Here...again

It is so unreal and surreal that we are in the days of remembrance, the pain and the diagnosis, yet the laughter and the tears, of cancer and Allison's life. Our immediate family, and even those afar, share that their souls are crying, that when the leaves turn color and the brisk air takes over, and Halloween night awaits, thoughts are of Allison and how she lived through the times, listening to her diagnosis, enduring treatments, accepting more and more penetration to her body, just so she could get well, and live. It's no wonder that we all keep going, keep living, keep smiling, when we would rather pull the covers over our heads for these weeks, and retreat and recoil. Could she have known just how much she left us by her sheer desire to spend each day, celebrating as if it were her last? Could she have known that her smile was so contagious that now that we don't see it light up our lives, we carry it in our hearts? Could she have known that the words and the way she chose to respond to her trials have helped each of us accept in some form the fact that she is gone and given us reason to respond accordingly?

All we have is the ability to respond. We get to choose. I have the opportunity to decide how my attitude will be set for the day, will I choose to be angry and bitter, or will I choose to live out the legacy that has been handed to us as if it were wrapped in the most magnificent, illuminated light. Will I recoil and shut off the light this evening, only to remain in my own grief and loss and misery? Or will I welcome the faces of trick or treaters and spread the cheer that little ones should receive? So many choices, each and every minute of my grief stricken life. As I do my gut level best to put one foot in front of the other, buy the candy, prepare for the upcoming weeks and holidays, my heart beats so intently that I feel it will burst, come right out and send a flood of tears that will never stop. And I do allow that. I must, I have to, and I do. But as in our St. Louis weather, when the rain stops, and it does, periodically, the sun comes out in the form of the triumphs of cancer, life and even death, I must turn my heart to God and thank Him for this day, this life, and again, I find comfort in doing my best, for this is temporal, and really, if truth be known, this life is not my own, it is His. I knew that before, but I truly know that now, God has the design on where I am and how this unfolds, and to be chosen for this journey, as grueling and painful as it is, is the sweet reminder that loss and tragedy and pain and suffering escapes no one.

These weeks are here and the reminders are strong. Allison's presence is so powerful, nudging us to keep doing, living, loving. I try my hardest not to remember the weeks of cancer and all that entails, and to focus on the fact that God released her from the pain, that she has no recollection, and that to spend time in the past will serve no purpose, for her, for me, for my family. Still, the images and feelings can surface without warning...when I recall that Halloween when the friends gathered here to be with her, when the pain was setting in and she was preparing to lose her hair. I want desperately to recall the years of going door to door, dressed in costume, laughing and looking through the candy as sisters, attending parties and living in a world that we didn't know at the time was easy. But I am not there yet. And I am at peace knowing there is no time frame to reach that destination. This journey of healing and living in our family, out of balance, and finding our way through a maze, will take us through twists and turns that we could never have imagined. There is no final destination.

You don't walk through the loss of a child without being changed forever, completely and without ever going back to who you once were...sure, there are shades of the person I was before, and I can even "look" the same, but along with facing the reminders and remembrances, I am finding myself, too. I have to redefine my purposes, my life, my self. And when this time of year comes, again, that is more important than ever. I affirm to live strong for my husband, my living daughter, my deceased daughter, my siblings, my friends, my self.

We are here again, and I will find my way. I must.