Concept Of Loss

Loss has been the predominate theme to maneuver through the last weeks and days. Most likely because of the events leading up to a new year when all was shattered and torn, lost, and never to be the same again, yet, we didn't know it at the time. Our daughter, sister, loved one, GONE, deceased, celebrated and buried in her resting place, five years ago this very day. Our Allison, precious and beautiful, humble and positive, the face of hope and love, strength and courage. Gone before her time from a dreadful cancer that raged and moved so quickly that she did not have time to really comprehend its path, its daunting course, and what was to be left in its wake for those of us left behind...LOSS.

LOSS is all around us, and is unavoidable. We know this in theory, in reality, in life's lessons. We all lose. To live, is to lose. Yet, the concept still mystifies me, at times. I can make sense of it all with my right brained self, but the left side just cannot comprehend. More importantly, and again, prevalent, my heart cannot understand. On this day, and every day, I know I buried a part of my heart with her, under the ice and snow on a true New England day, right here in the heartland. No other time had we seen such weather, and practically everyone knows where they were during the ice storm of 2007, January 12 and 13th, the two days chosen to honor Allison's life. Yet, there they were, hundreds of people, braving the elements to be with us, to hug us, to cry, to laugh, to say nothing, or to try to find the right words, to celebrate, to take a step in finding that peace that passes all understanding...the LOSS, the pain, the sorrow, yet, the LIFE, the living, breathing, strength, and love that binds one family, that now ripples out to so many others, all the while, trying to comprehend the concept of loss.

For many, Allison's service was the first dot to be connected in their own journey of loss. For others, the celebration left them changed in a spiritual sense, forever. For others, her journey precipitated theirs, although unknown to them, or any of us, at the time. I sense that God knew, though, and through His plan, helped us to plan and orchestrate something so meaningful that when it came their time, there was strength to draw from...yes, I speak of my brother-in-law, Michael, but I speak for others as well, for Barb and her family, for Debbie and her family, for future losses in the lives touched. We knew nothing about how to go about planning a "funeral" for a child, we are no miracle workers, we simply asked for divine assistance and there it was, all lined up, as the stars are when alignment and beauty prevail. We followed the spirit and in our last earthly act on earth for our daughter and sister, we managed, somehow, through God's grace only, to provide a beautiful ending, that turned into a beginning.

As I adjust, still, to the concept of loss, I embrace the bigger opportunity, the concept of life. I know now that nothing is a given, that the hole in my heart may never mend, but that there has to be room for more. I have asked God for the energy, stamina, fortitude, strength to face the day, looking for the pleasures and the blessings, understand the Beatitudes and through affirmation to find the hope and positive factors to keep living, instead of dying. The "easy" part would be to give in to the pain, immerse myself in the LOSS, and shrivel up...but looking at what I'd miss, the true joy of my living daughter, husband, family, I would not do Allison's life justice to ignore the blessings. The concept of loss is frightening, immobilizing, and filled with fear. I know not where I tread. I have not concept of time, yet, this five year anniversary is clearly "different". I don't know why. I don't have to. I have learned to accept where I am, take this day, this moment, seize it, find the beauty, yet know, that with it, does come loss. We cannot escape it. I sincerely hope that no other parent should know this type of loss, but I know that if they do, it will be God's grace and love that will be the glue that binds.

Loss is not a popular topic, yet, there is not one family, one person, who is not defined by it. While it is something we all hope to avoid, we know we cannot, and perhaps it makes us stronger, more in tuned, brings clarity and openness. I doubt that I will ever fully understand the concept of loss, and I pray that I will not have to face much more. Yet, I know, that to live is to face loss, and God has brought me to the highest mountain. I will be okay. Allison will be smiling. And I will choose life, over loss, any day.

Time Stood Still

January 9, 2007, 7:00 a.m., time stood still. Never did I look at a moment in time thinking that it would, and never would I have imagined the journey that was about to unfold. I thought the journey was over, but no, it had only just begun.

That moment, all time stood still as our daughter and sister, niece, granddaughter, cousin and friend stopped all breathing, our own breaths held in wonder, asking the questions, Is she gone?, Is she free from this pain?, Is it over?...slowly, we knew, heavenly peace was hers, Allison left us, at least physically. We would come to know that she would never leave us, spiritually. She was ours forever, but gone from our grasp, our world, our lives. She left us then, and thus, time stood still.

Sure, we moved through all the plans and motions of life, from planning a life celebration to honoring her birthdays, the "anniversaries" of sorts, never flambouyant, rather simple...after all, we didn't, and still do not, have a template to follow in living through any day, but especially THOSE days. Making no plans, we found our way by simply honoring what each other "felt" like doing, day by day, establishing no new traditions or ways to manuever occasions such as these, creating our own guidepost on the journey of loss. Through it all, time seemed to stand still.

In spite of this, we have found our way to a fifth year mark, and wonder how we got here. There are some moments so strong in our memories, yet others have faded, or don't seem to exist at all. We took trips, spent time with family and friends, gathered in small group settings, still finding large groups to be overwhelming and intimidating. The numbness set in long before Allison passed from us, and may subside at times, but still lingers. At times, it seems as if we are living someone else's life, watching from the outside, not yet realizing this is OUR life, OUR child is gone, never to come home again. We long to remember her voice, yet find it too painful to watch her on a video. We desire to be in the company of her friends, but can be brought to our knees, wondering...wondering who she would be now, where her beauty would have taken her, what she would do to fill her days with passion, would she have babies, who would she become? We have prayed for wisdom, strength, faith, blessings in a new day, perseverance, to heal through the tears. And in all this time, it is clear that we have not been alone. God has surely held us up, together, provided a path whether we can remember or not, brought light through the darkness, and shown us that this is not our home. Allison is home. I didn't need time to show me that. She showed me. God showed me.

Yet, time has seemed to stand still. A fog prevails. Sure, life has seemed normal. We have found our way, new routines, the 6:00 evening phone call stopped long ago, the sweet voice of "momma" will never be heard, she will not grab my hand as we walk through the streets or the mall, and she will not need a ride from the train or the airport. Those have been replaced for new images, new messages, new sweet nothings in my ear. She has been my pathfinder, my guide, surrounded by a host of angels, holding me up, GETTING me up, bringing new life to my soul, new purpose, new love. I have learned to release her, slowly, ever so slowly, knowing she will always come back to me, that she may need to take care of someone else for a time, but as she grew in my womb, there she is in my heart. I share her willingly, now. I don't hold too tight. I heed the messages. I listen. I feel. I ache and I cry, but I know, the peace that came in the sunburst of her hospital room five years ago, prevails, and is all of ours for the asking.

What does it matter if time seemed to stand still? What does it matter if I can remember certain things or not? What does it matter that the trips and vacations and family gatherings seem to blend into one? What does it matter if that moment in time defines me, her father, her sister? What does it matter? What is time anyway? Where she is, there is no time, no remembering, no constraints, no calendars, no worries and no designs on her time. She is free. And in being so, God has used her to teach us more about time. Time matters not at all. Five years, five days, five minutes, it's all relative and it's all the same. Allison knows no time, only peace and tranquility. She was created in love, and left in love. All she desired was to go home, in her mind, we knew what she meant. God had bigger plans. So, as her sister whispered in her ear, over and over again, "Allison, you ARE going home"...and she did. Allison is home and one day, when it is our time, there she'll be, to guide us, assist us, love us, and time will stand still.

Fresh Tears

It seems I have had buckets of fresh tears for over a month now...anticipating the holidays, the final weeks of the year, re-living the drama and trauma of what December has come to mean, CANCER, dying, living, crying. Just when I felt as though there could be no more, there they came, and still do. I even awakened to streaming tears from a gut wrenched body, proving, once again, that though we remain focused, poised and strong, the heart knows what it knows. Simply put, I/we cannot escape what is within.

Fresh tears pour and with them comes release. Clarity. New images. Objectivity. Reflection. They are good for the soul, so it is said. I am finding that to be true. However, I do suppress them at times. I am not sure why. Perhaps it's because they don't always come at the "right" time, or someone else is present, and I don't want to cause them more pain. Perhaps they come in a moment when everyone is opening their Christmas gift and there is laughter. Of course, I wouldn't, couldn't, change the tone with my fresh tears. So, I suppress, I push them down. I wait. I finally cry the fresh tears, not because I am weak, but because I have been strong for too long.

What do I see beyond the tears? What do I feel? Yes, the pain, the ache, the longing, the indescribable sorrow of having lost my daughter far too soon. I see the images, although I try not to, of her final weeks, days, hours, that we now walk through in this new year. I have worked too hard for FIVE years to let this life pass me by, or to not use the tears to my advantage, so I look through the clear liquids of my soul, I focus, and I see her, her sister, laughing, laying in bed every Christmas morning of her 21 years, of her image, through cancer, yet eating and laughing, and making sure she went out for that "last" dinner out, toasting the new year with her friends in her hospital room, smiling at her aunt as she had to leave that one last time, feeling so honored to have her family and friends lay hands on her in prayer, and I even see snippets of a little girl, a ten pound baby, one who slept and ate from the minute she was born, and who had a zest for life like no other I have ever seen. I can see clearly now, through fresh tears.

The tears are healing. I may never get to the point where I let them fall freely in front of certain people or in delicate situations. I will probably save them for when I can find healing messages from them, not out in public, but in the safe arms of those I love, or in the presence of others who will not be swayed or disturbed by them. I will allow them to fall when I can, knowing that I can only escape them so long. They will find me, my soul will open up and they will come, regardless of what I say or do. They are mine, and they take me to the next place of healing. I cry for her sister, for her father, relatives, friends, and for myself. But, I try not to cry for her. Her pain is over, she is free, she is soaring, and she resides in all of our hearts. She sends the messages when we need them, and she lives in heavenly peace. Through the tears of the season, any season, and through any reason, I find that the tears still come, serve a purpose, and give me strength to look beyond them, and see what is there to see, hold what is to be held, visit the place of light and darkness, and carry on, for her, for my loved ones, for myself.

For this moment, through the fresh tears, I can see clearly, now.