Thursday, September 30, 2010

It's JUST Routine!

Who among us has NOT waited for that call from the doctor's office, anxiously, or not, we can all relate...and if we cannot, surely we have waited in anticipation for the call regarding a loved one. I know one thing for sure, you don't make it to my 50 something age and NOT know what it is like to wait, and wait, and wait some more. And more often than not, I have heard the words, "it's just routine"...and it IS, to THEM. Before Allison's diagnosis, I surely experienced the wait. The call was coming. Either there was a scope, a mammogram, a biopsy, or SOMETHING that I waited to hear about. And always, thus far, the word benign accompanied the call or the letter. There was an anxiousness, then relief, then "thank you, Lord", and life went on. Until the next time. But then it happened. The biopsy that changed my life, our lives, her life, in ways I still cannot begin to fathom. The lung cancer diagnosis in my healthy, vibrant, beautiful, spirited, 21 year old daughter. The tumor was large, it was repulsive, it was consuming, it was spreading, it was causing bone pain, body aches, fatigue, and it was MALIGNANT. It was what would take her life in eleven short weeks. It was what took our breath away, as if we were the one who struggled to breathe with a 50 pound weight on our own lungs.

Allison struggled with many symptoms that no doctor would have imagined would have been more than a cold, a virus, later pneumonia (serious enough in the eyes of her parents). The symptoms were sporadic, meaning good days, weeks, then very rough ones. She would call to report that she felt bad because she couldn't make it to class, let alone study. I would encourage her to go to the doctor and each time she did, she got a prescription or an inhaler, and would be better, but not for long. She slept a lot, she came home to rest, she was cranky, she got upset easily, but still, every few days, she would rally, until she could rally no more. She found her way for a "routine" scan, and the rest, as they say, is history. A history that changed the course of my very existence and that of many others, as well.

So, now, when the visits to the doctor are necessary, or pneumonia entered my life, causing me to grasp my chest, spend time in the hospital, wait for lung results, check on my heart, take antibiotics for the heart wall infection, struggle even to walk the dog, I only know a snippet of what my daughter went through. I do not have lung cancer. Aside from the fluid built up, and doctor's orders, I am fine. I am fine after a recent endoscopy that, again, was "routine". I waited for the biopsy results with a fervor and once again whispered a very appreciative thank you to my God above. And today, as I got called back for yet another mammogram, with the nurse telling me that the doctor wants me to know "it's just routine" when we see certain things, I am doing my best NOT to jump to breast cancer. I know that is not the case. But, you see, nothing is ROUTINE for me any longer. There is nothing normal or "routine" about any of this. I have heard what no mother wants to hear, MALIGNANT, CANCER, DEATH of her own child. This is NOT routine, but it is my life.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

The Cancer World

Whether we know it or not, we are all in the Cancer World. No one can really miss it, even if it has not happened to directly impact someone they know or love. With the statistics, I am hard pressed to believe that any of us are not deeply and greatly touched by the "C" word, CANCER. I have even heard there is a show about it, although I could never bring myself to watch that one...I have seen more and more cancer centers being constructed and of course, all of us can now name on more than one hand those who are battling or who have left all too soon. It's a world we enter whether we choose to do so, or not. It's a world that touches us in different ways. It touches each of us differently as we deal with it directly or indirectly. Some of us are the ones who battle and fight each day, fight to live, find a cure, and miraculously the cancer is gone, for awhile, for years, or forever. So many names come to mind right now, even as I pray for those undergoing the treatments and the hospital visits and ALL that comes with the diagnosis, ALL those things that most of us could never see unless we walk the walk, ourselves or with our loved ones.

Then, of course, there are the names that come to mind of those whose bodies grew weak, tired, weary. Those who God laid a gentle hand upon and called them to be home with Him. Those whose names are growing in our circles each and every day...in our own family, my father, my daughter, and so recently, my brother-in-law, Karen's husband of almost 31 years, Matt and Joe's father, my girls' uncle, gone to rest, after a tumultuous three year journey. I certainly did not choose this, but whether I want to be, or not, I am in the cancer world. That didn't just begin, and it is not the end, the cancer world is part of my life. No matter what I do, how hard I try, how many times I ask God to take this part of me away, it is not going to happen. The "Cancer World" has become my world.

Sometime after Allison passed from us, I began to see a wonderful grief therapist who specialized in those impacted by cancer. In every session, I was able to learn a strategy to get through this life, to help ease the images, to wash away a bit of the pain, if only for a moment. I learned to "shelve" the flashbacks, not put them away, but work at them in more appropriate times. Like some patients who have to walk again, I had to rehabilitate myself, so that I could rejoin my family, my life, myself. I, in no way compare my struggles with those who have physical incapacities, I am just sharing my soul of how it was to breathe again, stand tall in moments of despair, re-enter a public with some stamina and dignity, when all the pain was wired inside, nothing anyone could see...after all, to them, I looked fine!!

I am in the Cancer World...some have suggested I find another type of "job" or place to work, and don't think I haven't thought of it. I have inquired, even interviewed, and turned down "jobs", jobs that bring me no satisfaction now, no joy, no interest in getting dressed only to find that there is no meaning to the work. Some believe that a diversion would be good, and I thought so, too. But how can I sell handbags, or be a party planner, or substitute as a school administrator any longer when I know what I know. So, I stay in the Cancer World. Sure, I find some "fun", I travel a bit, I enjoy working in my home, I read, I write, I am finding my voice, but it's not enough. And I keep searching, asking God to help me find a purpose, a plan, a way to help and assist. And lo and behold, in this Cancer World, along comes my experiences with my own father, my very own precious daughter, and along comes a dear soul, Chrissy, who allowed me the privilege of spending time with her and her "sissy" in her final days, and then, not finally, because there will be more, then comes Michael, my brother-in-law. I shared his own personal cancer journey with him, through thick and thin, good and bad, beautiful and rough. My travels were mostly back and forth to their house in 2009 and 2010 and I learned more, yes, about the Cancer World, but more about myself. And in those final days, and hours, and minutes, I felt God pointing out what I may have known all along, but wouldn't listen. I wanted OUT of this Cancer World. But that is not to be, so I am learning to embrace it. To embrace life, no matter for how long. Their life. My life.

Thanks to all my experiences, and Michael's gift, I am finding my purpose, my way. I thank Dad, Allison, and Chrissy, too, and names too numerous to mention. It will be a simple step. It will be a baby step. But I will volunteer through the wonderful organization of hospice. I made the call. I have no idea what it will "look" like, whether I will offer caregivers a respite once I am trained, or share time with a patient, pray with them, read to them, help them live. Hospice, to me, has never been about dying, it has been about living. Somehow I didn't know that until my sister and I met with them so many years ago. Somehow I couldn't face that when it was mentioned for Allison. But in Michael's final days, he was able to LIVE in the comfort of his own home, with those who loved him most around him, and nothing could have been more beautiful when he took his final breath.

Yes, we all live in a Cancer World. I have promised Allison it won't consume me. I have promised my family I will sing again, I will dance again, I will find myself. I will make time for everyone who I care about, I will find a solution to every problem without getting anxious or upset. None of it matters anyway. It's all temporal. And in a minute, it will all be over, one way or another. A piece of me HAS to give back to this Cancer World, Dad, Allison, Chrissy and Michael are making sure of that!

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Don't Have to Look Far

I don't have to look far to seek and find the blessings in my life. Not far at all. Focusing on them has been somewhat of a challenge in the months and now years since Allison passed away. I have my moments when all I can feel is the pain, all I can see is the blur of life through the tears, all I know is that a treasure has been ripped from my physical life and my heart has never been the same. Yet, from the start, I had to focus. Focus. Focus on what is true and good and faithful and meaningful, the simple blessings of life, that once were just part of my work/social/personal calendar of existence.

I don't have to look far, but I DO have to dig deep. I have to ask God to help me step away from the changing of the seasons as summer ends and fall begins, such significance for my family, for me. I have to choose to remember what she meant, how she lived, what she taught us in those weeks of cancer drugs, pain, treatments. I have to focus on her smile, her light, her love. I have to keep learning how to live with her in my heart instead of her calling me with news, with stories of her life, with her thoughts and dreams. I have to let God take control of my every fiber just to move through a day. I have to ask Him, repeatedly, to show me what is good and meant from this pain, this suffering, this sadness of missing her.

God shows me I don't have to look far...I see the blessings all around me. When I choose to look at them, I have better moments, that get me to the next ones. I can feel joy, even if only for a moment, or an afternoon, or a day. I can feel again. But not by doing it alone. I can't do any of this alone. God has to be my co-pilot and He helps me know I don't have to look far...I can be in the company of my daughter who is nothing but pure pleasure, even when she faces her own troubles, I can spend a week with my sister, even when she is mourning and facing such uncertainty about the loss of her beloved husband, I can spend an afternoon with my brother and sister at the cemetery of our parents, not saying much, but not needing to, and I can attend the celebration of dear friends as they celebrate 60 years of marriage, surrounded by so many caring and wonderful emotions. I can sit down and write in my journal, care for my adopted dog, and I can sing a song to my ipod as it blares through the house. The fact that I have even figured out the ipod and iphone is a blessing in itself! I can make banana bread for Joe and receive an e-mail of thanks and appreciation from him at work. I can take a neighbor to the airport because her car won't start, or I can tend to the girls next door when the parents need a little break. I can keep wine, coffee, tea, and crumpets ready and on call for those who need a little respite. And I can find my way through projects, gift buying, note writing, fund raising, shopping for others. I don't have to look far, but, yes, I do have to dig deep.

I have asked God this morning to help me dig deep and even deeper. It is too easy to dwell on missing my daughter, my brother in law, dwell in the sadness of my sister and her new stages of grief...God knows how desperately I want to take that away. He also knows I cannot, just as no one can take away mine, ours. It is too easy to stay in the place of sadness and loss and pain. I will and I do. But I will keep preparing. I know it's not an easy time that we embark on...ending September brings on a new dimension to our lives, the leaves will fall and with them will signify the days in Chicago, the failing health of an undeserved young woman, a disbelieving diagnosis of lung cancer, and all that surrounded that. The leaves will represent so much, but already, I am asking God to prepare me in new ways. Help me find the beauty. Help me to focus on what is good in my life. I expect results. I know He will help and never forsake me. He will remind me that I do not have to look far.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

The Quilt

A masterpiece has been created, a work of art, a treasure, an heirloom, and a gift. It is THE quilt. Somewhere along the way, Joe, Jennifer and I had the idea to gather Allison's t-shirts and find someone to perhaps put them together in the form of a quilt. The thought of being wrapped in a blanket of such love, so many memories and smiles, was but a dream, a thought, an idea. We slowly began to pursue the thought by looking into finding someone that could perhaps put our "dream" into reality...but where to start? I found a painful part of the process to be actually even gathering the shirts, let alone letting myself think of them being cut or torn apart. So, they sat, and they were moved, and they sat some more. They stayed in a bag in my closet. Her scent still lingered, and when I opened the bag, there she was, almost in the flesh, to me, again. How could I let go? So time passed, but then my heart led the way, and we also found the person who would create this legacy of love. Right there all along, really, was a family friend, especially to Michael and Karen, and eventually to all of us, Karen, KLO as we call her. She lives in Hull and over the years her creations have astounded me, her eye for color and detail, the need for no pattern, her talents an obvious gift. We began to have conversation about some possibilities, and lo and behold, a plan took shape. A plan that involved no timeframe, no design, no limits, no restrictions. We had all the faith and trust in her as I gave her the shirts. It was when I handed them to her, without saying a word, that she knew my heart. She began to caress the shirts and the sayings, her hands moving gently over the material and patterns. The look in her eyes told me she was just the "right" person to be handling this project, and thus, it evolved.

I think it is fair to say that the creation of the quilt was far more than any of us intended. For me, it was letting go of a piece of Allison that I was still holding on to, for Joe it was the emotion of the memories surrounding each shirt, and for Jennifer, I can safely say that any part of her sister is what she wants surrounding her, in any form, fashion, or design. So, she was ready for the comfort and the beauty. This was to be HER quilt, Jennifer's that is, this first one, maybe the only one, with all parts of her sister in tangible form. And for KLO it became so much more, too. We have spoken of it, some. But her stories and her eyes and her heart let me know that this was a labor of love. No amount of money can substantially thank her, no gesture, no words of gratitude. And she, simply and humbly, GETS THAT. We didn't intend for her to do this on her own, we were out for "hire", we didn't intend for it to be completed just as her dear friend, my own brother in law was in his own end of life stages in this summer of 2010, and we surely didn't plan for it to be completed by Jennifer's 28th birthday, which she celebrated in Hull, along with celebrating her uncle's life. We didn't plan any of it, because there was no plan. But as all things do, they come together in God's plan, and that is not one to be questioned.

I could write an entire book about the quilt and what each block, each stitch, each color, each border, each shirt means to us. The memories are profound. There are tears, but mostly there is joy. Allison was known for her rather unique style in t-shirts, often bought at thrift stores and always making a profound statement. So, when I look at the quilt, and picture Jennifer wrapped up in it, I remember the summers on Karen and Michael's couch, wearing the bright orange "Beer Delivery Guy" shirt till it was almost threadbare, I look at the Maui 2003 shirt and I feel joy and peace, knowing the 10 days we spent in Hawaii were meant to be for so many reasons, and I laugh to myself when I run my hands across the one, "Tell Your Boyfriend To Call Me"...and yes, I could go on and on for each shirt gives me something more, and makes my heart sing.

Rather than doing so, I will include the writing that KLO presented us with when she gave us the final product. This is how I know it was a journey for her, as well, one that she needed at a time that no one else would understand, one that she took on with her full heart and soul, and one she caressed with love in every stitch.

Another Quilt, by KLO

Another Quilt
Shop fabrics, coordinate colors, choose pattern
Stop...NO!
Like no other, this quilt has walked, breathed, laughed, loved
There is a difference-a strong feeling of Zen
An emphasis on the process over the product.
She was.
Making this quilt came down to the here and now, the moment to moment handling of the cloth.
She is here-guiding the choice of fabrics, deciding each block's placement, the colors-Her colors.
What was she doing when she wore this one...Swinging in a hammock?
Shopping? Dating? Studying? Eating? Going to the beach? Cradling Barkley?
What is she doing now?

Thank you, KLO, from the bottom of grateful hearts...and oh, yes, we know what she is doing now.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Grounded

I am grounded. Still. I am resisting the urge to find some "normalcy" and visit Target or go to the grocery story. I must rest. But I know I am healing since these thoughts are even beginning to penetrate my better judgment. A week ago I felt as though I could slip away into a far off place, where the breathing wasn't labored and the pain didn't exist. But, still, with every blood draw, tube insertion, test, tunnel, probe, shots in the stomach, and the stick, stick, stick of needles, the pain didn't compare to that of my broken heart, the one that is broken that still beats. The one that had a bacterial infection, what??!! What does that mean? My scans showed a healthy heart, other than that, once again. Well, that and the slight chance that in the past I had something known as a "silent heart attack", proper name forgotten in my feverish delerium. So, other than THAT, and the pneumonia, all tests are good and fine and I am going to be well. I am thankful. I am thankful for benign polyps and no tumors. I am thankful that God is seeing to it that I am here a little longer, that this is a temporary setback, probably, as I have said, just to make me stop, rest, heal, do what is necessary to move through this phase.

Being grounded is interesting, though. I am not used to just sitting and reading or watching an hour here or there of television, lying down to rest, I am an on the go person, involved in many projects, some of my own design, some of other's, the ones I enjoy and wouldn't even consider saying no to, because of my love or admiration for that person. But I have had to re-evaluate, define my purposes, and establish my priorities...and I don't even have a REAL job:)

Being grounded has been uncomfortable. It has brought grief to the front and center. It's not that I don't live with it every day, every second of my life, every beat of my heart, but this is different. I have realized that in doing all I do, even when it is simply "nesting" or reorganizing closets, or staying productive in other ways, I have come to know that this is my way of working through grief. I don't want to think about it, I don't want to really absorb what has just happened in our family. I am in shock mode and don't even know it. I am reeling. I have added yet another layer of grief to my soul, and still, always, I must find my way.

I am going to slow down a bit. I am going to focus on me for awhile. I am going to stay grounded in God's blessings and not try to do it all. Sometimes we don't have choices, like all the events of the last months. Could I have ignored Michael's last weeks and days, and stayed home, going about my life as if the people so near and dear to me were not suffering and trying to find their own way? Could I have stayed home and "enjoyed" the festivities of life, giving no thought to what was happening in my own family, a beloved facing his final days? A sister tending to him with every touch, needing someone to help hold her up, too? Could I have ignored the similarities between Michael's voyage to Allison's, that while they were separate, they were also, one? Could I have turned away from the need to pray and hold and tend to my loved ones? We respond to the call that God puts before us, but then He gently speaks in whatever form or fashion necessary to get our attention.

He has mine! I am grounded. I will sort it all out. I will find my way. I am blessed. I am blessed with so many opportunities that seem so privileged, and then in the next breath, I can feel so lost, lonely, forgotten. But God's word promises me I am not. I am never alone. I am never lost. I am never forgotten. I may be grounded, but in many ways I am soaring.