Wednesday, November 24, 2010

I Just Want To Make It Okay

I find myself layered with grief upon grief this day. These weeks, really. For here we are, right back to the weeks where Allison spent her last days with us, oh the memories, oh the pain of loss. I find myself saying out loud and more often, OH GOD can you just help me to be okay. I want to be okay. He comforts me and lets me know I AM okay, already. Even when I don't feel it, seem paralyzed, feel sick, I AM okay...or as "okay" as I am supposed to be, for now.

I also find myself wanting to help others be "okay"...my heart holds too much this day, this season, this holiday. I wake up from dreams that hold Chrissy, CJ, Scott, Kathy, David, Erin, Lilly, baby Faith, Jessica, Phil, too many faces gone too soon, too many loved ones left behind. Names that could fill a wall and consume a heart. And of course, there's Michael. When I pray about him, my own brother-in-law, lost too soon, gone from our physical grasp, never to hear his voice or jokes again, I DO have that sense of peace, at times. God has promised, through the gift of salvation, that Michael's body is now a new one, the one that Michael really would have loved on this earth! No pain, no fatigue, no cancer, the new body of a man who accepted Christ and the gift of grace under heaven. In doing so, he is free. His spirit soars, as does Chrissy's, and all the names mentioned, and unmentioned. And so it goes for my precious Allison. She, along with the others, are free, free to be. Those of us left behind are the ones with the pain, imperfect bodies, shattered souls, and broken hearts. Why is it, when we know where our loved ones are, we mourn as if this is a terrible thing? Why is that we set the holiday table, minus the place setting of the one gone before us, that we can be brought to our knees? Why is that we long for one more time, even though we know the blessing of passage into eternal peace? We are human, but we still ask WHY? Why do I get a funny feeling deep inside when friends and family talk of their children's plans to come home? Why do I lean toward a bit of angst when people complain about their 20 something year olds or watch others take for granted what is theirs, when in reality, I would most likely be doing the same, had my world not collapsed and shattered into many pieces. Why is that I can feel the burdens of the hearts of friends, family, my own sister and her children, as the "first" holiday season arrives without the physical presence of their loved one? And why is that I cannot promise them that it will get better, that if I am truthful, I would wish for the "first" because that was easier than THIS? Now I know. And knowing is painful. Painful, indeed.

Sure, there will be laughter, there will be joy, there will be new memories. We will all keep keeping on. But in doing so with such a heavy heart, well, it just makes it different. We will stay focused on what a glorious Thanksgiving it must be in heaven, Allison, Michael, reunited with our parents, their souls soaring and infiltrating ours until it is our time for the reunion. We will stay focused on the blessings, and there are so many. We still have each other. We may never do things quite the same, but we are family, and we are here, and we have this moment.

But in spite of it all, I just want to make it okay. Okay for myself, my husband, my daughter, my sister, my nephews, even Michael's siblings. I want to make it okay for the parents who now face that "first" or "second" or "tenth" holiday without their child, for Frank, without Chrissy, for Barb, without her, too, for another Barb, without her sister, Kathy, who she lost to lung cancer this summer, to CJ's mom, dad, sister, to all the all but forgotten siblings who are left alone in families, just to only name a few. My heart is full, most likely because I know what I know. And all I know right now is that I just want to make it okay!

But I am learning that I, alone, cannot do that. I can send the note, drop off the flowers or cookies, or ice-cream, or card. I can feel what I feel, pray and hope and believe that they will be "okay". I can share their journey, but just as I have my own, theirs is theirs to own, as well. I believe it helps to know someone cares. I believe it helps to know someone remembers and will speak our loved ones name. I believe that the little random acts of kindness matter. But I also believe that when we each lay our head down at night, and wrestle with sleep and loss and our own pain, that it is the one true God that will show us the light. I believe that without Him, I would not move, live or breathe. I believe that He holds my child safe and sound, happy and perfect, cancer-free, and that every day is Thanksgiving, a holiday spent in perfect bliss. A holiday spent in heaven.

I just want to make it okay. I seek to find the way. And the only way is through the love of God who holds the key to us all being "okay". Through the tears, the memories, the traditions, the place settings, somehow, we will be "okay".

Friday, November 19, 2010

Doing It Alone

I have realized that lately I have slipped back into thinking I am in control. I have been doing it alone. Well, not technically. I am surrounded by many. The last weeks, months, really, have been a whirlwind. I have travelled back and forth to Karen and Michael's haven, spent time that I will cherish forever. As God would have it, spent time in the passage of Michael's soul from this life, to the everlasting. To witness this event was a gift beyond all gifts, of course, with the exception of the same gift given when Allison left us. Oh to love and lose them, how glorious to be a witness, but how gut wrenching to live on without them. So, I journey through grief again, layer upon layer, silencing me, then restoring me, then helping me to embrace this day, this life. So, I grasp it all, as best I can, my way, but also in a way that is pleasing and helpful to the family. In the course of living and keeping on, I am forgetting at times, that I don't have to carry the full burden, I don't have to do this alone. I must not leave God out of the equation. He has been my rock, my salvation, the impetus to my very being. Yet, somehow, in all the grief triggers of this season where we lost our own child and sister, niece and cousin, friend and grandchild, I have tried to do it alone. How did I slip back so quickly, or was it gradually? How did I think I, alone, could hold this family together, let alone, myself? How have I forgotten to take time to pray, really pray and seek the answers? How have I forgotten to thank God for each little blessing of this life?

I won't beat myself up for doing it alone. I will simply regroup. I will find my comfort in the love of God and those He has given me for this time. I will be thankful for the opportunity to share Allison's "face" during Lung Cancer Month and walk in loving remembrance. I will be thankful for a safe trip to Washington, DC, to spend time with Karen's family, my family, to share in the laughter and in the tears, and to walk a city of monumental strength, not to mention, to "show up" and walk for Michael as a proud Stepper! I will look at the stars and smile and I will know that I am loved. The blessings and gratitudes are endless. I won't forget. I may slip into grief triggers, or pain, or loss, or tears, or even illness, but I won't keep trying to do this alone.

It is so easy to give away my energy. It is so easy because that is how I was raised, that is often what society expects. I don't always know how to look inside. I don't really want to, at times. Most times. It is not always "accepted" to put self before others. But as dear Helen helped me to see, without the oxygen being applied to myself first, it cannot be shared with others. And I want to share it. I am a natural caregiver, tending to, fussing over, or doing for, others. I know many others just like me! It's our gift, and it is our curse. But when we are fragile, tired, weary, grief stricken, whatever the case may be, it is only ourselves who can know what it is we need. And all I know is, I cannot do it alone. Yes, I have a loving, kind, tender husband, a spirited daughter, family, friends, and anyone who would come running. But in the end, who is that can really inspire, love, and charge me to be ME...and that answer lies in myself. And that answer lies in devotion to God above, who never forsakes or leaves, the one "constant" in a world that can be too overwhelming to live in, especially as I live in grief.

Today I will trust in God and do something. Do anything to help myself get back on track. I will remind myself that I need not do this alone.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

"No Hill For A Stepper"

Our mom often used the phrase, "no hill for a stepper". I have been reminded of that many, many times over the years in my life, and more poignantly this past weekend. Michael's family stepped out, if you will, in support and loving remembrance for the "fight" he endured throughout his three year multiple myeloma diagnosis. He tried everything that doctors suggested, from the steroids, to the chemotherapy, to the stem cell transplant, NONE of which was any easy feat! It confirmed my understanding, even more, that no one truly comprehends the cancer journey until they walk it themselves or with someone near and dear. The toll is not only on the patient, it is on the caregiver, the family, the loved ones, the neighbors, the co-workers. Cancer has a spiral effect, something I knew all too well, only to re-live through the eyes of my sister, and her husband. So it was nothing less than a privilege and honor to walk among the small, but mighty family, Michael's wife, and sons, and Sarah, in the Multiple Myeloma Walk in Washington, DC. Matt had suggested it way before Michael left us, and how simple it would have been to just stay home and honor from afar, how easy it would have been to abandon plans because they weren't coming together like we had planned...but Michael never took the easy road and none of us did, either. We conquered, we arrived, we mourned, but we lived, and it was "no hill for a stepper".

Well, actually, I'd be lying if I said it was truly "no hill for a stepper". It was! I believe we walked at least a 5K EVERYDAY we were in DC! We had the time of our lives. We combined a mini-vacation with the true purpose of the weekend, having so much fun that to a casual observer, one would never know that we were not just set for life, happy and carefree (and Joe H., we are rich, right???:). Looking deeper, of course, one would know that our hearts were as heavy as our legs after 10 hours of walking through the streets, museums of DC. At times the tears came, others, we were so comforted by Michael's memory that we felt as light as a feather. Other times, well, I would look behind for his physical presence. Was he on the bench, resting? Was he reading and absorbing all the facts and information he could gather? Was he people watching? Where was he? It was obvious, while not physically present, one knew, he was there. The presence is not diminished, and if anything, he was there in ways he never could have been before. We laughed, we remembered, we cried, we thrived. We rose early and went to bed late. And though our bodies screamed out at times (well, for Karen and me, at least), there was to be no complaining...it was "no hill for a stepper".

We were Michael's Steppers, appropriately named, after all. I don't know how many steps I took over the course of four days, all in the name of Michael Powers. And not just at the Sunday morning 5K. The steps taken each brought about something, around every corner something new to see and a new memory to cling to...the steps taken were painful at times, especially the day I forgot to take my morning tylenol, so that the burning and flare ups of fibromyalgia set in, but no complaining, here. If I were so inclined, I would hold on to another memory, the ones of Michael taking on all the pain to find a cure, the ones of my own Allison sitting in a chemotherapy chair, or enduring so much radiation that her legs gave way, or of my own father being fed through a feeding tube. These memories stay strong, and everything else pales in comparison. We were Michael's Steppers, all of us, Karen, Joseph, Matt, Sarah, Joe and me! We may not have been the top team of the day, or raised the most money, or had the most people, but that wasn't the point. We were there, all who could be, in unison, proud to wear our green, proud to wear his name, thankful that God had the tender kindness to take Michael to a place of peace, where there is no pain, no conflict, no raging disease.

There is nothing in life we cannot do, Michael's legacy lives on, not just this past weekend, but always. Proud to be a "stepper", I truly know that he was proud, we got up, we moved, we enjoyed, we savored, and in everything we now do, we find Mom's statement to be true...this life is "no hill for a stepper".

Love you, Michael.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Mother to Mother, Heart to Heart

When I saw her face, embraced, and hugged her, a very long hug where neither of us wanted to let go...well, it was in that moment that we seemed all alone, yet there were literally hundreds of people standing around. I didn't notice them. I doubt that she did, either. In that instant, we were mother to mother, heart to heart. She was NOT the little girl I had watched grow up. She was NOT the little one I saw at the pool, spent time with on vacation, babysat and made crafts with one beautiful Saturday morning. I was NOT her mother's good friend, her elder, the one who had been a part of each other's lives for over twenty years. We were mother to mother, heart to heart. And in that embrace, we had two other heartbeats with us, I felt it, I know she did, too. There they were, her Lilly, my Allison. Our precious daughters, one living as an angel, literally within hours of her birth, another, forever 21 years old, were more present than if they had been standing around us like the others.

We have corresponded often since the passage of both of our daughters, especially since Lilly Kate, and mostly because of Allison. Allison paved the way for loss. She helped me to KNOW what no mother should know. She helped me to cling to faith when I would have rather abandoned it! She taught lessons that reach farther than any classroom. She taught me that a mother's love never dies, that I am always and forever her mother, just in a different way. She prepared me to help other mothers when it became their turn to grieve, live, and love. She provided the words from a heart that has so much to say. So, naturally, having a "connection" to this young mother, Lauren, she helped me reach out to her when Lilly was born, a twin to Cowen, and she nudged me when Lauren needed extra support, encouragement and love. Allison helps me to KNOW what no mother should know. And now, Lauren knows. She knows what it is like to give birth, only to release that child back to the hands of the Father. She knows the pain of a grieving heart. She knows how to live strong for her children, seize this day, make the best of it. She knows how to find strength and stand strong with a husband who is grieving, too. She knows.

But still, we cannot possibly understand one another's burdens of the heart. This young woman is just starting out, in some ways, as she raises her children. Lilly would make four babies to raise! Now there are three! Her children are almost the age when I first knew of her, so of course, she and I cannot totally relate! I have seen it all, where she is on the threshold! Yet, she knows, and I know, that we have something in common that most women would never allow their heart to feel, we carry our child in the confines of our heart, where no one truly sees, because we cannot explain. With each other, there is no need to explain. Mother to mother, heart to heart, we knew. We know. And if I could have held her forever, I would have.

She says I inspire her! She says my words bring comfort! I suppose what she does not know is that SHE is the one who inspires ME. Yes, I can send the card, and speak from the heart, I can send the Christmas ornament for Lilly and I can celebrate her life. And I can definitely understand and FEEL more than I ever wanted to...don't think I don't feel Lilly every milestone, every holiday, every time I see on her Facebook page what Cowen is doing! I feel too much because I know what I know. I know about that missing face in the photograph, that in our case there should be four, in their, six! I know we both should be buying those Christmas gifts for our beloved daughters who have gone before us. I know what triggers are and I live with flashbacks. So, I know what I know. I know I am blessed to have had 21 years of memories and photographs, yet, still, as I watch this young mother interact with her own dear sister, I wonder...I wonder what it would be like for Jennifer if she had her life to share, in the physical sense, with Allison. I wonder what Allison would look like, would she marry, have children. I know Lauren wonders, too. It's just something you know, mother to mother, heart to heart.

I don't know how she happened to be at the Lung Cancer Walk this weekend, I really don't. I don't know what brought her to town. I don't know how her raffle was chosen for the basket of love we donated in Allison's name to the event, when there were over 76 other items and thousands of tickets. I don't know how I happened to be standing in a sea of hundreds when she walked up. I don't know...or, maybe I do. Mother to mother, heart to heart, one just knows.

Friday, November 5, 2010

I've Travelled So Far

A long time favorite singer of mine, Mary Chapin Carpenter, has apparently made a comeback and I am ever so glad! There is nothing like her voice, in my opinion! And like many artists, one can tell that the journey of life has taken a different turn for them, for their lyrics are much more reflective, intuitive, softer, if you will. The carefree days of innocence and partying like a rock star are over. Life has set in. It has a way of doing that. It eventually does that, for all of us. Our travels take us different paths, roads, detours, journeys, but, still, the pavement intersects and we can see it in another's eyes, feel it in their hug, know it in our heart, know it by the tears shed, or the laughter that somehow doesn't feel so light hearted anymore. Life hands us burdens. We only get to choose how we will go on from there, how we will respond, how we will travel.

Like the song's lyrics, I feel I have travelled so far. So far. Yet, sometimes not far enough. Where am I supposed to be? Does this loss of a child, a young 21 year old who we will honor at a Lung Cancer Event tomorrow, define me? What does? What doesn't? I have many unanswered questions. I don't try to seek those answers, most of the time. Oh yes, sometimes, I wonder...I wonder how our daughter can be one of the youngest to lose her life to lung cancer. Other ways, yes, but lung cancer? I wonder how I will live a life to old age without her? I wonder if I will ever feel like the threads of my heart are sewn together again and I will FEEL like I used to...I wonder many things. I wonder, as stated in the lyrics, "why do some go and some stay"? But also, from the lyrics, I know I have travelled so far. I am proud of the journey, the fact that I am here, still standing, working a full day today to get ready for an event that will make some noise for Lung Cancer! I am proud of myself for getting up each morning, holding social events, or simply making a meal! I am proud of myself that I can "show up" for things, in honor of my deceased child, but in celebration of the lives who are still here. And as I listen to the song, it inspires me to keep travelling, show some inspiration, make my daughters proud, give my husband a reason to keep working, keep working myself on my passions.

Oh, I have travelled so far. I am often weary. I am most always weak. I find myself breathless and dismayed as to how much energy it takes to just BE. Everything we get, we get the hard way. It wasn't supposed to be easy, was it? The travels before the walk of grief seem like a walk in the park, but who am I kidding? It wasn't.
But perspectives change with life, with the journey.

I have a path to travel that I would have never predicted. I can't change things. I must learn to accept...much easier said than done. I must maneuver this my way, and I will. I keep turning to God and asking for direction. I will never stop trying to learn what His purpose is for my life. I know that wherever I go, there I am. I know that I have travelled so far.