Still

A friend called the other evening, we hadn't spoken in awhile. We haven't seen much of each other lately, either. Her life is very busy, and mine, is, well, paced and protected in many ways. I do enjoy seeing her from time to time, we have that kind of "history", but circumstances and life keep us from getting together often. As for many of us, her life has changed drastically and what once was important, well, there are new perspectives and outlooks. She is changing with the tides and the coming of age and learning from what has happened in her life, too. But when we get the chance it's always good to talk with her and catch up. She usually gets around to asking me how I am, midway through the conversation. Many people ask me that question. My answer is usually similiar, now, changed from the years of "fine" or "great". I usually respond with phrases or words that are satisfying, yet truthful. I may say, "I am doing well", or "I take it day by day", or "I am happy for this day", or "I look for the blessings". Sometimes I do want to cry or scream or talk someone's ear off about how I am deep down, how I long for what was once normal, how I miss my daughter with every ache, pain, breath, in every waking moment, and even, still, wake up, sometimes with tears on my face...but I don't. I want to say, well, let me tell you a story of what happened today. Today I received another "sign" and I know Allison is with me in such a profound way, more so than when she was on earth, but I don't. I don't because I still don't know how to explain all of this. So, sometimes, I don't try. I just say what is on my heart to say. But I keep it simple. I don't know if people are really ready for what I could say or what I long to say.

The conversation turned when I did try to "go there" and tell my friend, "I am okay but had a bad day, I miss her so much". When I tried to share what got caught in my throat, the word from my friend was "STILL"?!! I asked her what she meant by "still" and she said, "well, you know...it's been some time and all". The line went silent, the ME of the past would have tried to fill the emptiness with words, but my mind was racing and I didn't know if I even should bother to explain, to ask her if she could imagine waking up and going to sleep, knowing that you do not get to put your arms around the shoulders of your child for a hug, to face another Mother's Day without the physical presence of that abounding energetic, healthy young woman with her whole life ahead of her, to never hear that voice again, the voice that called several times a day to share her life, to say she loved us, to ask for money. I didn't know how to explain what was screaming out inside of me. I didn't know how to explain the tears that are ready to shed at a moment's glance of a picture, or the new beach towels that come out in the store, the pinks that are blooming all around me, or the reliving of her experience as my brother-in-law undergoes his chemotherapy treatments in pre-transplant procedures. I didn't know how to speak. All I could say was, "yes, still, always and forever".

I have learned a lot about people through this walk and journey and what I do know is that there is no comprehension of this loss unless you are unfortunate enough to travel it with me. They do not comprehend and I wouldn't want them to...it's a destiny for God's chosen. But, still...we can all learn from it and know that sometimes there are just no words needed to be said, just a compassionate heart, a listening ear, a quiet touch, or an empathetic and sincere question of how we are doing. Maybe they won't like the answer, maybe they will be uncomfortable, maybe they will have to face things they'd rather not think about, maybe the truth is not what they are desiring to hear. Maybe we can all learn from this experience.

I don't fault others, nor would I judge their purposes. I know if this is so foreign and out of my own realm of thinking, that those who have not been impacted cannot possibly know what to say, or what to do. And this isn't about me, anyway. It's about Allison and her lesson and her preparations for when another mother or father lose a child, enter a world of grieving, and find themselves needing someone to listen to a story or reach out with a simple kindness. The world is full of well-intentioned folks who desperately want to know how to help. To them, I say, call that person you have put off calling, send that card, take that moment to drop that plant off, bake a casserole just because, take time away from what we once perceived as the all important task, and give back or pay forward all your blessings. The recipient will be honored and comforted, if only for a moment, but that joy will spread and the light will keep shining.

Do I miss her "still", a resounding YES, but I know our Allison is active, engaged, spreading the good news, and resting in a place with no conflict, no pain, no fatigue, no heartache, no illness. She knew a loving and kind Father above who took her "home" sooner than I would have ever chosen, had I been given the chance, but her work takes on a broader horizon from where she now resides. I cling to the promise of salvation and hope when I am missing her, still.