Dear Allison, I want you to know that your beauty surrounds me this day, another glorious day that holds the promise of spring. How easy it is to be motivated by the sunshine, to dig in the dirt (well, I am thinking about it, anyway), to open the window and hear the children playing, the birds singing, and to feel the breeze. I laid down on the reading room couch yesterday afternoon just to savor the moment, you have taught me that I don't know if I will get another chance like this moment holds. I don't know what opportunities await, so I live where I am, wrap myself in your beauty, and hold tight for whatever life brings. And I don't mean your outer beauty, although I must admit, that smile, the turquoise of your eyes, the youthfulness of your skin, the agile body, all hold places for me that inspire and give me a mental image to cling to...yet, here you are now, in spirit form, holding all the colors of the rainbow in one touch, one glance, one beat of my heart.
Color is bursting, and with it, so is my heart. You are living in me, through me, and by me in ways that can never truly be described. The total package of your beauty illuminates my path and inspires with a power that fills me with strength and hope. And you teach me about God's grace, each and every day of my life.
I am understanding the grace which He gives as a gift to all, to me, just for the taking. I read about it, I learn, I understand, but most importantly, I know. And through the pain of recalling the toll of cancer, and all it meant to you and our family, I came to believe in the gift. I saw it firsthand, although at the time, it wasn't as clear as it is now. I was numb. I still am at times. I was naive. I still am at times. I was in shock. And I still am at times. But through it all, there it was, the gift of grace, right before our eyes. And now, I, we, cling to the gift of all gifts, the promise of mercy and hope and faith and trust and love as we put all of ourselves in the hands of God the Father.
I am glad to know He is there, and I am blessed to know you are there. I still don't really know how to live with you in my heart and soul, without you here for your 25th birthday, and I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think ahead, and I still don't know that I want to look backwards at your life. All can be too painful. Too many questions surface and too many fears. Yet, through the pain, I know you had a sweet life, and gave us memories that will last us a lifetime.
Still and all, you are here, there, and everywhere, just as God promised. Just as He is. I will close my message to you this day, my beloved one, with the poem written by James Freeman. He speaks of God's grace, and I cling to its promise. But it also speaks to me about you, as I learn to live with you in the spiritual form, the way you are now, the way you will always be...
"I Am There"
Do you need me? I am there.
You cannot see Me
yet I am the light you see by.
You cannot hear Me,
yet I speak through your voice.
You cannot feel Me,
yet I am the power at work in your hands.
You are all I could ever ask for, and more. God above, and you.
Love, Mom
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
As March Marches On
Dear Allison, this is "I want you to know" month because it helps me when I know you are my audience, you are listening, knowing, understanding, being there...plus, I have taken to saying out loud, at times, "Allison, I just want you to know"...I want you to know so much. You already do, that's the thing, but it helps me take the steps necessary to live, breathe, act, move, create, and so much more when I can get my words out and let go.
Today I want you to know about yesterday. It is still in my heart. It's when I fell to my knees as I have not done in some time. Perhaps it was prompted by Sarah's birthday, I'm not sure, as you know, there does not have to be a reason. And I now know that. Yet, if I am honest, there is something rather mystical, magical, melancholy and mysterious about the way my spirit flows when it comes to some special occasions, and the one of your dearest friend's birthday, turning 25 without you here, well, that was difficult. Difficult because more surged in me than I thought ever could, again, and still. I have cried a river of tears, been to my knees, and still there is more to come. It happens when your sister, cousins, friends have birthdays, indeed, moments to celebrate and cherish, even more now that we know what we know...still, you are not here and there it comes, that slap to the face kind of reality that while you are gone at 25 years, you should not be...you just should not be.
When the grief rose and took hold in that way, yesterday, I almost went into a panic. Not because I didn't recognize it, I did. I have seen it before. I imagine I will see it again. I found myself going room to room and uncontrollable tears fell down my face, my neck, onto my shirt. And I longed to reach out to talk with someone. I know, there were many people I could call, yet, I couldn't really. Dad was in meetings, this I knew, your aunts were working, my friends were watching their grandchildren or having breakfast out with a friend, and the timing wasn't right to call a soul. At least that's how I thought at the time, and somehow got through the time, and that "somehow" was sitting and breathing and putting all my faith in God above, my constant companion, who never leaves me, and never will.
I found my true source of comfort once again, ready to be called upon, ready to provide just what I needed to find my way. I was at some sort of crossroad and I needed guidance. I let the tears fall, I asked for wisdom, and strength, and even answers and I listened. I recognized the guidance as it resonated throughout my body, mind and soul. I opened my heart to listen. I understood which direction God wanted from me, to move forward with confidence and joyful anticipation. AND I remembered my promise to you, that this month I would live out 25 random acts of kindness. That promise, God's understanding, and your smile brought me through the storm. I lifted my soul, I made some bread, picked up some flowers and cookies, and took all to special souls who are recovering from a traumatic car accident, people who are like family. As "luck" would have it, they were home, and we spent the nicest afternoon together, and talked of all sorts of things, went down memory lane, and we all smiled bigger for our time spent. A delightful day under God's good grace.
I know exactly what it means in the scriptures when it says that God's word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. That was proven to me yesterday, a grieving mother who thought the day only held tears and pain, turned into an illuminating day filled with hope and promise.
You, dear daughter, I love, Mom
Today I want you to know about yesterday. It is still in my heart. It's when I fell to my knees as I have not done in some time. Perhaps it was prompted by Sarah's birthday, I'm not sure, as you know, there does not have to be a reason. And I now know that. Yet, if I am honest, there is something rather mystical, magical, melancholy and mysterious about the way my spirit flows when it comes to some special occasions, and the one of your dearest friend's birthday, turning 25 without you here, well, that was difficult. Difficult because more surged in me than I thought ever could, again, and still. I have cried a river of tears, been to my knees, and still there is more to come. It happens when your sister, cousins, friends have birthdays, indeed, moments to celebrate and cherish, even more now that we know what we know...still, you are not here and there it comes, that slap to the face kind of reality that while you are gone at 25 years, you should not be...you just should not be.
When the grief rose and took hold in that way, yesterday, I almost went into a panic. Not because I didn't recognize it, I did. I have seen it before. I imagine I will see it again. I found myself going room to room and uncontrollable tears fell down my face, my neck, onto my shirt. And I longed to reach out to talk with someone. I know, there were many people I could call, yet, I couldn't really. Dad was in meetings, this I knew, your aunts were working, my friends were watching their grandchildren or having breakfast out with a friend, and the timing wasn't right to call a soul. At least that's how I thought at the time, and somehow got through the time, and that "somehow" was sitting and breathing and putting all my faith in God above, my constant companion, who never leaves me, and never will.
I found my true source of comfort once again, ready to be called upon, ready to provide just what I needed to find my way. I was at some sort of crossroad and I needed guidance. I let the tears fall, I asked for wisdom, and strength, and even answers and I listened. I recognized the guidance as it resonated throughout my body, mind and soul. I opened my heart to listen. I understood which direction God wanted from me, to move forward with confidence and joyful anticipation. AND I remembered my promise to you, that this month I would live out 25 random acts of kindness. That promise, God's understanding, and your smile brought me through the storm. I lifted my soul, I made some bread, picked up some flowers and cookies, and took all to special souls who are recovering from a traumatic car accident, people who are like family. As "luck" would have it, they were home, and we spent the nicest afternoon together, and talked of all sorts of things, went down memory lane, and we all smiled bigger for our time spent. A delightful day under God's good grace.
I know exactly what it means in the scriptures when it says that God's word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. That was proven to me yesterday, a grieving mother who thought the day only held tears and pain, turned into an illuminating day filled with hope and promise.
You, dear daughter, I love, Mom
Friday, March 5, 2010
More to Say
Allison, I will never run out of things to say, words to express, songs to sing, verses to memorize, scriptures to refer to, quotes from others, lyrics to songs...all have a definite purpose, now, as it refers to grief and loss, and life and death, and blessings and suffering. It's almost as though the words shared, reflected, sung, quoted have taken on new meaning since you are gone. For that matter, so has every little thing. It's the unexplainable, really, until one really knows how grief stimulates the senses, helps you see and taste and feel like never before. Maybe it's that sense of urgency that now I KNOW full well, firsthand, that life as we know it will change with the ring of the phone. Maybe it's that I was meant to hear things with a new ear, listen with a new heart, feel with senses that now seem more alive in your passage. How can that be? I try not to question, but it IS a mystery...a mystery that may never be solved, so I just look to the heavens and say "thank you God" for making me see...though not in this way, I am thankful to SEE what you perhaps wanted me to see all along.
Lyrics to songs are one thing that I have noticed very intently since you have been gone. You and I shared the same love of music, that is why I know you would have loved an American Idol favorite, Danny Gokey. I have written about him before, last spring when he opened up that voice we love so much, and sang your signature song, MY WISH, at the concert. A chill ran down our spines as Aunt Kathy, Jennifer and I simply held hands and KNEW that the message was clear...you are always with us, and the song, well, it will always hold meaning, not just because you loved it, but you lived it. And Danny is on the scene, now, with his first album. To see him perform last night on the show, along with listening to the lyrics on his album, well, one knows exactly where he is...there is no denying that his words are going to resonate with millions. And he keeps living, as do we all, with a purpose and a will and a desire, because he really doesn't want the loss of his young wife to define him, or at least give him any "excuses" for doing, or not doing, his best. Naturally, the loss cannot help define him, but as he said, and as we have said all along, it's what you do with the loss, how you live on, and bring dignity to the deceased that is the beauty of it all.
There are many artists I could write about, and have. Music will continue to inspire and guide me. It helps me make that connection to you and to live. And when I once thought I would never sing again, I am finding my voice.
The lyrics that sum it up in ways I perhaps could not, from Danny Gokey's song, "My Best Days Are Ahead of Me", are blasting through the house right now, and I might just play it over and over again. I need the upbeat, head shaking, body moving rhythm today as I think of how to live, how to honor you, and as I think of one of your best friends who turns 25 today, who you always celebrated together since you were young girls, and I think how you should be here with her, with them, with me, with us. I cannot deny how much I miss you and don't know how I will carry on...and as another one of his songs clearly states, on the same album, "I Will Not Say Good-bye". Yes, I can relate...to use his words, I will shout, I will cry, I will curse, shake my fist at the sky, but I will not say good-bye. I don't want to feel better, I don't want to NOT remember.
The complexities of the two songs really do sum up grief. The pure and utter devastation makes me want to never forget, to never let you go completely, to stay grounded in the safety of my own presence, yet, as the first song says, there are beaches to walk on, there is air for me to breathe, there are candles on a birthday cake to blow out. There is a future, and thanks to you, and a loving God who keeps me here a bit longer, my best days are ahead of me, too! I have to believe that, and God's promise tells me it is the truth and way and light. I will keep trying and loving you, never to say good-bye, I will witness the sunsets, and the sunrises, and I will know you have opened up a whole new world that I would have never seen. You are granting ME the birthday wishes, now, all my love, your mom
Lyrics to songs are one thing that I have noticed very intently since you have been gone. You and I shared the same love of music, that is why I know you would have loved an American Idol favorite, Danny Gokey. I have written about him before, last spring when he opened up that voice we love so much, and sang your signature song, MY WISH, at the concert. A chill ran down our spines as Aunt Kathy, Jennifer and I simply held hands and KNEW that the message was clear...you are always with us, and the song, well, it will always hold meaning, not just because you loved it, but you lived it. And Danny is on the scene, now, with his first album. To see him perform last night on the show, along with listening to the lyrics on his album, well, one knows exactly where he is...there is no denying that his words are going to resonate with millions. And he keeps living, as do we all, with a purpose and a will and a desire, because he really doesn't want the loss of his young wife to define him, or at least give him any "excuses" for doing, or not doing, his best. Naturally, the loss cannot help define him, but as he said, and as we have said all along, it's what you do with the loss, how you live on, and bring dignity to the deceased that is the beauty of it all.
There are many artists I could write about, and have. Music will continue to inspire and guide me. It helps me make that connection to you and to live. And when I once thought I would never sing again, I am finding my voice.
The lyrics that sum it up in ways I perhaps could not, from Danny Gokey's song, "My Best Days Are Ahead of Me", are blasting through the house right now, and I might just play it over and over again. I need the upbeat, head shaking, body moving rhythm today as I think of how to live, how to honor you, and as I think of one of your best friends who turns 25 today, who you always celebrated together since you were young girls, and I think how you should be here with her, with them, with me, with us. I cannot deny how much I miss you and don't know how I will carry on...and as another one of his songs clearly states, on the same album, "I Will Not Say Good-bye". Yes, I can relate...to use his words, I will shout, I will cry, I will curse, shake my fist at the sky, but I will not say good-bye. I don't want to feel better, I don't want to NOT remember.
The complexities of the two songs really do sum up grief. The pure and utter devastation makes me want to never forget, to never let you go completely, to stay grounded in the safety of my own presence, yet, as the first song says, there are beaches to walk on, there is air for me to breathe, there are candles on a birthday cake to blow out. There is a future, and thanks to you, and a loving God who keeps me here a bit longer, my best days are ahead of me, too! I have to believe that, and God's promise tells me it is the truth and way and light. I will keep trying and loving you, never to say good-bye, I will witness the sunsets, and the sunrises, and I will know you have opened up a whole new world that I would have never seen. You are granting ME the birthday wishes, now, all my love, your mom
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Allison...There's So Much To Tell You
Dear Allison, I want you to know so much that my heart and soul feels as though it will burst unless I let it out, share, write, laugh, cry, whatever is necessary to release this giant that grows inside of me, this giant called grief. It rises up and explodes at times I would least expect, and other times, it lies dormant, just waiting for the ebb and flow to release it, to endure it, to live with it. Are there really any words to describe it? Can one really explain it? Should one even try? Questions with no answers. That has become my life. Sometimes words with no meaning. And sometimes no meaning with words. I stop mid-sentence as if I have forgotten the complete train of thought...some would say that is NOT grief, but middle age and post-menopause! I would agree, I know many who grapple with the same symptom, and they are not in the trenches of grief. I know not how to answer the questions that some ask, and yet I don't want them to stop asking. I find them curious, yet, not wanting to know, really. As my friend, Cathy, has said, before, and since losing her son, this is a "club" no one wants to join or become a member of...it's not of our own choosing, yet here it is. It is ours, this is mine, and as I have said so often, I own it.
But in doing so, by "owning it", that doesn't mean I want to go it alone. Of course, I could not. First and foremost, God is my way of hope and light. I want to shout to Him, "I hear you, God, I am getting it, I am learning, I am reading your word, I am asking you for guidance at every turn". Allison, I am fully aware that without His grace and mercy I would not be where I am today. I am grateful for the time spent in getting to know Him all of my life, but more specifically after your grandmother passed. He provided that sweet assurance of life after death and I learned a little more about time and how it will be my time to meet Him, and how I want to be ready. I had no idea that you would go before me, how could I? It's the unthinkable. But in doing so, I found I had to really buckle down and open my heart and comprehend this thing called life, not the here and now, but the eternal and spirit life that comes after this brief stop we are making now. It should be simple, but it is not, because we, as people and humans, put the mark on what should be, what will be, we think we have control, and that we can orchestrate or undermine our own circumstances. But one day, something happens and there it is, all laid out before you, me, us, that this is our stopover and our true life begins when we meet our maker.
Of course, I didn't come to that overnight! My spiritual journey is my primary focus now. I ask God for help at every turn. And I did long before this part of my journey, just not as often, as deeply, and I didn't sit still and savor, cherish, and listen as intently to the answers. But I surely do, now, and will, and to anyone who wants the same strength, I can honestly say, God's grace is why I am upright and standing tall, making room in my heart for all things, all people.
Then there is you, my sweetness, my light, my source of strength, second to God above. You provide me the gift of grace in a different way. You provide me the endurance and the hope and the faith it takes to live the day and rejoice in it. God has made it beautiful, but you have added meaning. You taught me to look around at the orange glow this morning, you gave me the strength to retire and look around. I was scared. You know that. Teaching and working in the schools was all I knew to do, and I loved it. What was I to do with a whole day looming, especially when there was so little light and my world was shattered? You give me guidance, I live to please and honor a loving God, you, your sister, your father, myself, and the list goes on. I am patient in the promise that we will be reunited under heaven, patient, yet pained, because the complexity of it is I miss your sweet face. I want to hold your hand and walk across the street, and shop and go to your favorite restaurant, Lord knows how you loved to eat! I want to listen to your favorite songs that quickly became mine, I want you to meet Rex, I want you to grow old with your sister, so that you can be like Aunt Karen and me, a bond that is deeper than any words can describe. But none of that is to be, so I work toward acceptance, and I pray for God to help me find comfort and peace. I say out loud, so often, "she is not coming back", and I have to confirm and affirm that fact. I will no longer know you in the physical sense. I will not hear your voice. I will only know you in spirit, and that takes time, that takes patience and perseverance.
I know this is long, this day, Allison, but my heart is beating so fast...so much whirling, so much to sort through and even grapple with....so much pain, yet so much joy....a former colleague said to me last week, "well, at least you had her for 21 years, my sister only had her child for 10 years"....I mention this because it has been said to me before. And it is relevant today, this month, every day, because of your birthday month, because loss never leaves, and one cannot compare. Grief is grief. No, I don't want to be the mother whose child is murdered, or missing, or took their own life, or who knew their baby for a day, or two, or three, or two years. I don't want to be them. They don't want to be me. We can never, and should never, compare. Does that make my pain less than a mother who lost her child at ten years of age? Does that diminish another mother's grief because she didn't have to watch her child "suffer"? Comparisons cannot be made. This is not a race. It is what it is, as harsh as that may sound. This is MY burden, MY walk, MY journey, MY grief, MY pain, yet, it is MY faith, MY hope, MY family, MY heart, MY God that will bring me through. And because it is difficult for many to even think about, let alone talk about, without making it about them, I usually just do not even try. That is why I write, that is why I need to do what works for me, for my family, for my daughter, husband, siblings, family, friends. That is why I am chosen to know what I know. And the greatest thing that I do know, is that while I may not sit and talk with others (although I have honestly tried) it is God who has been my constant companion. Not the friend who runs into me for the first time in three years and tells me how great I look, not the friend who tries to tell me that the type of cancer you had is just like her uncle who smoked all his life, not the friend who calls to let me know that we are expected at their child's wedding because it is time for us to get out and socialize, not the friend who calls to let me know it is not healthy to be alone during the day like I am, that perhaps I should get a job. My list is endless. And to them I always politely say, you don't know, and I pray to God you never know what this is like, so perhaps it is best that you not share an opinion. I do say that. Because I must. And when they ask me how I do it, my response is always the same. God is my constant companion, my co-pilot, my strength, my rock. And if they don't understand, I don't mind. I don't expect them to, unless they know Him as I do.
I must close, my dearest. This letter writing is helpful to me these days, as the sun appears more, and we draw one day closer to your birthday, of course you were born on the threshold of spring, new birth, and new light, hope, and promises. I love you, my darling daughter, Mom
But in doing so, by "owning it", that doesn't mean I want to go it alone. Of course, I could not. First and foremost, God is my way of hope and light. I want to shout to Him, "I hear you, God, I am getting it, I am learning, I am reading your word, I am asking you for guidance at every turn". Allison, I am fully aware that without His grace and mercy I would not be where I am today. I am grateful for the time spent in getting to know Him all of my life, but more specifically after your grandmother passed. He provided that sweet assurance of life after death and I learned a little more about time and how it will be my time to meet Him, and how I want to be ready. I had no idea that you would go before me, how could I? It's the unthinkable. But in doing so, I found I had to really buckle down and open my heart and comprehend this thing called life, not the here and now, but the eternal and spirit life that comes after this brief stop we are making now. It should be simple, but it is not, because we, as people and humans, put the mark on what should be, what will be, we think we have control, and that we can orchestrate or undermine our own circumstances. But one day, something happens and there it is, all laid out before you, me, us, that this is our stopover and our true life begins when we meet our maker.
Of course, I didn't come to that overnight! My spiritual journey is my primary focus now. I ask God for help at every turn. And I did long before this part of my journey, just not as often, as deeply, and I didn't sit still and savor, cherish, and listen as intently to the answers. But I surely do, now, and will, and to anyone who wants the same strength, I can honestly say, God's grace is why I am upright and standing tall, making room in my heart for all things, all people.
Then there is you, my sweetness, my light, my source of strength, second to God above. You provide me the gift of grace in a different way. You provide me the endurance and the hope and the faith it takes to live the day and rejoice in it. God has made it beautiful, but you have added meaning. You taught me to look around at the orange glow this morning, you gave me the strength to retire and look around. I was scared. You know that. Teaching and working in the schools was all I knew to do, and I loved it. What was I to do with a whole day looming, especially when there was so little light and my world was shattered? You give me guidance, I live to please and honor a loving God, you, your sister, your father, myself, and the list goes on. I am patient in the promise that we will be reunited under heaven, patient, yet pained, because the complexity of it is I miss your sweet face. I want to hold your hand and walk across the street, and shop and go to your favorite restaurant, Lord knows how you loved to eat! I want to listen to your favorite songs that quickly became mine, I want you to meet Rex, I want you to grow old with your sister, so that you can be like Aunt Karen and me, a bond that is deeper than any words can describe. But none of that is to be, so I work toward acceptance, and I pray for God to help me find comfort and peace. I say out loud, so often, "she is not coming back", and I have to confirm and affirm that fact. I will no longer know you in the physical sense. I will not hear your voice. I will only know you in spirit, and that takes time, that takes patience and perseverance.
I know this is long, this day, Allison, but my heart is beating so fast...so much whirling, so much to sort through and even grapple with....so much pain, yet so much joy....a former colleague said to me last week, "well, at least you had her for 21 years, my sister only had her child for 10 years"....I mention this because it has been said to me before. And it is relevant today, this month, every day, because of your birthday month, because loss never leaves, and one cannot compare. Grief is grief. No, I don't want to be the mother whose child is murdered, or missing, or took their own life, or who knew their baby for a day, or two, or three, or two years. I don't want to be them. They don't want to be me. We can never, and should never, compare. Does that make my pain less than a mother who lost her child at ten years of age? Does that diminish another mother's grief because she didn't have to watch her child "suffer"? Comparisons cannot be made. This is not a race. It is what it is, as harsh as that may sound. This is MY burden, MY walk, MY journey, MY grief, MY pain, yet, it is MY faith, MY hope, MY family, MY heart, MY God that will bring me through. And because it is difficult for many to even think about, let alone talk about, without making it about them, I usually just do not even try. That is why I write, that is why I need to do what works for me, for my family, for my daughter, husband, siblings, family, friends. That is why I am chosen to know what I know. And the greatest thing that I do know, is that while I may not sit and talk with others (although I have honestly tried) it is God who has been my constant companion. Not the friend who runs into me for the first time in three years and tells me how great I look, not the friend who tries to tell me that the type of cancer you had is just like her uncle who smoked all his life, not the friend who calls to let me know that we are expected at their child's wedding because it is time for us to get out and socialize, not the friend who calls to let me know it is not healthy to be alone during the day like I am, that perhaps I should get a job. My list is endless. And to them I always politely say, you don't know, and I pray to God you never know what this is like, so perhaps it is best that you not share an opinion. I do say that. Because I must. And when they ask me how I do it, my response is always the same. God is my constant companion, my co-pilot, my strength, my rock. And if they don't understand, I don't mind. I don't expect them to, unless they know Him as I do.
I must close, my dearest. This letter writing is helpful to me these days, as the sun appears more, and we draw one day closer to your birthday, of course you were born on the threshold of spring, new birth, and new light, hope, and promises. I love you, my darling daughter, Mom
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Your Presence
Allison, this day your presence is profound. You have spurred me to add touches of pink and turquoise in the house, in my life, as I anticipate the spring and rebirth. You know I always liked to put out my Easter or spring "things", but now, with time and reflection, I can help create the surroundings that I desire. There are touches of you and our life together, as a family, as mother and daughter, as sister to sister, and as father to child all around. Some are so subtle that no one would notice, no, there is no shrine, there are no burning candles round the clock, but there are those significant, and even strategically placed sources of strength and energy, sending out light and hope and love. I won't say they are all I have now, of you, because that is not true. You reside in my heart, your spirit permeates and spreads through our lives and the lives of so many, but still, the tangible helps me. So, when I sit down to read or play with Rex, or serve dinner to your dad or Jen, or guests, or prepare a room for visitors, or create the place where those who desire can stop off for tea, wine or whatever is needed at the time, when I do all these things and live my life, there you are, in a new and rare form.
We all have our ways of dealing with pain and loss. And reason has little to do with how we cope. We no longer need a reason. Did you know that is one beauty of this journey, I no longer need a reason, excuse or pardon. Perhaps I never did. I just thought I did. Society thought I did. My mother taught me that I did. But I don't. You have taught me that. I have entered a new realm.
Today, I don't need a reason, but my heart has mixed feelings. Yes, it's your grandmother's birthday, how old would she be...let's see....she left at 62 years of age, and has been gone 15 years...so today, she would be 77 years. I often wonder, as I do about you, what would she have been like? Where would the journey take her? She seemed so young to leave us, we still needed her, wanted her here, wanted her to see our children grow up and share the experiences. We wanted to turn to her for wisdom and strength and many times I wanted to laugh with her, cry with her. But I learned something about grief in that intense loss, and unknown to me, the experience would prepare me for so much more, such intense grief that I feel ripped to shreds on the inside. You. You are gone. She is gone. But not really. When those who care try to explain about the deceased living on in our hearts, I wasn't sure what they meant, but now I know. Your presence, her presence, is almost more profound than if you had lived.
I know you and my mother have found one another. God gave me the gift of knowing that before you left. Remember that Sunday when you saw her in the room, and I thought you were confused? Just two days before you took your last breath in my arms, you asked me why Grandma was behind me in your hospital room. I thought at first that you were confused, then I realized that not only were you NOT confused, that she WAS in the room, and her spirit was leading you HOME. I also realized, then, that your time with Dad, Jennifer and me was limited. And I realized so much more. I realized that all I believed and hoped for about heaven and God's promise was true, that He does provide grace and mercy when you follow and trust and cling to faith. I realized that He takes care of all of His children, and that I was His child, too, even though I am grown. I realized that no earthly thing can satisfy me and make me whole, that it is the Lord above who had set eternity within my heart.
It's a day for blessings and hope and faith. Your presence surrounds me, in the physical and tangible, but more than that, for eternity, your presence resides in me. Memories of my mother surface and I miss her. I miss what was and what would have been. Perhaps I will walk down Main Street St. Charles later, a favorite past time of mine and hers, perhaps I will just read and pray, or maybe I will bake, another of her favorite pasttimes. Bake for someone who would love to have some chocolate cake or homemade cookies. I will do what I always do, live to honor, thank God for this day, and make the best of it, my way, which is really God's way.
We all have our ways of dealing with pain and loss. And reason has little to do with how we cope. We no longer need a reason. Did you know that is one beauty of this journey, I no longer need a reason, excuse or pardon. Perhaps I never did. I just thought I did. Society thought I did. My mother taught me that I did. But I don't. You have taught me that. I have entered a new realm.
Today, I don't need a reason, but my heart has mixed feelings. Yes, it's your grandmother's birthday, how old would she be...let's see....she left at 62 years of age, and has been gone 15 years...so today, she would be 77 years. I often wonder, as I do about you, what would she have been like? Where would the journey take her? She seemed so young to leave us, we still needed her, wanted her here, wanted her to see our children grow up and share the experiences. We wanted to turn to her for wisdom and strength and many times I wanted to laugh with her, cry with her. But I learned something about grief in that intense loss, and unknown to me, the experience would prepare me for so much more, such intense grief that I feel ripped to shreds on the inside. You. You are gone. She is gone. But not really. When those who care try to explain about the deceased living on in our hearts, I wasn't sure what they meant, but now I know. Your presence, her presence, is almost more profound than if you had lived.
I know you and my mother have found one another. God gave me the gift of knowing that before you left. Remember that Sunday when you saw her in the room, and I thought you were confused? Just two days before you took your last breath in my arms, you asked me why Grandma was behind me in your hospital room. I thought at first that you were confused, then I realized that not only were you NOT confused, that she WAS in the room, and her spirit was leading you HOME. I also realized, then, that your time with Dad, Jennifer and me was limited. And I realized so much more. I realized that all I believed and hoped for about heaven and God's promise was true, that He does provide grace and mercy when you follow and trust and cling to faith. I realized that He takes care of all of His children, and that I was His child, too, even though I am grown. I realized that no earthly thing can satisfy me and make me whole, that it is the Lord above who had set eternity within my heart.
It's a day for blessings and hope and faith. Your presence surrounds me, in the physical and tangible, but more than that, for eternity, your presence resides in me. Memories of my mother surface and I miss her. I miss what was and what would have been. Perhaps I will walk down Main Street St. Charles later, a favorite past time of mine and hers, perhaps I will just read and pray, or maybe I will bake, another of her favorite pasttimes. Bake for someone who would love to have some chocolate cake or homemade cookies. I will do what I always do, live to honor, thank God for this day, and make the best of it, my way, which is really God's way.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Your Uncomplaining Ways
Allison, I think I will also write a little bit each day through this month of spring and eternal hope, your birthday month, yet, so much more. I know it will help me in my release and purpose of staying focused and strong. Writing is my release, necessary to me as prayer time, devotions, affirmations, talking silently to God, shouting out to Him, asking for coverage and care through every step. I am still learning so much, and I suppose that is what it is all about.
This morning I thought of what I would term your "uncomplaining ways". It came to me early this morning as I found strength and comfort in your ways, your dignity, your grace. As I praised God for the blessings He has bestowed, one constant always stands out, "thank you, God, for creating Allison as you did, thank you for her life, for allowing me to be her mother, for all creatures, but for her and her spirit, and for allowing her to know you so intimately, so that all fear and pain was given back to you to bear, which you did, for her". I praised and thanked Him for so many other things, of course, but it stood out for me as I thought of your spirit and life, that while it was taken way too soon, cut way too short, that it pains my heart and soul with every breath, that there is a purpose and He allowed us to know you. Which made me think of you and how you lived, through the good times and the bad, through the day of receiving a cancer diagnosis, to the day you accepted that you were meant for a different type of life. Through your days as a child, a baby born with a smile on her face, a woman who died with a peace and contentment that only came from the love you knew from your family and friends, and a love and belief that God will handle it all. I have to believe that kind of faith and love is what inspired you all along, long before the days of your biggest challenge and fight, long before you ever dreamed YOU would face lung cancer, let alone lose your physical life as a result. I know in my heart what drove you, what centered you, what kept you focused, and enabled you to stay the course and never complain.
Sure, you had your tears, frustrations, angers, fears....you had your questions, your doubts, your misgivings, and you stood in awe of this diagnosis, this challenge, the treatments and the toll they took. You cried, you prayed, you shouted, but you didn't complain. You accepted. You lived. Your physical body died, but you did not. I read a quote, and I wish I could say by whom, that "you are not dead until the last person that knew you has died". Now, isn't that something to contemplate?! I know what that says to me, you will never die, indeed, my child, you will never die.
This day, every day, you and your "uncomplaining ways" drive me to stay the course, too, to breathe in, breathe out, to find something beautiful in the moment, to have patience, to be thankful for the place I am in at this moment, knowing all could change with the shift of the wind, to affirm and know through faith I am steady and strong. God's power is greater than any circumstance we might face. I knew that before, but I know it at a deeper level now. Thanks to you and God's plan.
My love is endless, Mom
This morning I thought of what I would term your "uncomplaining ways". It came to me early this morning as I found strength and comfort in your ways, your dignity, your grace. As I praised God for the blessings He has bestowed, one constant always stands out, "thank you, God, for creating Allison as you did, thank you for her life, for allowing me to be her mother, for all creatures, but for her and her spirit, and for allowing her to know you so intimately, so that all fear and pain was given back to you to bear, which you did, for her". I praised and thanked Him for so many other things, of course, but it stood out for me as I thought of your spirit and life, that while it was taken way too soon, cut way too short, that it pains my heart and soul with every breath, that there is a purpose and He allowed us to know you. Which made me think of you and how you lived, through the good times and the bad, through the day of receiving a cancer diagnosis, to the day you accepted that you were meant for a different type of life. Through your days as a child, a baby born with a smile on her face, a woman who died with a peace and contentment that only came from the love you knew from your family and friends, and a love and belief that God will handle it all. I have to believe that kind of faith and love is what inspired you all along, long before the days of your biggest challenge and fight, long before you ever dreamed YOU would face lung cancer, let alone lose your physical life as a result. I know in my heart what drove you, what centered you, what kept you focused, and enabled you to stay the course and never complain.
Sure, you had your tears, frustrations, angers, fears....you had your questions, your doubts, your misgivings, and you stood in awe of this diagnosis, this challenge, the treatments and the toll they took. You cried, you prayed, you shouted, but you didn't complain. You accepted. You lived. Your physical body died, but you did not. I read a quote, and I wish I could say by whom, that "you are not dead until the last person that knew you has died". Now, isn't that something to contemplate?! I know what that says to me, you will never die, indeed, my child, you will never die.
This day, every day, you and your "uncomplaining ways" drive me to stay the course, too, to breathe in, breathe out, to find something beautiful in the moment, to have patience, to be thankful for the place I am in at this moment, knowing all could change with the shift of the wind, to affirm and know through faith I am steady and strong. God's power is greater than any circumstance we might face. I knew that before, but I know it at a deeper level now. Thanks to you and God's plan.
My love is endless, Mom
Monday, March 1, 2010
Allie, I Want You To Know
Allie, I want you to know...it is March, your month, not just because of your birthday, but because of the promise of spring and the light of brighter days and spirits. I am going to embrace it, at least I am going to try. I want you to know that this is a very difficult birthday, do I have to have a reason? Can't it just be so? I will miss seeing you turn 25 years old, and I have mixed emotions about that. While I find comfort in knowing your spirit soars and teaches and guides, I so desperately want to see what you would become. I am watching your sister evolve, your friends, and their friends, and I stand in disbelief that you are gone, and they are here, some getting married, some having babies, some drifting, some taking the reins of their own lives, some venturing out, through travel or apartments or even new homes. Can I tell you that I honestly feel "jipped" at times? I want to know you at 25, I want to celebrate you, I want to touch you, God knows that I just want to see you and what you would be...but that is not meant to be. So, when the moments come that bring me to my knees, I cry, I cling to family and friends who never cease to support me, and I make good on my promise to you, or at least try to, to make you proud, to lead the way for all the mourning souls, to provide hope, and faith and love in a world that is dark and restless when we lose our child, or our loved ones.
I want you to know that I want to shout from the rooftops, sometimes, that this is the hardest, most difficult damn thing I have ever done, face a day, a month, a birthday, a lifetime without you. It never gets easier, Allison. It gets different, that's all. With all the spring colors and delights of a new season, there is still that side that plagues me. Even with the delivery of Girl Scout cookies, there you are. Here come the Easter baskets, and the candy, and the array of orange, turquoise, greens and pinks, everywhere you go now. And honestly, one minute it can make me abandon my cart and leave the store, knowing the emotion is coming, and the next, it can wrap around me and bring a smile to my heart that is so big and bold that I know I am going to be okay. But then I turn that corner, and there is another reminder, and another and another....no wonder it is so exhausting just to go to the store! But I will, and I do, and your big smile leads me and takes care of me like nothing else could ever do. You are pushing me, Allison, I know it, and I am grateful. But I am also tired. I can feel like skipping, and in a second that feeling is gone, and I want to retreat. How does one explain this incredible loss, this pain, this fatigue and emotional draining?
I do want you to know that your birthday has spurred me to take action. Your smile brings light to my soul and spirit and I believe you want that smile to be spread. I try, always, to take that smile other places by doing what I can, when I can, for your family, friends and loved ones...and even strangers. So, for your 25th birthday, I am going to keep a log of 25 random acts of kindness in March, mostly for people I don't know that well, so that your legacy and smile just keeps lighting the way. I don't care that they know who did it, or what it was all about, sometimes, most times, anonymous givings are the best anyway. I will keep paying it forward in your memory, with a more concentrated effort this month. This will help me stay focused on what I do have, what I can offer, and not on what, who, is missing from my grasp. I will also make sure I walk a total of 25 miles in March. This may not seem like much, but it is my pledge and my start to movement in the way I need to move. I will give birthday presents out and I will celebrate life in a way that is pleasing to God, and to you. I will use my resources well, and give back in a way that will make the world light up. I have no idea what it will be, or to whom, but I trust that God will put those people in front of me, and in my spirit, and I will just know.
Allie, I want you to know that I will keep searching for ways to honor you, putting God first, and asking Him for guidance. I will never stop living for you. Living better and stronger. I will never stop being all I can be for Jennifer and your father and myself. I will hold God true to His promise of that sweet reunion when it is my time, our time, to see you again. It will be sweet. It will be better than a birthday party, and taste more delicious than your favorite cake! Until then, though, I must find my way.
It is important for me to stay in touch with you, as if I would ever stop. My blog, my journals, my commitments help me stay on track. I do falter. You know that. But I will never get completely off track, this I know. You are my child for eternity, and in that, we never leave each other, rather, we grow closer and closer, through spirit and our love and our connection. As my hand was placed over your heart, and your hand placed over mine, when you took that final breath, we are entwined and now breathe as one. The very life of each of us was poured into one another's souls, yours to be released too early for my liking, mine to live on with a purpose I am still trying to discover. But I am patient, too much so, some might say! I will live and wait and take my cues from all that God lays before me.
Allie, my heart holds so many complexities, yet, is filled with so much love that I must share with you. You are my light, you are a source of strength for your sister and others, and your birthday month is going to be one celebration, silent perhaps, but we will know, you will know, that your smile helps us pay it forward and seize the day.
Eternal love, Mom
I want you to know that I want to shout from the rooftops, sometimes, that this is the hardest, most difficult damn thing I have ever done, face a day, a month, a birthday, a lifetime without you. It never gets easier, Allison. It gets different, that's all. With all the spring colors and delights of a new season, there is still that side that plagues me. Even with the delivery of Girl Scout cookies, there you are. Here come the Easter baskets, and the candy, and the array of orange, turquoise, greens and pinks, everywhere you go now. And honestly, one minute it can make me abandon my cart and leave the store, knowing the emotion is coming, and the next, it can wrap around me and bring a smile to my heart that is so big and bold that I know I am going to be okay. But then I turn that corner, and there is another reminder, and another and another....no wonder it is so exhausting just to go to the store! But I will, and I do, and your big smile leads me and takes care of me like nothing else could ever do. You are pushing me, Allison, I know it, and I am grateful. But I am also tired. I can feel like skipping, and in a second that feeling is gone, and I want to retreat. How does one explain this incredible loss, this pain, this fatigue and emotional draining?
I do want you to know that your birthday has spurred me to take action. Your smile brings light to my soul and spirit and I believe you want that smile to be spread. I try, always, to take that smile other places by doing what I can, when I can, for your family, friends and loved ones...and even strangers. So, for your 25th birthday, I am going to keep a log of 25 random acts of kindness in March, mostly for people I don't know that well, so that your legacy and smile just keeps lighting the way. I don't care that they know who did it, or what it was all about, sometimes, most times, anonymous givings are the best anyway. I will keep paying it forward in your memory, with a more concentrated effort this month. This will help me stay focused on what I do have, what I can offer, and not on what, who, is missing from my grasp. I will also make sure I walk a total of 25 miles in March. This may not seem like much, but it is my pledge and my start to movement in the way I need to move. I will give birthday presents out and I will celebrate life in a way that is pleasing to God, and to you. I will use my resources well, and give back in a way that will make the world light up. I have no idea what it will be, or to whom, but I trust that God will put those people in front of me, and in my spirit, and I will just know.
Allie, I want you to know that I will keep searching for ways to honor you, putting God first, and asking Him for guidance. I will never stop living for you. Living better and stronger. I will never stop being all I can be for Jennifer and your father and myself. I will hold God true to His promise of that sweet reunion when it is my time, our time, to see you again. It will be sweet. It will be better than a birthday party, and taste more delicious than your favorite cake! Until then, though, I must find my way.
It is important for me to stay in touch with you, as if I would ever stop. My blog, my journals, my commitments help me stay on track. I do falter. You know that. But I will never get completely off track, this I know. You are my child for eternity, and in that, we never leave each other, rather, we grow closer and closer, through spirit and our love and our connection. As my hand was placed over your heart, and your hand placed over mine, when you took that final breath, we are entwined and now breathe as one. The very life of each of us was poured into one another's souls, yours to be released too early for my liking, mine to live on with a purpose I am still trying to discover. But I am patient, too much so, some might say! I will live and wait and take my cues from all that God lays before me.
Allie, my heart holds so many complexities, yet, is filled with so much love that I must share with you. You are my light, you are a source of strength for your sister and others, and your birthday month is going to be one celebration, silent perhaps, but we will know, you will know, that your smile helps us pay it forward and seize the day.
Eternal love, Mom
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