I Can't Recall

I'm sorry...I can't recall...I don't remember. I wish I could. I wish I had been able to be present in the moments, to remember, to be aware. But so much of it, I just can't recall.

Since losing my daughter, well, not losing, I have come to disregard that term, in some ways. I didn't lose her. I know exactly where she is, and that is not here. She is not lost. Really, if truth is known, she is found. But not too many people can understand that concept. So, I don't elaborate. I just use the term, interchangeably, for "passed away", "died", "lost her life to a dreaded disease", whatever it is that I am desperately trying to say. But for this purpose, "losing" will do...since "losing" my daughter, well, I can't recall much. Oh sure, there are some snippets of memory. I can see some things so clearly, and others are such a fog. And that all began with the diagnosis. I was doing everything I could to digest it, interpret it, reflect upon it, keep the daily journal, write Allison a daily letter, face it, move through the day by day change of protocols as that lung cancer spread faster than anything I had ever witnessed. In the process, of course, there are memories, snippets, moments when I was surely lucid enough to notice, physically strong enough to acknowledge, or emotionally stable enough to appreciate and thank those who provided offerings during that time, and after Allison passed. But so much of it has had to be told to me. I remember looking at the guest book from the visitation to see who had attended, no, I was not drugged, but numb, or in shock, or sad, yes. I read each name over and over again, knowing that I had seen people who had not signed their name, and knowing that some signed their name and I don't remember seeing them. I can't recall certain things.

I can't recall who brought what over, flowers, food, books, gifts. I tried to keep it straight, write it down, my sister did her best, but the love poured in and I couldn't keep up. In the eleven weeks of Allison's life with cancer, she, Jennifer, Joe and myself, and daily treatments or doctor's appointments was my focus. Then she was gone, and while the offerings still poured in, I can't recall who did what, what I ate, what I did, how I lived. It doesn't really matter anymore, really. But for so long, when I had casserole dishes and gifts that I did not know where they came from, I felt those twinges of guilt that recipients never received cards or notes of thanks. People asked me about their dishes, their items, the things they loaned me for months and years to come. I just couldn't recall what they knew to be true. I will never, ever, again, expect a grieving person to know or remember what I brought, I will pray it will be a love offering with no strings attached, no acknowledgement needed, that it was an angel gift from the heart.

There are so many other things I can't recall: How did I get to this point, coming up on the fifth year of her diagnosis? How did I manage to attend functions when my heart was literally breaking and I was sick from the emotional toll? How did I fill my days once I retired, or even more out of my mind's reach, in those first weeks and months when she was gone? How did I manage to even return to work and go through the day by day events for several months? Who did I see? What did I do to fill my time? Well, of course, some of it is with me, and most of it is not. And again, it doesn't matter. What matters is where I am now, and a sweet hallelujah that I am beginning to remember Allison as a baby, a toddler, a little girl, a pre-teen, a young woman. For so long, I couldn't recall those times outside of eleven weeks of cancer, and I would be brought to my knees, wondering if I ever would, praying that it would come back to me. That her spirit would fill my soul and I would remember. Through a lot of prayer and soul searching, I can recall a little more, more and more, day by day, and I am thankful.

I have given gifts that I can't even recall. Recently, when giving a gift to someone, I could tell I had already given that to her. Hmmm....so, I asked, and sure enough, the same gift, monogrammed and everything. I'm sure this is not the first time it's happened! But, I can't recall. I can't recall what I do, what the spirit leads me to do, what I have given, what I have received. It's not a desirable place to be...but it is what it is.

For those things I can't recall, I have to let them go. I have to forgive myself for not acknowledging or thanking those who have called to see if I got the flowers, or the meal, or the gift they left on the porch some years ago. I'm sure I did get them. And I'm sure it made the difference needed at that time. But, being so numb for so long, and damaged and heart broken, there is much I can't recall. I am learning to say that it is "okay", affirm it, and go on. I can't do anything about it now. I will recall what I can, and let the rest go, and be thankful for what I now CAN recall.