That Smile

When you lose a child, it seems the unthinkable. Unfathomable (is that a word) to yourself, your family, and others. Friends and family can only go so far in their thinking as to what it would be like, so instead, they hope we do well, they pray for us, they try to be there, but they don't want to walk in our shoes. No one does and not one of us raises our children to think this will happen. It is, by expert standards, the number one stress in a person's life, causing emotional, physical, mental, and certainly psychological repercussions. I have realized that the last two years I have worked so closely with my emotional state, just to survive this trauma, that sometimes the physical state has been ignored, or at the very least neglected. Hence, a few problems arose that thankfully can be repaired. But only in time. Everything in its own time, this we know. There is no sense in being impatient or dwelling that certain milestones have not been reached, it's going to come, as healing does, when it is supposed to...but it takes an incredible fortitude and work, lots and lots of work. Healing doesn't come natural, like anything else, it is a process and at each juncture something new and different is needed to assist in this life-long, often upward and grueling climb.

I have been told by some that they couldn't do what I/we do, that they wouldn't want to get up, or go on, or keep living. I say to them, you will not know what you would do until called upon to do it. Some have even criticized my/our need to abstain from certain celebrations or gatherings, believing that Allison would want us to attend. I know my daughter like no one else and I know she would want me, us, her sister to do what is comfortable and right at the time. Yes, I suppose one who knew her would believe she wants me to dance again, to laugh and mean it again, to feel joy again. I believe that, too. I want that, desperately. But life doesn't necessarily go as we want. In her case, Allison didn't plan to get cancer and leave us, eleven weeks later, to pick up the pieces and mold our lives into some remote resemblance of its former existence. She, and God knows, it is going to take time. She left us to carry on in the way that is best suited and natural for us.

She also left me/us with that smile, the smile that first appeared on the day of her birth, and that lasted until nearly the end. That smile is what gets me through this rough, emotionally charged day, or the darkness of night. That smile that lit up a room and a photograph, whether in her soccer uniform, high school graduation photo, out on her 21st birthday with her sister and best friends, or when she debuted her beauty in a scarf after the loss of all of her hair. That smile lights up my life, my heart, my soul and I find courage in remembering. When all is quiet and everyone is going on with their lives, the cards stopped coming, the phone went silent, the floral arrangements ceased, that smile brightened my being so that I could find the courage to keep going, keep striving, hang on, live life, make her proud and be alive. No, not one of us knows how we will do it, live with the incomprehensible notion that while on earth, we will never enjoy another moment of laughter or hear her voice or kiss her cheek. But that smile, now THAT will linger and give me the promise of the sweet times ahead in God's planned reunion, and I will find the strength to get through this minute, make her proud, and live strong for those who need and depend on me, now.