There's A Beat of A Beautiful Heart

There's a beat of a beautiful heart in my soul this season, this holiday, this month, this day. There can be no other explanation as to how I have maneuvered through the tears, lumps in my throat, emotional weariness, shopping malls, grocery stores, endured hours of preparations, making cookies and this year's infamous cake balls. There's a beat of a beautiful heart in my soul.

That beat belongs to many, of course, those whom I am preparing for, my beloved daughter, Jennifer, husband Joe, his family, my family, all about to be blended in a little over 24 hours. But the beat that pounds the fastest is that of my other beloved daughter, the one who left too soon, the one who is not here in the physical sense. Yet, the beat of my heart, where hers has taken up residence, is taking on new meaning. She whispers to me, she sings to me, she inspires and guides me. She spurs me on to make this Christmas a labor of love. My baby, my child, gone from my grasp, but living on so intently that it almost seems like she is right by my side, through all the plans, preparations, decorations, food choices, steps taken to find our way to a glorious holiday.

There's a beat of a beautiful heart, I feel it, just as intently as I did when hers entered mine in her final moments of life on this side of heaven. There's a beat of a beautiful heart, and I am grateful, thankful to the end, and into eternity, for her presence in my life.

Again, to "borrow" the quote used to honor Erin's passing date, and one I have read so often through the almost four years that I have "lived" without my daughter in my sight...from The Book of Wisdom...

"The just woman, though she dies early, shall be at rest,
for the age that is honorable comes not with the passing of time,
Nor can it be measured in terms of years.

Having become perfect in a short while,
She reached the fullness of a long career,
For her soul was pleasing to the Lord,
And she who pleased God was loved."


Beautiful heart of mine, you are loved, Merry Christmas, Allison.

"Inspired By Erin"

I am inspired by Erin. I am inspired by her mother, her family, these people I have never met. And not just because I am "borrowing" the title of her mother's blog/journal, it's true. I am inspired by Erin.

Whenever I see a sunflower, a red rose, an image of a beautiful family, hear of a blood donor event, touch a snowflake, sip coffee by the fire, or just about DO anything, or EXPERIENCE anything, I am inspired by Erin...and our Allison, and Jessie, and CJ, and Scott, and Phil, and David, and Faith, and Lilly and a holy host of others...I am inspired. I know their purpose, now. The purpose for their life, as we knew it. Or the life we didn't know, but now FEEL through the spirit of their days or hours on this earth. God, they had such a purpose. But you, God, already knew that.

This day, Erin was taken home to her heavenly Father. This day, one year ago. And how I met her was through her mother. No, not in the physical sense, but in the way only two mothers who know they will face days, months, years without their child can relate. Her mother, Mary, reached out to me, in those days when it became so unbearable, she thought there was a way to prepare. Just like I did. Just like we asked the doctors, the "experts", anyone who might know, only to be told, "go home, hold her hand, love her"...and we did. Then came Mary, who I believe "found" me through our messages to dear CJ, who was battling a cancer similar to Erin's, similar to what we once thought was Allison's diagnosis. Oh the great, ever evolving circle of those who come into your lives at the moment when you need them most, God's greatest coincidences indeed. So, there was Mary, writing to ME, needing to hear those words that I didn't know how to say, just as those we asked didn't know either, so I followed suit, I believe, spoke from my heart, and at that moment we became soul mates.

No, Mary and I have never met, but I know someday we will. We share so much, down to the images of our children, her daughter being diagnosed right around the time Allison passed, same initial diagnosis, same family photos, same toddler images. I know this through her blog, I know a mother's love and anguish through her blog, and I know Erin through her blog, and I am inspired. I turn to her exquisite writing when I cannot bear another moment and I feel so utterly alone in this world. I turn to her words when I wonder if I am going crazy or being ultra sensitive to words other people say to me. I turn to her for her intimate thoughts on losing a precious child, while savoring the ones left on earth. And I have found a friend. A comfort. A soul mate.

Often, we write about the very same things on the very same day. I prefer her writings over mine, she is SO eloquent! Her photos capture a thousand words, and the way she shares her heart is inspirational! Sometimes, I avoid visiting her blog, for days or maybe weeks, because it is like looking in a mirror. True enough, a unique story in itself, there are so many similarities that my heart cannot take it. Not that I believe I am the only one who could understand this heavy load, the one brought on by losing a child far too soon, but sometimes, my own pain is enough to carry, and I cannot bear someone else's. Other times, it is as if it is just Mary and me, alone, and typing away so fast as if the words can pour out, just maybe we will have a day, a half day, a moment of peace and laughter, the kind of laughter we knew, before....

Today started out rough, in the wee hours when the tears were already on my cheeks, WAY before dawn. Tears for myself, for Mary, for their family and for mine. Tears of remembrance. Tears for a multitude of reasons. Tears for no reason. I don't keep a calendar. I no longer need one. My spirit just knows what it knows. And it knows where Mary is, where every mother is, right now, those who have buried their own. Whether today, the anniversary, or tomorrow, or last week, or next month, or on Valentine's Day, or next spring, or in the past, or in the future. All these blend into one, but I can almost happily say, I AM INSPIRED BY ERIN, thank you, Mary, may God hold you and yours in the palm of His hand.

On The Tightrope

I am on the tightrope right now. I know it. I feel it. I own it. It is what I call doing quite the balancing act, when, in fact, I have never had any real "balance" at all. At least not in the technical sense. I balanced many things, for sure, being a daughter, wife, mother, teacher, principal, Sunday School teacher, car pool driver...sometimes ALL at the same time. I didn't know any better. It's what we did, us women. It's what we DO, I should say. It's what I still do, but my balancing act has become quite different. Especially during these trying days. Especially now.

I am on a tightrope and I feel sick. But I am not, not really. Yes, a cold, a slight fever, a clogged nose. Nothing important, nothing that a little rest won't take care of it. And rest, I do! I am learning to heed the signs, unlike before, when it would take a "mack truck" to knock me down, typically when my body was given permission to shut down and stop (like every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's, the family could count on mom being down for the count, AFTER the festivities). This year, I am trying desperately for it to be different. I am pacing and resting, buying and wrapping, preparing and cleaning, but at a pace that is mine, all mine.

Still, I feel the tightrope closing in. I am numb at times. Other times, there I am, humming along to a Christmas Carol. Really? That is happening? Yes, after four years, the humming is coming, and I can even listen to O Holy Night, my all time favorite! But that's where the tightrope comes, and throws me off balance, because I am fine one minute, and the next, I am falling off, and not sure how to get back on this balance beam of life. The snow comes, and it is THAT day again. The day we laughed and hoped and dared to dream. The music comes, and it is "1990 something" when we sang Christmas Carols and Allison played the piano, presenting her grandparents with the homemade Gingerbread House. It is "2000 something" when the girls were older and handed out gifts in their Santa stockings. Then it is 2005, our first year in the new house, dreams of a future of families and perhaps grandchildren, a house filled with college kids coming and going, and two surprise gifts that became priceless. The photographs, one of the house where we had raised the children, the other, THE children, now grown women, standing back to back, side to side, commemorating this moment, and Allison telling me they wanted me to have a portrait of what they looked like the year we transitioned from one home to the other. My old soul of a daughter, and her beautiful sister, creating a gift that became life's greatest treasure. Then it is 2006, a Christmas filled with so much joy and hope and love and fun. The year my cancer ridden, bald headed beauty came to life, showed us what strength really means, rose above the pain, and thanked God for this Christmas, her last on earth, now her fourth in heaven. And two weeks later, to the day, she was gone. She left us. God took her home. But He gave us that Christmas. And we were blessed.

The tightrope is of pure emotion. My fingers linger on her Girl Scout ornament and I am brought to my knees. I accidentally run across the photo that always hung on the tree, the one where she is sitting on the Nutcracker's lap, what do I do with it? I cry out so hard. Where are the hopes and dreams now, God? What am I to do? Will I feel like this every Christmas? When will this grief end? Will it subside? Will the two always be one, the holiday and her last week at home with us? Why do the tangible items, like ornaments, and bows, trees, and presents, have to be so damn painful? Why did cancer have to invade and take her eleven weeks later? So many questions, with simple answers. I know them. It was her time. I know the promise of the Heavenly Father. My mind knows, but my heart still has not caught up with it!

The tightrope pulls and tugs and strains every chord. What do I do? What DON'T I do? She is part of this Christmas, she is part of every day. I am still her mother. We are still her family. We will find a way, we will pave the way, and we will not forget. We will speak her name, in the stories, in the memories, and in the love. We hope others, will, too, as they become more comfortable, knowing it is more than okay to speak of her. Yes, they think we will cry, but what they don't know, is we already are, only they cannot see from where they stand. We will have her by our side, even though her presence is in spirit. She will live and guide us through the pain of loss. Her smile will radiate the room, as it did every Christmas since 1985, and did so, on what has become an ingrained memory, in 2006.

Trials And Troubles, Grief, And Sadness

Trials, troubles, grief and sadness...we just cannot avoid them. None of us can. At times we cannot imagine what we ourselves are facing, other times, our hearts ache and cry out for others, because we just cannot imagine what would happen if those were OUR burdens to bear. So, life becomes one big circle, we are born, we live, we die. And often, until something life changing happens, we don't really stop to think of our own mortality. Why would we? We are too busy living!

This week, as in many weeks and months over the years, I have thought about and prayed for Elizabeth Edwards and her family. She has always been "just a regular person" to me, especially as we watch her raise her children, bury her beloved Wade, face public scrutiny, know betrayal in one of its greatest forms, and of course, wage a battle of cancer. She is every woman's woman, I guess I'd say. The reason? So many of us can relate to her in one form or another. She has always seemed "human" in the public eye. And, many of us were endeared to her for the way she responded to tragedy and adversity for the sake of her children.

I have seen several interviews but most of all the ones she shared with Matt L. on the Today Show. Not long ago, or so it seemed to me, she spoke of how easy it is to give thanks and praise when things in life are going well, it's when the troubles settle that we grow stronger and find our blessings. I'm paraphrasing! But, I related because I find that to be true, also. I have found that the blessings just show themselves more as every one of the five senses become more alive, especially when they are either taken away, or seem to be...I also related to her when she spoke and wrote of her son's death. Of course, I didn't ever know her personally, but through her books, especially the chapters on this devastating occurrence in one's life, I felt she was a friend and confidant when I didn't know how to go on or who to turn to...so, yes, I feel a sense of loss now that she is gone. I'm sure I am one of many.

I have always thought of how to respond to this thing called grief, loss. I have approached it from many angles. Those that know me intimately know that Joe and I have chosen to respond with the strength and dignity not only Allison deserves, but for the sake of our living daughter, we will live on, and we will honor both daughters. That is not to say we put on a happy face when we aren't. That is not to say that it doesn't take work and plenty of it. That is not to say that sometimes we are so deep in the valley that a "peak" seems unreachable. That is not to say there are days or weeks of silence. That is not to say we are not brought to our knees in tears and angst. And that is not to say that we are limited on what we can do socially. But, again, for the sake of our Jennifer, and our marriage, and our family members, we do our best. That's all God expects and it is through Him that I find my strength, my purpose, my way through the troubles.

Troubles and trials teach us so much. There is the saying we all know...."when the going gets tough, the tough get going"...sometimes I believe that is so true. WE get going, or sometimes we get paralyzed. Sometimes we make a bit of movement only to realize we were not ready for that, and other times it is the exact nature of the "trouble" that motivates us. Hard to explain, but troubles DO make us stronger.

Recently, in light of the shadow of Elizabeth Edwards' life and beliefs, and in reflection of my status of loss and grief, I wondered what life would be without them, those troubles and trials. And in light of my current situation and life changes, I wonder if I still even know what trouble is....yes, my heart screams out, yes, you do. This pain. This incessant ache. This missing part to what once was, my Allison gone. My Allison died. My Allison buried. Yes, I know trouble and I know pain. Maybe not like others. For sure, not like others. Through my pain, I can see my blessings clearly. I have a family coming for Christmas. I can go to the grocery or department stores and purchase items within reason and within a budget. I have a paycheck coming at the end of the month. I can pay my bills. I have heat. I am loved. I am not starving, far from it. I have resources. I can help the needy and give of my time. I could, if I chose, buy a $4.00 cup of coffee! I could list my blessings all day and the list would go on an on. Yes, there are blessings in the trials, in the troubles, in the grief and in the sadness.

I have come to know that it is how we view our troubles that makes all the difference. I cannot say I agree with the scripture from James 1:2, "Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials". But I can say, I have learned from it. I can say that up until Allison's passing I didn't know a trial. I THOUGHT I did...seriously? I thought I did. That was all nothing, but what it WAS, was a preparation. A preparation for the next one and the next one. And there will be next ones, and more to come.

Of all the things we could say about our troubles and our trials, I do know one thing. God sees them as tests that reveal our true selves. It's a sure thing that in trouble, the REAL me becomes apparent very quickly. There is nothing lke trouble to reveal oneself! Until them, we can carry on an existence and even fool ourselves, and maybe others, about our true nature. It is when trouble comes knocking that our friends, our spouses, our children find out what we are really like. But most of all, and perhaps even unsettling at times, it forces us to start seeing ourselves for what we really are...

I can't say I am thankful today for the trials, the troubles, the grief and the sadness, but what I can say is that I can see the blessings, and the vision has become sharper since my child left this world. I know that I can feel her spirited smile, the one that never left her face on earth, shine on me this moment, maybe not the whole day, I don't know yet, but for this moment I'll take it. And I'll handle the trials.

In A Flash

In a flash, it all changes. Today is the perfect example. I woke up feeling somewhat rested, a state I have not really been in for awhile. I don't get concerned about it, because I don't have a schedule to follow, no students and staff to be rested for, no mommy duties, no wifely duties, either, unless I count having a good meal for Joe, my choice! We all know he would eat leftover stew or fettuccine for four nights if necessary. So, there it was, a beautiful early morning. Even the walk with Rex made me extra happy. It was a very wintry looking dawn, even looked white and hazy as if snow had fallen, and the pink glow filtered in all the windows. I was up and at 'em as they say. I was motivated. I was ON. My coffee was tasty and leisurely, my morning took shape and I was baking the cake for my new found friend, cake balls!! I want to deliver some to my close neighbors in thanks for all they have done to help us make it through this year by walking Rex and watching the house on all the trips back and forth to Karen and Michael's AND to celebrate the year anniversary tomorrow of the adoption of this little guy. I even decided that just maybe I could put on one Christmas CD among the others I loaded. I am going to try, Allison, to not let this get to me, I really am. And I was moving right along.

Then it happened, in a flash. A flashback, I guess I would say. I was making the cake ball coating, a nice shade of pink and then a nice shade of green, for reasons known only to me. Beautiful and tasty, these were becoming a masterpiece. All of a sudden the colors blurred, the room spun and the flashback came. The one where Allison had to be carried to the hospital and the one where we knew stage four cancer was moving to her brain. Oh God, how did I not know. I know how I did not know. I have been praying NOT to know. After four years of continual prayer that I would live with the beauty, not the pain, I would live with her laughter, not her cries and her sobs, I would live with the memories of a blessed 21 years. I thought I could do it. And, in many ways, I am. But, in a flash, all that was good and productive and joyous brought me to a place I don't want to go, a place I really don't need to visit. In a flash, there was a flashback. And my soul knew something that I had tried to squelch, I suppose. This date, this third day of December, the day we began to know our daughter would not live with us for much longer. This day, that two parents got on their knees and gave it to God, knowing that there was not a thing we could control. This day, that the pain subsided with an array of drugs and life took a new and twisted turn for our youngest daughter.

In a flash, I was brought back there. The smells. The cries. Me being comforted by a stranger in a bathroom, as I screamed and cried so Joe or Allie wouldn't hear me. Our family gathering around her bedside that night, choosing to hear the "good" news, rather than the "bad"...the good news was a shrinkage in the lung tumor, Praise God, the bad news, well, this is the fastest growing cancer and it is but a centimeter from her brain, causing possible swelling and severe pain. Please God, will we lose her now, or will her body stay, but her mind go? What do you have planned? In a flash, it was all there, and the pain felt like it did at that moment, four years ago.

Why did my soul go there? I was doing so well! Why????

I sat down and prayed like I did that day, and of course my prayers have changed. Well, in some ways. From that day forward, we prayed God's will, we didn't beg, bargain, or make deals. We put our trust in the capable hands of God above. That's what I am doing now. He must have brought me the flashback for a reason. As if my inner self really forgets. I will ask Him all day, as I do everyday, please let me get from point A to B, and be what you desire from this experience. Please help me create the life intended from this devastation. Please help me. I cannot do this alone.

In a flash, it has all changed, as it did then. Life was beautiful for one moment, and in the next, a storm that would shift our lives forever. But we got back on track then, with the help of a spirited young woman, and we will get back on track now. It may not be the track we had planned, or the one others expect of us, but we will be back on track. I cling to the promise, that in a flash, all will be right with the world.

It's December

December is here and with it, so much quiet, so much to say that cannot be verbalized, so much hope, so much faith, so many memories. I am not going to dwell in what was, in what was to be, rather, I am going to pray very hard to stay in the moment, and just BE. That is usually my advice to so many, and I will heed my own words, and ask God as many times a day (and night) as necessary, to just help me stay the course.

So, this morning, four years after Allison spent her last month at home with us, starting out the month in crisis and pain, and near death, I am listing in my spirit, all the reasons to keep shining, keep going, keep doing. First, and foremost, there is always Jennifer. A mother must be a role model, even though, at times, she is mine! In fact, and this is a huge step, we plan to go to The Nutcracker production together on Saturday night....wow! I will be out among holiday cheer and festivities, stepping out in the name of tradition, and love. Guided by her sister's spirit, we will bring back a part of what once filled every holiday season. There are other things, for instance, Christmas music. While I cannot listen to "her" favorites very easily, I find that I CAN play a few songs and even hum a bit. Thank you, God, and thank you, Allison, that I am able to listen, hear, live, and learn what it takes to celebrate the true reason for the season. I am so thankful to prepare for a visiting family, one who knows not how to venture this "first" Christmas without their beloved husband and father. In the name of family, and in honor of Michael, somehow, some way, they will find the strength to pack, travel, and spend this holiday with us. Praises to God for what IS and what is to BE.

I don't know any other way than to keep on. When the memories and the flashbacks filter, I try not to shove them down deep. That hurts too much. That makes me want to fall apart. I try to pause and acknowledge them. I am learning to cope and maneuver. Still, December is so damn painful. I want to hang her stocking, I want to hear her laugh. I want to see her come in with her suitcases filled. I want to share her story when other mothers talk of their children coming home. I wanted this to be different. But it isn't. It is our life. Our loss. Our pain. So, I pray to God to help me cling to the good, the beautiful, and the pleasant. And He is doing His best to show me. Even yesterday when there was the slightest of snowflakes on a dreary, gray, wintery looking day, He helped me find the good, the motivation, the desire, and the joys. It's December, but through intense prayer and devotion, God is showing me that the beauty is all we need, the pain, the cancer, the ugly, is all gone. There is beauty to behold and though it takes work, it will be found.

My mind holds images of December. Some from years gone by, some from THAT December when we knew not one day, one moment at a time, whether we would have another. But we did. We had the whole, entire month. God answered prayers then, and He answers them now. He has shown me I never have to let her go completely. She is always here. She is snuggled under the blankets on the couch, watching the snow, she is sporting her new rabbit hat, all decked out in red for the holidays, she is laying in her bed with an ice pack on top of her head, trying to stay cool from the heat of chemotherapy treatments, she is eating us out of house and home, and watching me bake the cookies. She is encouraging me to put up the tree, she is whispering what to buy for gifts. She is sending angels in the form of people or "signs" to help me know that it is going to be "okay". She leads me through the motions of a day and reminds me that all this is God's agenda, and that it will be a good day. She inspires and lights my path. She brings people into my life I would have never imagined and she gives me strength. She is here. It's December, and she is here.