulations not come.

I cannot say the outcome is different, and I grapple with destiny and what God has planned. I know He didn't infuse cancer into our world, cause the murders and abductions, suicides and devastation, poverty and despair. He doesn't impose what man does to himself, but what God does do, is offer us the opportunity to take that closer walk with Him, come to know Him and accept His gifts of grace and mercy, for even in the darkest, deepest hour, in prayer we can walk away knowing and trusting He is giving us His love and guidance. It doesn't come over night, it doesn't come easily, and it certainly doesn't come without a price. But it comes, as we center ourselves, come to know our own soul within, and look to Him for the answers.

When we hear of others asking for prayer for loved ones or self, or when we need it ourselves, and we respond with "our thoughts and prayers are with you", I take a second look to my soul and ask myself what does that mean? Does that mean that my thought or my prayer is going to change the outcome? Will this person be healed or find their miracle just because I took time to pray? My journey has shown me a resounding YES. God has shown me what a true miracle looks like, right here in the bosom of my being. True, it was not the miracle I dreamed of, prayed for, tried to make a deal for...but it is there. And yes, prayer REALLY does change things, if nothing else, but ourselves.

Everything changes, nothing is lost.

(Dedicated today to my friend Kristie, with love, hope and prayers)

Monday, April 26, 2010

"Makes You Think"

After hearing several people, in one week's time, use this phrase, or some semblance of it, it is dawning on me that somehow we are not learning the lessons, and I cannot imagine why not...I pray to God that I am! I pray to Him every day that my daughter did not die in vain, and that I am going to search, seek and find what He wants me to accomplish through this life, through His plan, through my remaining days. I am sure I falter, I take for granted, I don't use my time or talents wisely, always. I don't even know what I am supposed to do, half the time, well, most of the time, since Allison is gone. I just don't know. But I keep trying to know, and when I cannot possibly figure it out, I ask God to reveal the answers. And He does. Slowly, and on His timing, but He does.

So, when another is diagnosed with cancer, another dies from this dreaded disease, when lives are taken by others, when accidents occur and the person we knew is resumed to ash, why is it we are still stunned...why do we keep saying things like, "it sure makes you think", or, "it puts a new perspective on things", or "how can this happen", or "it changes priorities". I guess it is just something to say. It's another thing to really live up to the words. It's another thing to really change. It's another thing to live the life in a new way. It's another thing to really accept. It's just easier to use words, and yes, it DOES make you think. My hope is I do more than THINK. My prayer is I change, I GET IT, I LIVE, I HONOR.

Maybe it's easier to use the words when all this takes place outside of your own home. When it happens to someone else, that means it's not happening to us. I cannot really get irritated with those who claim to live life differently, or to make such comments, when they truly do not know. They only know when it is blatantly in their presence, when the door to the bedroom has to remain closed for awhile, for fear of change, when the family gathers for a family photo and that beautiful face is missing, when the house is so quiet, it echoes in pain, sending sounds that almost sound like a whimper. How can one know, until they KNOW?!!

But, a part of me wonders, what's it going to take? Why do we have to keep losing and hearing of pain in others before we begin to get it? Does God have designs on us, reigns held so tight that one day we will wake up and have our ah ha moment?! Why are we so surprised when our neighbor dies, our friends, our parents, our grandparents, our spouses and our children? Why? This is what we are here for, to live, to die. And when it happens, we change, we reflect, we contemplate, and sometimes we learn that next level of a lesson and we LEARN, maybe just through the service, maybe a week after, maybe for three months, maybe for a year. We walk away from the other one's troubles, back into our own lives, and we have choices, choices on how to respond, what to take from it, how to live the day we are now given, realizing all the while that life is so short. In the next instant, it can be gone.

It "makes you think" alright. But other than that, what does it do, all this dying, all this disease, all these murders and abductions, all these things that happen to others, then ourselves?! I hope and pray for me, that it does more than "make me think", I pray it "makes me act, live, hope, serve, and dream", I hope it "makes me pray, move, act, and keep the faith". I hope I do more than think. I hope I change and take the lesson for what it is, learn what I can, change what I must, and not wait.

Friday, April 23, 2010

Mothers/Daughters

As I drove down the highway and passed Jennifer's apartment complex earlier this week, I had the most sudden urge of pride. She is my light, my joy, and my reason for being. She has not always been the easiest (teen aged years are a force to be reckoned with:), but then, don't we know by now, that the trials and tribulations, pains of life, the times that bring you to your knees, are the times that make you stronger, more dependent than ever on faith and a God who knows our hearts better than we do. He has graced me with more time to be with her, on this earth, and in this lifetime. He has blessed me with a daughter who I would choose to spend time with over any one else I know in life, and a relationship with her that is of the utmost blessing, and a great treasure.

As I drove down that highway, I had an image of her apartment in my mind, the purples, and blacks and silvers, the picture frames, the chosen art work, the photos of her and her sister, her father, me, grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends. She has surrounded herself with a positive, loving energy that exudes, even from her one bedroom home, clear out to that road I travelled. I thought of two sisters, forever tied together by those heartstrings, by blood, by family. I thought of where they both are right this very minute. And I thought of what brought them to this place. Everything, the good, the bad, and the ugly has helped shape these two daughters into the beautiful spirits they are...one living in the physical world of life on this side of heaven, one guiding from the eternal side, where the peace must be so overwhelming, glorious and where freedom is the ultimate gift of all.

But in the same instant of pride, I missed my youngest to the core, still taking my breath away, still causing me to almost pull over and stop life at times. My writings come from the heart of a grieving mother, I don't suppose I would have ever begun to pour my heart out like this had the road travelled become one almost too much to bear. I am having a beautiful time watching life unfold for my oldest daughter, and so desperately want to do the same for my youngest.

Maybe it is seeing, once again, the Mother's Day cards in the stores. Maybe it is the stage of life I am in, and the loss I feel in missing my own mother, much less my own daughter. Maybe it is that sweet voice I hear in my head, that of Allison's letting me know I will get through the minute, that her "last" Mother's Day with me, the one of the utmost surprise, the one where that little voice came around the corner of the front door to say Happy Mother's Day, when I didn't expect to see her at all. Did God plan for that to occur because in some way He knew that would be our last on earth, that I would live longer than a daughter who had her whole life before her? Was there a premonition, a plan, a design that I was to not know about at the time? I don't know the answer, I only "feel" the answer, and deep in my soul, looking back, I cannot help but believe the orchestration of it all, the timing, all played a part of a bigger plan.

My daughters, each in different places, each forever tied by a heartstring that won't rip, tear or be cut. My daughters, each one travelling a road never imagined, each one with the beauty of the other wrapped and entwined in one another's soul, brought together as one, to live out the days that were destined to be....A beautiful quote that I read and am "borrowing" from Mary's blog, Inspired By Erin, sums it all up in ways I never could...."What I wanted most for my daughter(s) was that she (they) be able to soar confidently in her (their) own sky, whatever that may be." Stated by Helen Claes. Modified by me. My daughters ARE soaring confidently in their own sky, each carrying the other in their heart.

Mother's Day, so many emotions, so many feelings, so much history, so many memories...it is coming, but in reality, it's just another day, for every day is Mother's Day, at least to me.

Monday, April 19, 2010

Table For Three

Even this many months, now years, into the loss of my youngest daughter, I am finding grief patterns changing. There's no way to prepare you for the stages and phases that come, no way to erase the pain, the emotional fatigue, the sorrow. No way to let you know what is coming so that you can prepare. Just like there is no preparation for a cancer diagnosis, or that phone call, or that impact of death, there is no way to charter the course for smooth sailing through grief. Like the ocean waves, the ebb and flow of the tide, it brings new awareness and fresh revelation. It brings sludge and it brings ugliness. It brings crisp images, and beauty, and life, and birth. It is ever changing. And there is no way to prepare. One just has to learn and find their own way. And we each do it differently.

Last night as I set the table for a Sunday evening dinner (if I am cooking, Jen loves to come by on her day off for a "real meal"). I went to get the placemats out, and carried four into the kitchen. Only to realize that I needed to put one back. I went to the cabinet to get the plates and did it again, I counted out four. Realizing I only needed three took my breath away, yes, still. That blatant and obvious image that this is now a "table for three".

But, even as I go about my chores and labors of love (cooking is one of them!), and my heart is so heavy I just know I will collapse, I can also find, in that same 60 seconds, that it is full, and my spirited daughter is always with me. Her love is everywhere. This is "her" time of year, preparing for summer, making travel plans, reuniting cousins, sisters, family, planning the summer birthday celebrations, and yes, once again, heading to her haven, where the same "presence" permeates the home of her aunt and uncle as they, too, open up from a dreary winter, ready to make way for visitors, beach days, sweatshirt nights, fire pit talks, and swing conversations over wine or coffee. Perhaps that is why I sense that shadow accompanying me through my every action, thought, and activity. How intriguing that the relationship with this child has not "died" at all, but rather, taken on new form, one of hope, love and light.

Does it take a certain time for all this to "settle" and become a reality? Does it take crying a river of tears before we can fully comprehend that our cherished child's new life now comes in ways that can almost seem closer than if she lived on the planet or in the house with me? I have come to know her love is everywhere. And in that instant, I can find that I am the happiest I have ever been. That love spurs me to make new meals, try new foods, savor good wine, spend the afternoon on the patio, look at new options, go buy the plants and watch Joe plant them:), hear and see with refreshed senses, walk my constant companion in the wee hours of a spring morning, and through my sadness of setting the table for three, brings me comfort in my weakest hour, when my knees are going to buckle, and I am going to fall to the floor, a soggy, bereaved, broken hearted mother, who is learning, trying with all her might, whispering to God above to help me breathe and get through the next moment, to look around me and find all the blessings this life holds, and find the courage. The courage to look this new pattern of grief squarely in the eye of its storm and whisper back, I am going to do this, I can, I will, I must. I will accept God's grace and His reminder that Allison's memory and presence of love is what I need, is all I need, to enjoy and love all that is around me, for this moment, this day.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Deep, Oh, So Deep

Yes, I am changing. I am never to be the same. I don't know if people notice. I don't know if they care. And it doesn't matter, really. This is all about me, my journey, my grief, my loss, my life. Never would I have imagined myself saying this or owning up to it in my own mind. I lived a life before when it mattered what others thought, when I thought I knew who my friends were, when I led a life filled with so many people in it. I loved people, and I still do. But I am protective, protective of my self, my emotions, my ideas, my thoughts, and that deep, oh so deep part of me that is slowly evolving.

I still socialize, I participate, I show up. I stay productive, I engage, I care. I respond, I do, I move, I provide, I volunteer, I love. But everything I do has new, intense meaning, and I am becoming somewhat "selective". And I am learning that is "okay" and necessary to my existence.

The new found complexities of grief are deep. They have touched a part of me that I never knew existed. I don't want to even know this, let alone, own it. But I have to, and I must learn what the deepness means, signifies, and teaches. I cannot explain it, and in most cases I don't have to. But I cannot deny there are times when I wish I could, just now and then, make those understand that stand in my life and make unusual comparisons, trying to empathize but not knowing how, those who let me know Allison would "want" me to be a certain place by now, without knowing what it is like to lose a child, offering advice on how to "move on". They cannot possibly know the depths to which this whole journey penetrates, they just cannot know. So I find myself just nodding my head, maybe looking a little perplexed, staying silent because I don't have the energy to explain. It is what it is, and in the next breath they are often complaining or sharing something that is significant to them, and I GET how important it is to them at the time. I just don't always know how to respond.

Some people have made note, and way more than one, that I have changed. They don't understand, it's spring, it's wedding time, it's a joyous time to be alive. And I understand that, I embrace it, I live, I breathe, I show up. I get up. But I am me no more!

There is a quote I read recently, "But I am no more I, Nor is my house now my house." That says it all, and says so much. My whole foundation has been shifted. Everything that was once familiar is foreign. It all feels strange. And why now? Why three years into this deep, consuming loss? My theory is that it takes time to settle. I recall when we built our home the builder letting us know that for the first three years we would sense a shifting, cracks would occur, nails would pop, it would feel odd and strange. No, I cannot begin to compare losing a child to building a house, but what I can compare, is the amount of time it takes to "adjust" to anything, a new neighborhood, a new language if we were to move to a foreign country, a new marriage, a new job. Why would this be any different? Why do people ask me what they do and why do they "expect" me to be the same? It's deep, oh so deep.

This deep place, chamber of my soul, tells me much. It tells me that I am going to be okay, that I live the day, that I savor the blessings, that I spend my hour of healing or devotion each day, I mend, I move, I live. I want to. I don't want to dwell, so I have my moments, I write fast and furiously to get the emotions OUT, I step away from myself and I ask God for guidance. I cannot suppress this. It has to be managed and dealt with. And in the process I am finding out more about life, about myself, and about my God than I ever imagined. I am blessed to take this day and live it proudly, all the while searching for the answers that will be revealed, in time.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

The Eggshell

In my own mind and thoughts, I compare grief to living as an eggshell...for me, for this personal and individual journey, it's a perfect analogy. The eggshell is so fragile, yet holds so much. It has strength of character (if such a thing can be said of an eggshell!), and it is relied upon to carry the weight of all things miraculous. After all, look what can be done with an egg! But it needs good and solid protection, it needs a foundation, it needs an outer coating that can take more than what the inside reveals. It needs the stamina to be knocked around, turned upside down, rocked, and rolled. It needs to keep its protective coating in tact no matter what the circumstances and it must have the durability of steel. And isn't that just like grief, this loss of a child that can never be explained, this devastaion of not only mourning the moment, but being stripped of a future. Yes, an uncertain future, but still, one has to redefine, redesign, and reassess where life is going, once that precious life is no longer here. And it takes a solid inside, encased with a protective outside. Yet, that "shell" is fragile, oh, so fragile.

The eggshell is the exterior to something mighty as is my outer self to the core of my being, to the heart that is breaking, to a soul that is shattered. Like the eggshell, I have had to learn to be resilient, strong, solid, and reliable. Nothing prepared me for this part of my life's path. Nothing but faith and a belief in knowing God is going to carry me through this. My "shell" IS fragile, it can be broken, and it can get tired of holding all there is to hold, and thus, begin to crack. My "shell" gets tired. It wants to crack, and does, and sometimes at the most inopportune times. It is holding much. It wants to lash out when others say things that seem so insensitive, when they want to put a "time" limit on my grief, when they "think" that I should do more, be more, participate more. It wants to scream at times, and does. It wants to help others know that the things they are "mourning" over or getting upset over would be so pleasing to me now. But they don't know, and I may not have, either, if not for this call to honor, live, and breathe when it would be much easier not to.

My "shell" is the protection to my soul. It helps me filter. It holds all that is important and healing and wonderous in tact. It is what others see, before they know the true ME. It is the rare person who wants to know what goes beyond that shell, what is on the inside, what is really holding me together, what I can do with all that I am learning about what is far beyond the outer, fragile "shell".

God has shared through His word that He is strong when we are weak. He knows that suffering is part of everyone's journey. So, I am not naive to the fact that there could be more suffering ahead, that not one of us knows what lies before us. But what I do know, through this experience and many others, is that by working with Him, my inside self will grow, learn and stay commited to living this day. It is all I have. Like the life inside the "shell", I have a lot to offer. Many times I would rather stay inside the "shell", let the day go by, but I can't, I won't. When I need to crack, I do, when I am fragile and upset, I let it come, I visit that place, and I find my way, my strength, my light, my purpose. I miss her. I cry for her. I can't believe I don't get to hear her voice, take her shopping, visit her, hear her plans, laugh with her. I am still in some type of shock that she is not here for family dinners and celebrations. I don't like it a bit. I don't like any of it. I want to wake up and have it all be a dream, a nightmare. But it isn't. It is my reality, my family's journey, and all I can do is choose how to respond.

Like the eggshell, I am weak, but I am strong. I am fragile, but I will be held together, not for the outside world, not to make good appearances, not because of anything I am doing, but because God promises me that if I heed His wisdom, accept His grace, know His love, I will live. Yes, I am weak, but I am strong.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Wealth

What prompted me to think about money, wealth, material items, an abundance, or a severe need, today? Money and wealth is not one of those subjects that is easily discussed, and what does it have to do with grief, anyway? Does my savings account, Joe's 401K, my monthly retirement check really define who I am? Does the size of my house or the type of car I drive say anything about the "wealth" that exists, or doesn't? Does the dollar figure in my checking account say anything about who I am, what I am feeling? Do any of these material items I have purchased make my day any better, brighter, less painful, more pleasing? What is wealth anyway? How is it measured? And what do we really need in a lifetime to bring us satisfaction?

I must confide I know what has spurred some of these thoughts...the opening of "the drawer", the drawer that is tiny, yet holds some powerful items. Now and then, I open the drawer and her scent drifts toward me like one of my favorite perfumes, only better, much, much better. In one second, I can feel joy and pain mixing and churning in my soul, creating a new recipe for emotion...joyous for the memory that God saw to it I was with her when it was time, sorrow and pain reminding me I had to let her go. I feel her last days, moments, breaths. And therein lies the shorts, the t-shirt, the underwear, the socks, the journal, a trinket, a scratched off bingo card depicting a $10.00 winner, her journal. Everything she needed, yet didn't, as her life as she knew it, as we knew it, came to an end. Then her words, her very own spoken words..."mom, look at me, all I have or ever needed was right here, none of the shoes, stacks of jeans or t-shirts matter now, because where I am going, I cannot take them with me". No, sweet Allison, wise beyond your years, you cannot take them with you. You are leaving this world the same way you came in.

Those last items have taught a lesson that can never be learned otherwise. I went through life, good times and bad, plentiful and pleasing, desperate and uncertain when it came to money, resources, so called wealth. I have known abundance, I have known minimal. I have thanked God when my father came along at the end of some very strained months and I would find the $50.00 in the cookie jar after a visit, or the call for dinner out at a nice restaurant when times were lean, very lean. I have joked with the family about not having enough toilet paper back in the day, and I made my share of macaroni and cheese, or grilled cheese sandwiches. I have made a meal stretch for days, and I have lost sleep over paying the bills. I have lived in fear over money. I have felt I didn't measure up to some who seemingly had "more", and I have wanted to donate to causes when I couldn't. I have made mistakes when it comes to purchasing, but I have learned, too. I have learned that God provides the resources and gifts and talents and that He will provide. I have learned to differentiate between needs and wants, and I have lived in plentiful times. I have lived when I don't need to think twice about getting the most expensive cut of meat, or a pricey bottle of wine. I have indulged and splurged. I have given when I can, and saved when I must. I have learned that we all do what we can, when we can and how we can. I have learned the value of a dollar, and I have wasted. I have seen that you cannot measure wealth, yours or anyone else's, by any standard just because things "look" a certain way. And I know that it doesn't matter what you have unless you give, money, or no money. I know that even without material goods, we can be rich in good deeds!

Of course, I say, I knew all this BEFORE. But I know it, internalize it to a degree like none BEFORE, because none of it matters. It doesn't matter if my bank account is weak or strong. Yes, it takes the worries away, the fear away, but when we do our part, God provides. And He provides in ways that can never be anticipated or planned. When we listen and pray, and really heed His word and advice, the answers come. Not easily. Not readily. But they come. And someday, we, too, will be in our last stages, and what will really matter is where our wealth comes from...not how much money we are able to leave the children, or not. Not how many cars we have in the garage or clothes in the closet. Not how many trips we were able to take. But how we lived, how we used the resources, how we paid it forward, or helped when we could.

Naturally, it doesn't mean that some of those things will stop. But they will be done in a different way, with a change of perspective, and a respect for God's grace. They will be done in celebration and thanksgiving to a God who provides, who has led me in the direction to be a teacher, to work hard all my life, to save and now to use the time, talent, resources in ways that He so chooses. That is the lesson in the drawer, that is the sweet smell of days gone by, that is the echo of her words....that is what the scripture tells us, not let money become the root of all evil, but to do with it what He wills. For as well as I will never forget that last discussion with a daughter who knew she was leaving this life for another, I will not forget that lesson, where we are going, nothing is needed. Nothing that money can buy, anyway.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

"God Is In This"

On Thursday morning, I truly woke up to my own mind and heart (and words) repeating, "God is in this"...what, I thought, for just an instant, and then the vision of my deceased daughter flashed before my face. I closed my eyes to shut it out, I could not bear the day. I didn't know how I would even get up. Yet, those words kept ringing in my spirit, and in many ways were so comforting. But a restlessness remained, all day long, so much so that I wanted to cancel an outing for that evening. I wanted to shut out the day. I wanted to be alone, so alone with just my own thoughts and mood, tears, or frustrations. And yes, even disbelief. As I have shared so often, there is no rhyme or reason, it just IS. So, I have almost stopped trying to figure it out, as I say, almost. Because when the grip of grief takes hold and swings me from place to place, swirls me around in a tornado of emotions that even I cannot understand, let alone, explain, I still find I am not truly prepared.

I have to believe that it is my course of action, response, modalities of healing, readings, devotions, prayers, explorations, that led me to know, deep in my core, that God is in this. I am not always sure how, or why, but I know He is, and that must be a belief of faith so deep for the affirmation to be the first thought and feeling I awakened to...and it sustained me through a very rough and relentless day. I didn't skip around with the happy knowledge, I didn't jump for joy, knowing God is all powerful and would take care of me, I didn't have a good day. I had a rotten day. I was bitter and I was washed out, and I didn't want to speak or see a soul. And I didn't. I did what was needed for me. But through it all, the pain, the frustration, the intense loss, the anticipation of setting another family dinner without her, well, I remembered the words, repeated them all day, until I fully believed it. I know God is in this. I do cling to faith, and know that faith is that teacher when there is no reason or fact to base any of this on...

Sometimes it seems like a risk to cling to faith, yet, I look at the alternative. It helps me profoundly to trust, hold true to God's word, and trust the unknown. I didn't say easy. I choose to believe God is in this, that He, and He alone, is going to be my comfort and teacher. When I think of the significance of this Easter weekend, and the promise it brings, when I think of Allie's last breath, that last beat of her heart, when I think of my father's memorial service, 8 years ago, held on Good Friday, I know, like I know nothing else, that no mortal, no material item, no one thing is as pure as knowing God is in this.

I will always have unanswered questions, I will always search to heal, and find my way, I will always find holidays to be bittersweet, but as life takes on new meaning, I will hold on, and I will be transformed, knowing "God is in this".